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Could someone be doing it to screw with me? I supposed so, but I didn’t see why they’d do it. There were some people who weren’t fans of mine, but none looked like the driver.
It was possible that this person was dicking with me in an effort to piss off Dax. But … I’d told Dax there was a bronze Chevy following me. That hadn’t seemed to clue him in, so maybe this wasn’t anyone that he knew. At least notwell.
It was mere minutes before I arrived at my destination. In the lot, I picked a spot that was surrounded by enough cars that my little follower wouldn’t be able to park close to me. Just as I was about to turn off the ignition, my phone rang.
Dax.
I accepted the call. “Hey.”
“Are you at CCC yet?” he asked, his voice all business.
“I just got here.”
“Maverick is on his way; he lives closest. Are your doors locked?”
I pressed a button to secure them all shut. “Yes.”
“Keep it that way.”
I scratched at my head. “Do you have any idea who this person could be?”
“No. But I’ll find out who they are.”
Catching movement in my peripheral vision, I turned my head to find someone standing right there.The driver.“Uh … he’s at my window. He’s gesturing for me to lower it.” All while wearing a big “I’m harmless” smile.
“Don’t,” Dax commanded.
Like I’d had any such intention.
“I just want five minutes of your time,” said the stranger loud enough for his words to reach me through the glass.
Sadly for him, he wasn’t getting those minutes. “I don’t recognize him,” I told Dax. “He’s in his early to mid-fifties. Double-chin. Mustache. Acne scars. He’s definitely had a broken nose at some point.”
Dax muttered a quiet curse.
I tensed. “You know who he is.”
He sighed. “Yes. He’s a local reporter. His name is Lennie Fowler.”
My jaw clenched.Anothergoddamn reporter?
“Five minutes,” repeated Lennie, a plea in his tone. “I’ll pay you for your time.”
“Why would he want to talk to me?” I asked.
“He’ll be hoping you can give him something interesting to print about me or my family,” replied Dax, his voice flat. “He likes to do that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So he’s done articles about you in the past?”
“Yes,” replied Dax with a grunt. “Mostly when I was a youth.”
Ignoring the knuckles wrapping on my window, I asked, “What stuff did he write?”
Dax hesitated. “Let’s just say the articles weren’t in my favor.”
Feeling my lips press into a thin line, I glared up at Lennie. He was likely one of the assholes who’d repeatedly snapped pictures of Dax back then and written shitty stories about him that painted him as a killer in the making.
Exasperation flashed in Lennie’s eyes. “I mean you no harm. I just wanna talk.”
