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“Nope,” the woman returned. “The only customers I’ve had for the past two hours are locals that come in here every day.” She eyed him up and down. “I’m guessing you’re not lookin’ for a local.”
Brendan braced his hand on a rickety two-person table, lost his balance, and wheezed in a breath as he regained his footing. He knew it in his gut—they had her, but how?
The woman furrowed her brow. “You okay there, fancy pants?”
Fancy pants? They were jeans, for crying out loud. Oh, duh, the expression. She thought he looked pretentious. Perhaps he needed to throw on the gym shorts and ratty shirt he wore on runs with Quill. Apparently, he stood out, which was now the opposite of his goal.
“Yeah, sure,” Brendan forced out politely. “Thanks for your help.”
He jogged out of the coffee shop, searching the parking lot and visible sections of the main road. Not a soul! One last check in their motel room and a piercing pulse of fear stabbed him in the chest. Could he beat Jed Marshall? Or was he a dead man if he tried? He dug his fingers into his stiff neck muscles, letting out a stout exhale. Honestly, what were the chances that both he and Genevieve would come out of this battle unscathed? Their time together could be over before it began.
“Dammit, I shouldn’t have kissed her.” They were in a dangerous situation, not a game. If he’d kept his focus on protecting her rather than winning her over, she wouldn’t have wandered off to find food alone while he jacked off in the shower.
Brendan scanned his keycard against the reader and punched the door open with his fist before slamming it shut. He peeled off his ‘fancy-pants’ clothes and slid on his worn-out gym shorts and holey T-shirt from his pre-millionaire era. After digging around, he located his broken-in Nike running shoes and bounced around, sliding them on.
Grabbing his cell, he punched Quill on his favorites.
“They got her!”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, I never even saw them. They did it when I was in the shower. I never should have let her out of my sight. I’m smarter than that.”
“Probably a good thing, bro. Her ex’s men had the advantage. If they hadn’t been able to get their hands on her when she was alone, eventually, they would have come after her when you were together.”
“Then I could have at least fought?—”
“No, Brendan, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Quill’s unusually frustrated tone continued to blare through the speaker, “You’re not equipped to take on criminals with weapons and never will be. We’ve got to beat these guys our way—come at them from an angle they don’t expect.”
“Speaking of unexpected angles…” Brendan peeked through the faded beige motel curtains at his Tesla in the back of the lot. “How did those creeps find us? I was driving really damn fast. There’s no way the guy following me could have reached my speed in that Camry even if he’s dappled at the racetrack like we have.”
“I agree,” Quill mused. “No way he’s as good as you in a car. I don’t even have to know anything about the guy.”
Brendan smacked his forehead. Another tracker! It had to be. But where did they plant it? On the Tesla, perhaps? He ripped the door open, jogged across the lot to his car, and ran his hands along the nooks beneath the windshield, followed by the holes in the grill.
“They planted another tracker, didn’t they?” Quill puffed out a breath. “In addition to the one in Gigi’s heels? That’s the most obvious.”
“Agreed. Already looking. But how did they get it on the car?”
“Could Gigi?—”
“Genevieve.”
“Whatever her name is. Could they have tracked her through an app on her cellphone—Snapchat or something?”
Brendan continued searching, raking his hands across the metallic blue fenders and shiny black wheel rims. “No, these guys have been looking for her for two years. She cut all ties to her previous life. She’s smart—they’d have found her within days otherwise.”
“I figured, but we need to cover all our bases. We’ve got to be a step ahead of them from now on. Could they have planted an additional tracker on her belongings when she was in her apartment? Maybe in a hair barrette or something? Only the heels went out the window, right?”
“It’s possible, but if not, we need to know what else these guys have in their arsenal.”
“I agree. Keep looking.” After a long pause, Quill released an impatient sigh. “I hate that I’m not there with you. Found anything yet?”
Brendan moved his fingers along the rear bumper. “Not yet.”
“All right—Googling some places to look—front bumper, rear bumper, engine bay, glove box, center console, lower side of rear window, side storage in trunk, door storages?—”
“They couldn’t have gotten it inside the car unless it was already on her. Other than to throw out the heels, we didn’t have the windows down.” Brendan glided his hands across the back of the trunk, and an object dropped to the pavement. “Got it! Fell off the Plaid emblem.” He picked up a small black cylinder and whistled.
