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I read the text Wilder had sent and figured that was what I would wait for. See if she went to him then.
One hour and twenty-three minutes later, she walked out, talking to a girl on her left with glasses and short brown hair. They seemed to be discussing something from class, and Royal talked with her hands animatedly. I wished like fuck I could hear what she was saying. There was no sign of Merce, and if he was on campus for his upcoming class, he hadn’t come here, looking to find her.
The brunette waved and walked away as Royal started in the direction of the parking lot. Moving to her far left, I placed a row of cars between us so that I’d reach mine by the time she got to her Vespa. Her lack of awareness continued to bother me. She didn’t even glance my way when I pulled out onto the street behind her. Since she was dating Merce, she needed to fucking pay attention to her surroundings. Especially if his father was messed up with what Stellan believed he was.
When she parked outside the library, I figured this was going to take some time. Once she was inside, I headed in close behind her. The smell of books hit me the moment the doors closed, and I was going to have to fight off the urge to go explore. I loved that smell almost as much as I loved a good book.
Some other time.
Scanning the area, I found her talking to a redhead, who pulled out several books from behind the counter and slid them over to her. They talked quietly, and then Royal grinned before going around the counter and following the girl to the back. That was off-limits, except for those with a pass. I knew I could get by anyway, but again, too risky.
I glanced down the row of fiction books before taking a seat to wait.
In the three hours that I sat there, four different females approached me. One was bold enough to ask me if I wanted to go to her dorm room.
Wilder sent more info he’d found on Royal. Her mother had skipped out when she was six months old.
Jill Brinkley Clifton now lived in Little Rock, Arkansas, with her husband, Eli, and ten-year-old son, Alvie. She’d had three husbands before she married Eli, it seemed, but only the two kids. They lived in a two-story brick house in a middle-class subdivision with a chocolate Lab. From the photos, it was a hell of an upgrade from the shithole Royal lived in.
I didn’t get much further into the rest of her mother’s life when Royal reappeared with books, which she gave back to the redhead, then tucked a stack of papers in her bag before heading for the exit. When I got up to follow, my eyes met the redhead’s. She smiled nervously, then ducked her head as she blushed. At least she wasn’t paying attention to the fact that I was following Royal.
Instead of heading toward her house, Royal went in the direction of the downtown area. Several cars got too close to her, and again, I felt a protective urge to run each of them off the fucking road. Definitely not where my reaction needed to be. Not with this one.
The taken females seemed to be my unlucky lot in life. Except, in the past, they had just been emotionally taken. This one wasn’t just physically claimed, but she was a mark. Someone I was supposed to use for information. Liking her wasn’t an option.
She pulled into a narrow space between two buildings, disappearing from my view.
I was able to park my car close by and get out to go see if she had stopped in the alley or used it as a shortcut. When I saw her red Vespa parked, I was relieved I hadn’t lost her. She was standing outside a door, and I looked back at the building I was in front of and realized it was a diner—Rise and Dine. One of those buffet ones that did mostly breakfast and lunch.
I went back to watching her as the door opened, and a blonde with chin-length hair stepped out, glancing back behind her before handing a large plastic bag to Royal.
She took it, and the blonde shooed her away and then said something to make Royal smile before closing the door.
What the fuck was in the bag? It wasn’t carryout.
This was the first sign all day that she was mixed up with drug trafficking. A sour burn rose in my throat.
Royal went back to the Vespa with the bag, and I started for my car in hopes that she pulled back out this way and not through some other exit. I glanced at Rise and Dine to see it’d closed almost two hours ago.
Dammit, Royal, just when I started to think you just might be innocent in all this shit.
I climbed into my Porsche as the Vespa shot out and took off in the opposite direction.
Turning around, I sped up until I could see her again. After her second turn, I knew she was headed back to her house. I had hoped she’d head to the pool hall so I could stop stalking her and have an opening to talk to her. Get this ball rolling now that I’d caught her picking up something questionable in an alleyway.
I pulled over and parked several houses away. I watched as she carried the bag inside the house. Sitting here seemed pointless, and I couldn’t keep coming back to follow her around all the time until she went somewhere that I could casually approach her.
I’d just about talked myself into leaving when her door opened back up, and she came walking outside.
Here we go.
Was she going to Merce now?
She’d taken the bag inside though, and she wasn’t carrying anything with her. She didn’t move in the direction of her Vespa. She was walking out to the road.
No. She was headed for me.
Well, fuck.
