Page 3 of Juan

The driver waved her thanks and proceeded toward the exit as Amber walked the remaining twenty feet to her car. She smiled when it came into view. It wasn’t anything fancy, not like what she used to drive. But it was hers, and she’d researched, picked, and paid for the small Toyota SUV herself.

Rounding to the driver’s side, she slowed as something white fluttered in a gentle draft. Her stomach twisted in anticipation as she eased forward, step-by-automatic-step, to stand within reaching distance of the paper tucked under her windshield wiper. No more than two inches wide and five inches long, it shouldn’t cause dread to pool in her veins. But she was well acquainted with psychological warfare, and two notes in three days? Well, she recognized an opening salvo when she saw one.

A breeze caught the ends of her hair, sending them fluttering over her shoulders, a gentle movement at odds with the heavy thud of her heart and weighted stillness that pressed in on her.

The first note, with the words “Call me” written on it, followed by a phone number, she’d ignored. A mistake, she’d assumed. Meant for another woman. After all, she’d found it after dinner at the Dirty Boom, a local—and crowded—pub. She’d tossed it into one of her cup holders, then thrown it out the next day.

But two notes in three days…

She scanned the area as she reached out. A man and a teenage boy crossing the parking lot. Two young women leaving the coffee shop. A family pushing a loaded cart out of the grocery store. But an older woman, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the overhang, seemed to be staring at her. Amber cataloged her features: curly dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray, about five foot four, symmetrical facial structure, and dark eyes. Attractive in a sort of feral, dangerous way. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of a jacket too warm for this time of year, but not so warm that people would notice.

The woman smiled. Amber’s breath hitched. Was she enjoying Amber’s discomfort? The woman shifted her right arm, her hand sliding from her pocket. Amber’s heart jumped painfully in her chest and in a flash, she cased all the places to take shelter. Then the woman laughed with such delight that even in her heightened state, Amber wondered what could bring on such joy. The woman lifted a phone to her face, tapped the screen, touched her ear, then turned and walked away.

She hadn’t been watching Amber at all, just staring at the middle distance as she spoke on the phone.

With a deep breath and an admonishment not to overreact, Amber wiped her palm on her shorts, then plucked the offending paper from beneath the wiper. With shaky hands, she flipped it over.

“She didn’t die”

Chapter two

The words, stark and certain, sent a shard of panic lancing through her body. Amber’s gaze skated over the parking lot again as her mind churned. Who didn’t die? She couldn’t recall hearing of anyone’s death recently, let alone a death that might not have happened. But was it even a statement? Was it meant to inform her, or was it a warning? Or a threat?

The urge to flee hit hard, sending a wave of shakes through her body. Goose bumps raced across her skin, and her breathing grew shallow. Thankful for the keyless entry on her car, she fumbled with the door, tossed the tote and her purse on the passenger seat, and climbed in, slamming and locking the door behind her.

The cab gave her enough illusion of safety that as the heat seeped into her body, she managed to get her breathing under control. Breathe in for three, breathe out for five. Again and again, she focused on the exercise until she felt back in control.

When the fog of fear cleared and she could form a coherent, somewhat logical thought, she tested out a few. Not surprisingly, the first to pop into her mind was Anthony Ely, her ex. Her controlling, abusive ex who’d almost killed her fifteen months ago. In the weeks that followed his last attack, there’d been more than a few days when she wished he’d succeeded. Her pain, emotional and physical, had been so heavy she’d wanted it to crush her because then she’d feel nothing at all.

But life—and the Falcons—had other plans. Thankfully. The terror of those years with Anthony, particularly the last few months, would never go away completely, but now she didn’t want it to. The dull ache she felt when thinking about that time in her life, of those events, served as a reminder. A reminder of what she’d survived, a reminder of what she’d overcome, a reminder of what she’d become.

But Anthony couldn’t be behind the note. The folks in the Falcons’ network kept an eye on him, as they did for every abuser whose victims they helped. She would have heard if her ex was up to something. The Falcons wouldn’t hide that from her.

And besides, in the context of Anthony, the note made no sense. She already knew she hadn’t died that night. Despite his best efforts. And to the best of her knowledge, he’d never killed, or tried to kill, another woman. Certainly not anyone that someone would write her a note about. Or leave a note on her car about.

Could it be as simple as a mistaken identity? Someone thinking her car belonged to someone else?

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe it with a desperation so strong it felt contrived. Naively hopeful rather than realistic.

But if it was meant for her, what did those three words mean?

Her phone dinged with a text, the sound jarring her body like an electric shock. Fumbling awkwardly with her purse, she chided herself for her nerves as she pulled the device out. Reading the message from Miguel, she breathed deeply and willed her heart to return to a normal pace.

Because she had normal things to do today. Coolers to fill with ice, urns to fill with lemonade, mint garnish to prep, people to sell drinks to, memories to make.

Important things. Things that wouldn’t wait.

Starting her car, she backed out of her spot and headed toward the parking lot exit. As she waited for a gap in traffic, she glanced at her phone. Should she call Juan or one of the others? If there was even the slimmest chance it had to do with Anthony, she should tell them.

But what good would that do now? Everyone, including her, had a packed day ahead. No one had the time to look into it. Besides, the notes weren’t threatening, and even if they were, she’d be surrounded by people all day.

And so many people she knew worked hard to pull this event together. Disrupting the schedule by distracting one or more of the Falcons volunteers, or leaving Miguel to staff the stand on his own while she explained the dumb notes, wasn’t something she wanted to do.

She also couldn’t dismiss the possibility that she was overreacting. Two notes in three days was weird, but as she could find no reason for them to be connected to her, was it really that urgent?

No, she decided, it was not. A little time to calm down, a little time to gain some perspective, was what she needed. After that, she’d decide what, if anything, to do or say about them.

Decision made, she smiled and waved to Miguel as she pulled into her reserved spot behind the raised stand and beside a small refrigerated truck that contained all their supplies. Climbing out of her car, she held up her tote.