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Fuck, why am I so on edge? Nothing justifies feeling like the world is dropping from under my damn feet. Despite what Zane is going through, things aren’t so bad, considering. Our girls are okay, our babies healthy, the other guys are doing all right.
Sure, Zane is my best friend, and his pain cuts me deep. Still. We’re working on it, and it should make me feel better.
It doesn’t. This sucks. My chest hurts, and I rub at it as I stare at the busy parking lot. Goddammit, this is like a panic attack, but… not so intense. More constant. Like my heart won’t stop pounding.
I change the phone to my other ear. “You okay? Dakota? The kids?” Swallowing hard, I lower my voice. “The baby?”
“We’re fine. Ash…” Her voice softens, too. “Don’t worry about us. Seriously. Is something else on your mind?”
She knows me too well. Can’t hide from her. Restlessly, I shift behind the wheel, scanning the people moving between the cars and the buildings.
“Something’s bothering me, and I don’t know what it is. Or if it’s just all in my mind. It’s like a bad feeling, a hunch.” I huff. “Or indigestion. I’m just feeling out of sorts.”
“Okay, look. I’ll call Tessa to stay with Dakota and come find you, talk about this and—”
“No.” I force myself to take a deep breath. Dammit, I’ve worried her. “I mean, nah, I’m fine, girl. Really.”
“It’s the situation with Zane. It’s really weighing heavy on your mind, isn’t it?”
Can’t deny it. “That has to be it,” I agree, to set her at ease. “Stay put, and don’t tire yourself.”
“Love you,” she says, a smile in her voice, and I can’t help smiling back, even though she can’t see me.
“Right back at you, girl.”
I feel marginally better as I settle in for my watch, still rubbing at my chest.
That’s when I see it.
The white Audi sedan, with a yellow streak on one side. It’s rolling through the parking lot, its driver a dark shadow behind the wheel.
Frozen, I stare as it drives by, just a row after mine, cruising. Heading toward the exit of the lot.
Then it all sinks in, and I turn on the engine, cursing, my hands clumsy with fucking nerves. Fucking hell, it’s real, the sedan is right here, and my car won’t turn on.
At long last it does, and I swerve out of my spot, barely missing another car passing behind me, then turn and step down on the gas, following hot on the tail of the white sedan.
But it’s already slipping out into the traffic. Shit, shit, shit! I wait in the line of cars trying to leave the parking lot, drumming my fingers on the wheel and close to punching my fist through the window—or to throwing myself out and running after the car.
Jesus. I honk at the stalling cars in front of me, but there’s nowhere they can go.
It takes me a long moment to accept the fact I won’t catch up—not that I’d know what to do if I did. We somehow never got to talking about that part. Would we stop the car, wrench the door open, drag the guy out and ask him for his name and social security number?
The license plate! Opening my window, I lean out as far as possible trying to make it out but can only make out the numbers.
666.
The hell? Well, at least it’s easy to remember—and that’s all I get before the sedan vanishes in the sea of cars heading back into town.
I slam my fist into the wheel and grab for my phone to call Tyler. At least we have a sighting. Better than nothing.
And if this is the guy who hurt Zane, if he is the one who used to live in Wausau in that red brick house, getting off on torturing a young, defenseless boy… then it looks like he may have moved here, to Madison.
And God help me, I’m gonna find that bastard, feed him his balls and make him choke on his own goddamn dick.
***
“You sure it was the car Zane described?” Tyler mutters, scratching at the dark stubble on his jaw. His hair keeps falling in his eyes, and he keeps pushing it back. My brother hasn’t had a haircut in weeks, hasn’t shaved in days, and the bags under his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping well either.
