What Lies in the Woods(58)

I had wanted that trip to last forever. We were supposed to go again the next year, just the two of us. But the day before we were going to leave, Cass took a fall on her bike and sliced up her calf on the chain. We stayed to keep her company while she recovered, instead. The Barneses talked about rescheduling, but then the mill burned and the Goddess Game began, and the camping trip was forgotten.

A trucker had pulled in right after me, and as he exited the restroom he headed toward me, making the kind of eye contact that could go one of two ways—either he wanted me off-balance or he wanted to make sure I knew he wasn’t trying anything funny. He was a big-set guy with thick hands and hairy knuckles, and I decided to be contrary and assume the best.

“Afternoon,” I said, giving him a nod.

“Sorry to bother you, miss,” he said. “I’ve been heading in the same direction as you for a bit now, and I thought you should know there’s somebody following you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I said, my intentional calm dissolving. “What makes you think that?”

“There’s a black Toyota Camry that’s been dogging you. Staying in your lane, making sure you don’t get more than a couple cars ahead. I thought you must be traveling together, but then when you pulled off here, he parked on the shoulder just up ahead. Figured I should let you know.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, trying not to sound queasy. He could be wrong. Paranoid and bored after a long stretch on the road.

Except he’d said it was a black Toyota Camry. Like the one I’d seen in Chester, too many times to quite dismiss as a trick of my imagination.

“Want me to follow you out, keep an eye on you?” he asked, adjusting his baseball cap over a thick mop of black hair.

I shook my head. “I can look out for myself,” I said.

“I don’t mean to be rude or sexist or anything,” he said, and I gave him a twisted-up smile. His eyes tracked predictably to my scar, and I could see the question in his eyes.

“You should see the other guy,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “He missing an ear?”

“He’s dead, actually,” I replied, deadpan. He stared at me a beat, then decided I was joking, and chuckled.

“You be careful,” he told me.

“Sure thing,” I replied with false cheer, and gave him a wave as I headed back to my car.

I pulled out, my nerves jangling. I’d hoped the trucker was wrong, but there was the black Toyota, waiting on the shoulder. I drove past it and hoped against hope that it would stay put. No such luck. When I was a decent distance ahead, it pulled back onto the freeway.

Over the next few miles I tried switching lanes randomly, moving into exit lanes and back out again. He didn’t always stay in my lane, and sometimes he dropped back, but any time it looked like I might be taking an exit he was there right behind me. The windows of the car were tinted. I couldn’t make out anything about him other than a vague silhouette. It might not even have been a man, much less the one I’d seen in Chester.

I memorized the license plate, wishing I’d thought to back in town so I could be sure it was the same car, and tried to tell myself there was nothing he could do to me on the road. When we pulled into the ferry terminal, he was two cars behind me. I shut off my engine.

The ferry was chugging toward us, but still at a good distance. It would be fifteen minutes before it reached the dock, and my stalker was just sitting back there, watching me. I was boxed in, cars to my left and right. On the ferry it would be worse, surrounded by water so I couldn’t even run.

I couldn’t sit here and wait for something to happen. I already felt like I was crawling out of my own skin. I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw open my door, striding down the line of cars to the black Toyota. I rapped on the window, glaring in at the indistinct figure in the driver’s seat. They shifted but didn’t roll down the window, so I knocked on it again.

“I know you’re following me,” I said. I was drawing attention, now, heads swiveling toward me, cell phones emerging as the onlookers sensed a video opportunity. “Roll down the window. Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“Ma’am, is there a problem here?”

A security officer stood nearby, his hand resting oh-so-casually at his belt next to his Taser. He was a young Latino man, with a long face and intense eyes. I was keenly aware of how this must look. Like I was out of my mind, the classic white woman on a tear because the world hadn’t lined up just so to cater to her.

“This car has been following me,” I said, as calmly as I could, but my voice shook. So did my hands. I balled them into fists and then forced them to relax. Don’t look crazy. Do not be the psycho lady. Do not ruin this nice security officer’s day with your bullshit.

“I’m sure they’re just going the same way,” the security officer said soothingly. “Please return to your vehicle.”

“They were following me,” I insisted. My best friend was murdered, and her killer might be after me, too, I thought, and stifled a bray of frantic laughter at the thought of having to explain that.

“Ma’am, get back in your vehicle and I’ll speak to the driver and work this out,” the security officer said. God, he was young. Could he even drink yet? But he was good at this, the soothing tone, the steady hand held up just in case I got it in my mind to move toward him.