The Wife Who Knew Too Much(20)
Shaking, bathed in sweat, I wondered—who would do that? Derek? From what I knew, unless he was dealing again, he couldn’t afford a brand-new, tricked-out Suburban like that one. And if Derek went to the trouble of stalking me, he wouldn’t hide behind tinted windows. He’d get up in my face, so I knew it was him. Could it’ve been the same person who’d followed me and Connor to the ski house and photographed us sleeping? But why would they bother with me? I was a struggling waitress with a thin wallet, not worth blackmailing. The incident made no sense. I tried to calm down, to tell myself that I was overreacting. Some jerk just tailgated me, and that’s all it was. Trying my best to believe that, I went to work.
The Baldwin Grill closed at ten on weeknights. At the end of the shift, as I walked to my car, the northern sky glowed with a delicate light, and a balmy breeze washed over me. The beauty of the night made me long for Connor. Who was with his wife, on a yacht, in the Mediterranean. What a fool I was.
Thoughts of him distracted me as I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. As I merged onto the highway, I looked up and saw that Suburban on my tail again. The shock made me swerve into the next lane, which caused the driver coming up beside me to lean on his horn. I jerked my car back into place and stepped on the gas, surging ahead. When the Suburban kept pace, I broke into a cold sweat. Twice in one day? This was no coincidence. That SUV was definitely following me. I looked for a license plate number, but there was no front plate. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t see in through the dark tints. Who was behind the wheel, and what the hell did he want?
If I continued on to my apartment, he’d see where I lived.
I couldn’t go home.
Shit.
It was dark by now. There weren’t many cars on the road. Most businesses were closed. I drove past my usual exit, hands tight on the wheel, with no idea what to do. I let a second exit go by, then a third. I was well past my town now, flying along at seventy-five, heading nowhere, with the Suburban right behind me. The gas light blinked on. Shit. A sign said NEXT SERVICES 17 MILES. Okay, if I could make it that far with what was left in the tank, I’d at least be in a populated area. There was a big commercial strip with a Home Depot, a Walmart, a Pier 1. The stores would be closed by now. But there were service stations and fast-food joints. Something would be open, people would be around—if only I could make it there before I ran out of gas.
The next fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years. I white-knuckled it in my old Corolla, the Suburban lurking like some horror-movie creature behind me, until finally I glimpsed the exit in the distance, coming up fast. This was my chance to lose him. I was no stunt driver, but I’d have to pull a fast move if I wanted to get home tonight. Holding my breath, I pushed the pedal to the floor and barreled straight ahead, jerking the wheel at the last second and swerving sideways across the solid line onto the off-ramp. My car fishtailed, tires squealing, as an acrid smell filled the passenger compartment. But the Suburban shot past, missing the turn.
I’d lost him, for now.
As much as I wanted to disappear to some back road where he wouldn’t find me, I needed gas ASAP. I pulled into a Sunoco station just past the exit ramp. I started the gas going, then reached into the glove compartment for the flyer where Derek had scrawled his phone number. He was the most logical suspect, and I refused to live in fear of my ex-con ex-husband. I’d call him up and confront him. The gas station was brightly lit. It had a convenience store with customers inside. I felt safe here for the moment—safe enough to demand answers.
The phone rang for a long time before he picked up.
“Who’s this?” he muttered.
From the thickness of his voice, it sounded like I’d woken him. He couldn’t be asleep at home and following me in a giant SUV at the same time. Unless he was pretending.
“It’s Tabitha. Are you following me?”
“What?”
“Are you following my car, in a black Chevy Suburban?”
“Hah, right. You wish.”
“So, you’re not?”
“Why would I follow you?”
“Why did you jump me the other night? I can’t explain how your brain works. I’m telling you right now, Derek, if it’s you, I’m calling your parole officer.”
“I didn’t jump you. I wanted to talk, and you made a scene. And I’m not following you, okay? I don’t own a Chevy Suburban. I don’t even have a friggin’ driver’s license right now. They suspended it.”
As plausible as that sounded, I didn’t really believe him. How did he get to the restaurant the other night if he couldn’t drive?
“Don’t come near me, or we’ll have a problem,” I said.
He was in the middle of an angry reply when I dropped the call. He dialed right back. I hit Decline.
Derek was probably lying. I hoped he was lying, because if it wasn’t him in the Suburban, then a stranger had followed me. And that would be a first. I had no enemies. I wasn’t important. I didn’t have enough cash to make it worth blackmailing me or shaking me down. Although. I was involved with a man who did. A married man. With a powerful, unstable wife.
Could that be some goon in the Suburban, hired by Nina Levitt?
A woman with white hair pulled up in a Volvo and got out to pump gas. Her golden retriever poked his head out the back window, tongue lolling. Oh, to be her, with a sweet dog, a normal life. To be anyone but me right now.