Page 96 of Haunt the Mall

I sucked in a sharp breath and white-knuckled the steering wheel.

What the fuck?

I jabbed my cell phone: pause the playlist, make a call, and wrangle it out of the holster to take a blurry pic.

Victor’s voice cracked. “Hello?”

“He’s here.” I hunched down in my seat and peered out the window. “He’s in my apartment’s parking lot. I don’t know if it’s him, I guess, I’m just driving in, but there’s a fucking red car and, and—”

“I’ll be right there. You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice the strong focus I needed.

For a minute, I let myself believe him.

40

Got Him

Victor’s voice was my light in the dark. “Keep driving. Has he seen you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell.” Shining my headlights over there would only create a glare.

His phone picked up the clip of his hurried steps. “Drive through without slowing down. Exit onto the main road, and let me know if he follows.”

I leaned over my steering wheel. “Which way do I go?”

“Turn left,” he said.

God, I loved the rumble of his confidence. Was it terrible to be turned on in a crisis?

I flicked the turn signal and glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing. The car was still chilling. “Maybe it’s not him. I’ve got a complex about red cars now.” I chuckled without conviction.

His keys jingled in the background. “Trust your instincts.”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and nodded. The car crept out from the parking lot. “He’s coming,” I said. “He must have seen me.”

Victor exhaled sharply. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. We can meet at the police station. Unless—would you be comfortable coming here?”

I wasn’t sure. “I…I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“I won’t be.”

It was a promise. Or a threat to whoever was following me.

I accelerated, turning left on a stale yellow light. The red car stalled at the intersection. Good. My blood raced. A minute of buffer was better than none.

Victor’s voice rumbled through my adrenaline spike. “We have security.”

“You mean Officer Holland?” I balked. That man was never in a hurry.

“No.” Humor tinged his tone, though he sobered quickly. “We live in a gated community. We can put you on the list to get through and have the police ready to take over.”

“Okay.” How the hell was he so efficient in a crisis?

“I’ll text you the address, although I’m happy to provide directions to the station if you prefer. I’ll meet you anywhere, Kat,” he said.

In my bones, I knew he meant it.

“I’m coming to your place,” I decided.