It’s the answer—the correct and only answer—they never offer.
But I’m doing my best to enlighten them.
I’m feeling that tension now as my gaze follows her crossing into the parking lot. Little, unsure steps. Dark tumble of hair blowing behind her. Looking down at her phone. Unaware of the dangers all around. She should know better.
Anger bites my chest. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white, scabbed over from the recent punishment I was forced to inflict. Your subject never suffers alone; any good teacher also bears their student’s punishment. Like a parent feels their child’s pain as they discipline. You have to be invested.
And I am invested.
Sadie, oh Sadie. You will soon understand that shared pain. Ignoring the obvious will not make it go away. Rather, it only prolongs the inevitable. But stretching it out does heighten the tension.
Anxiousness flutters to life in my stomach. I pull away from the curb.
Lesson one: acknowledge.
Time for the roles to reverse. Teacher becomes the student. It’s a constant trade out in the pursuit of knowledge.
Blindsided
Sadie
The black car pulls alongside me and brakes.
“Put that gun away. Do you want to get a sanction?” Detective Carson stares at me from across the passenger-seat, the window lowered enough for me to connect his voice with his scowling face. “Get in.”
My heart knocking hard against my chest walls, my breaths panting too quickly to slow, I grit my teeth and drop my hands. “Am I crazy? You’re following me! You about got yourself…dead.”
He rakes a hand through his auburn hair and blows out a breath. “Not my idea, but yeah. I’ve been instructed to follow you.”
Quinn. Dammit.
Holstering my SIG, I shake my head and say, “I have a car here. I’m not leaving it. And I’m not following Quinn’s passive aggressive bullshit. He could’ve called me himself and—”
“You left your phone at the department,” Carson interrupts, eyes widening in accusation.
I bite the inside corner of my lip. Shrug. “I cloned it. I wouldn’t fall off the grid like that, and Quinn knows it.”
“Just…” He motions between the passenger-seat and me. “Please, get in. I’m new here and really don’t want the wrath of Quinn coming down on me my first week. We can debate my instructions and yours later, all right?”
I don’t like it. Not one bit. I glance over at my car at the front of the lot—the poor little Honda I purchased right before I moved here—and back to his black unmarked vehicle. I should’ve recognized it for what it was. But when you’re being stalked by a serial killer, logic doesn’t always compute.
It’s the first time I’ve ever been in this position—the shoe on the other foot, if you will—and I need to get a handle on whatever this is before it consumes my whole life.
“I’m not leaving my car here,” I say, asserting authority into my voice. I can’t take the chance anyone following me—anyone else—will spot it and investigate why I come here.
After a moment of consideration, Carson consents. “Fine. I’ll follow you to wherever, then we can get to work. Stubborn…” He mutters this last part under his breath.
I ignore it and walk quickly toward my car. We’ve made enough of a scene.
After I’m parked in front of the grocery store near my apartment, I lock my car and open the door to the Crown Vic.
“Nice house,” Carson says, halting me before I climb inside the car.
I raise an eyebrow. This guy already has a clue about my mother—something no one except for Wexler and Quinn in the department know. I’ll be damned if I give away my residence, too. It’s not hard to figure out for a detective, but I’m not just handing over my information to him.
I seat myself in the passenger-seat. “We on the same page?” I ask.
He pulls out of the parking lot and takes a right into downtown. “That depends,” he says, keeping his gaze ahead, driving more cautiously and slowly than even Quinn drives. “Are we talking about what gets reported back to Quinn, or about where we begin on this assignment?”