Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I blinked. The cars shifted and the Chevy disappeared from view.

Don’t panic, I thought. There are plenty of green Chevys.

I kept an eye out, anyway. As the traffic moved forward, I caught another glimpse of the vehicle. Through the darkened windshield, I made out the silhouettes of two people in the front seat. Were they looking my way? I couldn’t see their features.

I took a deep breath. Traffic began to move more freely.

“Quit worrying,” I muttered.

I hit the gas and sped toward my destination, glancing at the mirror now and then. The green car receded into the distance but didn’t disappear.

By the time I reached Pine Shore Lane, it felt like déjà vu. The setting sun gave the tall condos on the beach a golden hue against the indigo sky. I turned left onto the street and pulled up a few doors down from Conroy’s house at 2555. There was his blue Toyota. And there was the silver late-model compact I remembered. Delaware tags. Coincidence?

I set the scooter on its kickstand and strolled over to take a nonchalant look-see.

A sticker in the window showed it was a rental. Interesting. I read the tag number and repeated it as I walked away. Fishing through my shoulder bag, I pulled out my small notepad and pencil and jotted the number down before it evaporated from memory.

I hit the speed dial for Reed Duvall, but cut the call off mid-ring when I saw the green Chevy.

Who the hell are those guys?

I didn’t know and I wasn’t hanging around to find out.

I jumped on the scooter, started it and took off.

In my mirror, I saw the car execute a three-point turn.

“Shit!”

It wasn’t two in the morning. This wasn’t going to be easy or fun.

I hit the corner and made a right with barely a glance the other way, squealing tires as I took the turn.

Traffic was heavy. I had to keep my arms steady or risk wiping out. I maneuvered through the vehicles, trying to keep my cool and exercise judgment about my moves. Weaving the scooter back and forth between cars, I managed to hold her steady, like a two-wheeled Mario Andretti.

I stole a quick look in the mirror. The green Chevy was several car lengths behind and bearing down fast.

“Damn it!”

As we approached the downtown area, the same problem as the night before lay ahead: a dead end and turnabout. Edging my way lane by lane to the right, I made a quick turn onto a side street. The green car followed. I cruised west a block or so until I spotted a gap between two buildings. I rolled to a stop and eased the scooter through the narrow opening into an alley on the other side. The green car pulled up near the entrance. I couldn’t see inside the tinted window, but I knew the driver must be looking at me. I waved goodbye and motored off.

“Jesus, that was close,” I said. I went several blocks down the alley and pulled over. Digging out my cell phone, I hit the speed dial.

“Sorry,” Duvall said. “I still don’t have all the information for you.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s something else I need you to check out.”

*****

After I finished talking to Duvall, I punched the button to disconnect, only to sit and stare at the phone. I needed a car for what I had to do. Should I simply call the closest Avis or Hertz rental office? Should I borrow Jamila’s laptop and look for the cheapest deal? I didn’t want to borrow her rental and put it at risk.

As I mulled options, I noticed a car heading toward me. A green Chevy, of course. Must have worked its way to the alley through the mazelike side streets.

“Great.” I stowed the phone, started the scooter, and burned rubber.

The alley provided a nice traffic-free zone. However, I still had to dodge garbage cans and a moonscape of potholes. Behind me, my pursuer stayed on my tail.