****
Elizabeth wanted to take her own car to the Chase’s home, but Ella didn’t want to be split up from anyone (“Horror movie rules,” she’d half-joked), so she ended up driving them both. Ella complimented her mint green Honda profusely as they got in, and Elizabeth guessed that this was the way she tended to show her nerves. There are worse ways to be in a panic, she thought. Like spineless, or rash.
She eased her car onto the main street, noting the emptiness of the streets once more during her drive from work. Wait, there’s one car, she thought as she glanced in her rearview mirror. Must be coming home from work.
Two turns later, however, Elizabeth was starting to have second thoughts. The black sedan behind them had tinted windows, and the driver was wearing huge shades, so he looked just like any other non-descript white man under the age of 65. She couldn’t even make out his hair color, or if he kept it short or long. Panic started to crowd in on her, and she struggled to keep her breathing steady as the sedan followed her down three more blocks and made the same turn as they did. Chase was idly giving her directions as they went along, completely oblivious to the possibilities of the death he cheated tailing them in the shiny sedan.
Calm down. They might not be following you; they could just be driving home.
You know they’re not! a voice in her head screamed. Gun it!
Instead, she waited for the next yellow light, slowed, then turned left at the last possible second.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chase yelped as the car shot forward and his barrel chest strained against the seat belt. Elizabeth took a sharp right and then careened around a corner in a final left-hand turn before performing a quick U-turn and parking between two SUVs in front of a donut shop. “Why are we stopping?”
“Ssh!”
“Why?” Ella asked, her voice high with panic. “Why do we have to shush?”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the street behind them in the rear view mirror. “Chase, watch the street in front of us and tell me if you see a car. Shut up,” she snapped as he started to speak. “Just do it.”
Chase fell silent, but did as he was told. A bead of sweat rolled down Elizabeth’s neck as she watched her mirror, waiting for the black sedan to slip around the corner and coming crawling down the street in search of them. Why did I think I could handle this? Why did I try to be the bigger, badder person?
A full minute passed. “Elizabeth, what’s going on?”
She sighed and leaned back in her seat, letting the anxiety drain away before she answered him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were being followed, and I wanted to be sure.” She flashed Chase an apologetic smile, and the anger on his face swiftly transitioned to flirtatious humor before settling on a tired cheer.
“You know,” Chase said teasingly, “On another day, I might accuse you of just trying to take me on a ride to wear me out and seal the deal.”
Elizabeth gawked at him, then laughed so hard genuine tears came to her eyes.
“What’s so funny?” Chase asked, frowning in what appeared to be real confusion over her hysterical laughing.
“How can you flirt at a time like this?”
Chase grinned at her, and it turned both of her legs to jelly so fast that she was immediately thankful that she was sitting down. “How can I not?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chase winked and leaned over to her, beckoning her closer with the crook of one finger. She leaned in and caught a whiff of his cologne, something spiced with a hint of cherry. “When you smile, I almost forget someone is trying to kill me.”
Elizabeth giggled shrilly, and was immediately ashamed that the noise came out of her at all. What the hell is wrong with me? She caught sight of Ella in the mirror and saw her rolling her eyes.
“Does he do this a lot?” Elizabeth asked, smiling in spite of herself.
Ella chuckled. “Yeah, but never so earnestly. You can usually tell it’s fake.”
That wasn’t fake? Elizabeth thought blankly. It set a handful of butterflies flapping around her abdomen, then she scolded herself: This is a client, and a cowboy. Neither of those are good for dating.
He seems more like an actor than a cowboy, a small voice in her said shyly. Rodeo cowboys are mostly tricks and charm.
He’s still a client, she told herself firmly. Now focus on the task at hand.
She started the car again and was making a three point turn when she noticed a brown box in the middle of the road, and the black sedan speeding away. Her heart stopped beating, and her mind raced with the possibilities: was someone trying to get something to her? Was she meant to run it over and damage her car? Was it simply something to slow her down—or worse, keep them there while someone picked them off with their weapon of choice?
Drive! Kick them out, peel off and never look back!
But she couldn’t. There was only one thing to do.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and put the car in park. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she unclipped her seat belt. Chase’s eyes grew wide with fear; he looked between the box and Elizabeth, and started to shake his head.
“Wait…that black sedan probably left that box. Elizabeth, don’t—“
But she was already out of the car by the time he ended his sentence. She took a nervous look around in each direction and shuffled over to the box, making sure not to cross in front of her headlights and block her best source of illumination. I wish I still carried a gun, she thought. Then again, it would not have been as useful at finding out what was inside as her hands and eyes would prove to be. She took another deep, shaking breath, bent over, and picked up the box. When it didn’t explode, she carried it over to the hood of her car and plopped it on the body of her Honda before opening the flaps.
It was a plain white case file with inch high red lettering on the front: FOR ELIZABETH. She took the file in her trembling hands, noting how incredibly light it was. She opened the file to find a single sheet of a paper covering a glossy black and white print photo taken from outside a window. The camera was trained on a spot a pair of open drapes, where a woman in a large red sweater was standing without pants, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. After a moment, Elizabeth recognized the sweater and the thick legs as her own, and the photo was from two days before. They’d been watching her—and worse, they had been watching her since before she knew she was taking the case. What the hell? What is this? A warning? A threat?
Her mind was churning through the possibilities so fast she was beginning to feel sick. Elizabeth sprinted back to the driver’s seat and got into the car, handing the file off to Chase without thinking. He looked at the file with faint confusion, which quickly morphed into fear.
“They’re watching you, too,” he whispered.
Elizabeth nodded. “I think we should go get that footage now.”