25. Mandy
25
MANDY
T he lower half of my grandmother’s face appears, huge, on my computer monitor. “I’ve been hacked.”
“Gran,” I hiss into the headset, trying to minimize the video-call window. “You can’t call me here—this is my work line. How did you even get it?”
My heart is racing with panic. It’s my stalker. Jaxon has hacked my grandmother’s Facebook. He’s escalating. He’s after her. What am I going to do?
“Your father won’t take me to the Apple Store.”
“Why do you need to go to the Apple Store, Gran? You have a Samsung phone.”
“Because I’ve been hacked, Mandy. They logged me out of Facebook.”
I punch down the volume on the keyboard. “Amy can’t take you? ”
“She won’t go to the Apple Store with me anymore. She says I antagonize the employees. Antagonize! That’s their job, to answer questions.”
“Who hacked you? What did they say?”
“I don’t know—they sent me a message. There was a link. I thought it was from your father’s Aunt Becky, you know, the one with the hoarding problem.”
“Aunt Becky doesn’t have a hoarding problem, does she?”
“A source in the family told me her house is filled with outlet-store bags. The woman has a problem. Shopping addiction is a disease.” The ice cubes in her glass of wine clink. The camera adjusts, and now I’m looking at the rest of her face.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Gran says. “My friend Tina is holding a baby shower for her French bulldog, and I’m supposed to attend, but I can’t get into my Facebook.”
I silently count to five.
“Look, Gran, I have to work right now, but I will call you back in a little bit. We’ll call Facebook and—”
“Facebook! But they hacked my phone.”
“No, someone hacked your Facebook. I’ll deal with it later, okay? Just don’t click on any links.”
“I have to go. I’m on your mother’s tablet—she doesn’t know.”
She leaves the video call still running, though all that’s in the screen is a view of the spinning ceiling fan.
Sighing, I end the call.
My phone beeps again. Fortunately, it’s just the lawyer with a reminder about the mediation meeting tomorrow.
My heart races .
At least the stalker didn’t get Gran. It’s a blessing, right? Though now I’m going to have to spend my lunch break trying to convince Facebook to let my grandmother back into her account.
“You sure you don’t want to just leave her locked out?” Jess leans on her armrest. “I’m friends with her on Facebook. I see the stuff she posts.”
“If I don’t, she’ll just harass my dad.” I glance behind me.
Salinger has been avoiding me all afternoon since he left me high and dry to take Pepper out. He hasn’t given up on finding out who Jaxon is, though. I can tell he’s plotting something. He’s like one of those spiders that lies in wait to grab its prey when they’re least expecting it.
I need him not to. Once we have the mediation meeting, cooler heads will prevail. Jaxon is already losing interest. I haven’t gotten a text message from him since Friday. I bet Jaxon saw Salinger with me and got scared. The lawyers will make Jaxon see reason, and everything will be fine. I don’t need Salinger to escalate the situation.
Another text message from my lawyer pings my phone.
Randy: You just need to dress up tomorrow. You know, you’re not a bad-looking girl.
Randy: Wear a pretty dress, go get your hair done. The other side’s lawyers will appreciate if you put some effort in, give them something nice to look at.
Seriously? This is the worst three thousand dollars I ever spent.
Randy: And maybe you can put a bow or something on your doggie? You two will be a pretty little picture.
Mandy: I’ll be at the Clarke & Turner office early.
Mandy: Glad we’re making progress!
I’m trying not to let the residual panic ruin my night as I head to my car late that evening.
It’s almost over, I remind myself. After tomorrow’s meeting, everything will be fine.
The parking deck is chilly and damp. And empty.
It was another late night with Salinger. Since I hadn’t had any Jaxon sightings in the past several days, I thought it would be safe to leave before my boss for once. I need to be sharp for the meeting tomorrow.
But I wish I hadn’t parked so far away from the exit.
Then I remember—Jaxon mentioned something about the parking deck, right? He’s been watching it. What if he’s just been biding his time, lulling me into a false sense of security, and he’s here now, hiding behind my car like he did the last time?
I freeze for a moment, feeling like a rabbit in an open field just waiting for a hawk to come and swoop me up. All I want is to run back upstairs to the safety of Salinger’s arms.
“You’re being paranoid, crazy, and frankly delusional,” I tell myself, forcing my legs to move. “Salinger had a lapse of judgment on Friday. He drank a lot of whisky. You’re going to your car, and you’re going home.”
Heart pounding, I force myself to jog the rest of the way .
“See?” I tell Pepper when we’re safely inside the locked car. “I’m being irrational. No one is even out here.” I put the key in the ignition, fasten my seat belt, and turn the key.
Turn the key…
Pray to god, then turn the key…
“Crap.”
The terror is overwhelming. I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.
What do I do?
Is the battery dead? Maybe Jaxon sabotaged my car. Maybe he’s about to come over and finish what he started on Friday.
“You have an old car.” I grip the steering wheel, willing my hands to stop trembling. “This is normal. Everything is fine.”
I feel like I’m going to puke.
Do I get out of the car and investigate? Stay in the car like a sitting duck? I’m paralyzed.
Pepper, picking up on my anxiety, fidgets and whines in the passenger seat.
“Pepper, it’s okay.” The reassurance is more for myself than her. “Everything’s going to be—”
The dog growls.
“What the—”
Bang! Bang!
I shriek at the noise then scream when a man looms dark in my windshield.
“Mandy. Mandy! For god’s sake, woman, stop screaming. Open the goddamn door.” Salinger’s face appears in the window.
I’m still screaming .
“Mandy!” He pulls at the handle of the old Camry. It comes off in his hand. He looks down at the broken handle, confused.
A panicked laugh burbles up through the screaming.
Finally, I open the car door. “Sorry about that. It’s an old car.”
I hold out my hand for the broken piece of metal.
Salinger grabs me by the wrist, trying to drag me out of the car.
“Out, Mandy. You’re coming with me.”
“No, I’m not.” The seat belt holds me in place.
“You cannot use this car.” His nostrils flare. “You’re not safe. You can’t even open the door to get in.” He grabs my chin, forcing my head up to look at him. “I knew it. You’re still terrified your stalker’s going to come after you.”
“No, I’m not,” I gasp out. He’s way too close.
“Tell me who it is, and I can make all this go away.”
I twist my face away from him. “You freaked me out. You can’t just accost someone in a dark parking lot.”
“You need to come home with me. At least let me keep you safe from your stalker.”
“I’m fine. Currently, you’re the only man stalking me.”
“I’m not stalking you—I’m trying to protect you.”
“Seems like you’re just trying to control me.”
I grab the key, say a little prayer, then crank the engine. I almost sob in relief when it catches, rumbling to life.
“Have a good evening, Salinger.” My voice is firm as I slam the car door.
The wheels squeak as I put the car in Reverse, leaving my boss standing in the middle of the parking garage, glaring after me .
Pepper gives me an apprehensive look as I turn on my blinker before turning out of the parking deck.
“We’re fine, Pepper. We don’t need Salinger. He’s not helping us to be nice. It’s an ego thing.”
When my car gets near my apartment building, I take the block, scanning the shadows for any sign of Jaxon.
He’s not there.
I breathe a sigh of relief and parallel park in an empty space, wishing I had a deck to park in, or better yet, a valet and a doorman like Salinger.
I’m fine, I remind myself. There’s no one out here.
But the horrible feeling that someone is watching me has my mouth dry and my hands clammy.
For a moment, I wonder if I shouldn’t just give in and call Salinger. I know he’d come for me, pick me up, wrap me in his strong arms, tell me he’ll protect me.
This isn’t his problem.
Still, the feeling of eyes on me, all over me, persists as I walk the few short feet to the front door of my building.
Someone is out there. Watching. Waiting.