Chapter 8
Betty
Several times during my workday, I’d glanced out the office windows down onto the street. The Crown Vic was a constant presence, sitting there like a blue stain on the otherwise upscale streets in this area of the city.
My anger stewed with each passing hour, and by the end of the workday, I was fed up feeling like a simmering crock-pot.
Once I’d gathered up my belongings and turned off the lights in my workspace, I rummaged in my purse for something specific.
A devious grin spread across my lips when I found the item, gripping it in my angry fist.
Chin held high, I marched my way to the elevator. The small, tubular object rolled in my hand as I descended. I pushed back my fear and let adrenaline feed me. With a gait full of stalwart ferocity, nothing would get in my way as I left the building and arrived on the sidewalk.
Frederick was already there in the loading zone, bolstering my confidence further.
If anything horrible happened, which I doubted given the traffic-packed street, at least he’d be there to back me up.
I acknowledged him briefly before my gaze skated over the cars in and along the rows of traffic until it landed upon the blue Crown Vic across the street.
All the vehicles between me and the blue car were at a standstill.
The traffic light in front of our building was red.
I stepped out onto the road, weaving between traffic, hoisting my Birkin onto my shoulder with my back straight and nose in the air.
My heels clacked and hips swayed between taxis and cars in my sharp pencil skirt, eliciting a few honks and jeers.
Marching right up to the blue car, I pounded on the tinted window with the heel of my palm, seeing the outline of the man inside.
Nothing happened for a moment until I saw the burning spark of a lighter, followed by the amber glow of a cigarette tip illuminating the dark cab.
The window dropped an inch, but before I could make out a face, smoke billowed toward me through the crack.
Jerking back, anger overcame me. My veins flooded with a tingly, unhinged prickle, igniting every one of my nerve endings. A frustrated scream of anger exploded from my mouth. Forming a fist, I pounded the window with the meaty part of my hand, hard enough to form a small crack in the glass.
Good.
The man shut the window immediately.
I tried to ignore the sting of pain radiating up my arm, refusing to show weakness.
Teeth clenched, I squeezed the weapon in my other hand before popping off the lid with my thumb and rounding the windshield.
In big, sweeping cursive letters, I wrote “Fuck off” in my very best dark garnet shade of NARS lipstick—aptly named ‘Unrestrained’.
With a flourish—my body half lying on the hood at this point—I signed it with a heart and kissed the windshield.
The man inside didn’t react.
I’d admire his resolve if it weren’t so infuriating. The ember of his cigarette glowed again, taunting, as he took another pull before blowing the smoke at the windshield, further hiding his identity in the murky cloud it created inside the car.
Enraged, I tossed the now ruined lipstick, tube and all, right at him. The plastic ricocheted off the windshield with a dull clink that was far less dramatic than I’d hoped for. If only it had been a rock.
I was about to clamber onto the hood again when a hand wrapped around my upper arm, halting me. Brandishing my Birkin like a weapon, I whirled toward the assailant, only to feel my entire body go slack when my eyes met Frederick’s.
He had a shocked expression. “Miss Betty! It’s me!” His other hand grasped my other shoulder. “Are you alright?” Held tight in his hold, he shook me back to reality before his gaze focused on the windshield and what I’d written.
I pointed a finger at the blue car. “This fucking asshole has been following us, Fred,” I blurted out, feeling angry tears form in my eyes. I was jittery, voice shaking, with my body in full fight mode.
Fred adopted a rather stony posture, glaring back toward the shadow smoking his cigarette in the front seat.
The man did nothing.
Fred’s expression, in contrast, was suddenly terrifying, showing a side of him I’d never seen before.
He dropped his hands from my arms, grasping his belt and tugging his pants up. He puffed his chest out, trying to appear as threatening as he could. Fred may have been up there in age, but he was still a big guy, and I wouldn’t want to mess with him.
Cars began honking; the light was now green. We were creating a scene and blocking a lane of traffic. No matter the drama, New York still had places to go and people to see, and stopped for no one.
A mouthy cabbie yelled out the passenger window at me, “You can come tell me to fuck off, honey!”
I gave him the finger, grasping Fred’s arm to pull him back across the honking cars toward the town car. The stalker-man wasn’t going to give me the response I wanted, so there was no point lingering and ending up on the evening news.
When I got back to our side of the street, I ushered Fred to take his place behind the wheel before wrenching the door open on my side, hinges squealing in protest. I got in and let out a huff, slamming the door and shutting out the noise of the onlookers.
Fred got in a moment later, looking at me in the rearview with a stern expression.
His eyes still held that glint of rage he’d let show a moment ago.
Who knew Fred could be such a badass?
He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut in first, “Don’t even start, Freddy.” I was shaking my head, hiding a wince of pain when I pulled the seatbelt across my chest. My wrist was tingling from where I’d hit the window and I rubbed it ruefully.
Fred ignored my warning, speaking anyway, “If it makes you feel better, I noticed someone following us as well.” He placed a gloved hand on the top of the wheel before him, starting the car with the other.
“It was a little strange seeing that blue car two days in a row. Not a very inconspicuous vehicle.”
I felt guilty for being so rude to him. “I’m sorry for snapping. That anger wasn’t aimed at you.” I looked down at my lap, unable to meet his gaze. “But yes, they aren’t trying to be secretive about it, and it’s got me on edge.”
He smiled a knowing smile. “Any idea what they want?” he ventured, pulling out into the slow traffic.
Fred didn’t know what Nash and I did on the side, and now wasn’t the time to drag him into it. Besides, he’d go straight to my father with the information.
I shrugged. “Who knows… probably someone trying to serve me papers.”
“Should I tell your dad?” he offered. “We can get you a bodyguard.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll be okay. I already reached out to someone to help,” I assured. That someone was a ghost, for all I knew, but Fred didn’t need to know that. “And I’ll tell Nash about it, I promise. I’ll call him as soon as I get home.” That seemed to relax his features. He trusted Nash.
We arrived home, and I left Fred with a reassuring monologue about how perfectly fine and safe I was. He was insisting on staying and keeping watch out front, but I didn’t want him to miss out on time with his wife or worry her with my problems. I played down my concerns.
Besides, if this was organized crime, I didn’t want him anywhere near it.
Better they assume him an unimportant figure in my life.
I’d be fine. There was no sign they’d come inside, and if they did, I’d be ready with my taser.
My alarm system would alert the police too, and with how many stairs they’d have to climb to get to me on the top floor, I’d have plenty of time to be ready.
Fred watched me enter the house before driving away. I set my things down in the kitchen, pulling out my phone and dialing Nash. It rang and rang before going to voicemail, as I suspected it would. He’d had it off since leaving, though I hoped he was still screening his voicemails.
“Hey, call me when you get this. Something is going on here that I want to talk to you about. Just call me, okay? Hope you’re having fun. Love you guys.”
I didn’t want to say too much for several reasons. Sending him into a panic and ruining their trip was one, and the second was in case someone was listening—a chilling thought I didn’t want to give life to.
There was a sudden bang, and then a flurry of scampering sounds.
My heart lurched before I recognized the sound as Mr. Beans.
He tore his way through the upper floor before hammering down the stairs, louder than usual.
I tried to place the extra noise, sounding as though he were dragging something, like one of my bras again—the cups thumping down the stairs in his wake.
He let out a loud Ferrari burr-wawa and bolted into the kitchen. Rugs crumpled up as he banked into a cabinet and hit it with a thud. A black fur-pedo came blazing in after him, a bright flash of red attached.
I jumped and let out a yelp. “What the fuck, Beans?” I cried, leaning against the counter and willing my weight upward. Was that a fucking rat chasing him?
The two fur balls collided, and harsh screaming yowls of feline argument ensued. There was no making sense of it until they froze, facing off. Little bodies heaved with effort, and that’s when I finally grasped the situation. The other creature was a kitten—my black kitten from the stoop.
Elation replaced the fear, and I lowered off the counter to kneel toward them.
My movement caught the kitten’s attention, and he turned big yellow eyes on me. Purring immediately replaced the snarls. Even Mr. Beans purred, sitting and grooming himself as though all this hadn’t just happened.
I held my hand out, rubbing my fingers together to entice the tiny thing to come to me. The kitten trotted over, little black tail bobbing, something red tied around its neck.