CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A
lmost immediately, a set of blinding headlights began pursuit. Was it the mayor?
Had he been able to hop into his car that fast?
Manuel, in addition to being buckled in, braced himself with the center armrest and the overhead handle on his other side.
“Listen, I don’t want to press. You seem pretty busy at the moment, but I’m just a little concerned here.
Do you think you can carve out five seconds to explain what the hell is going on? ”
His overly chipper tone failed to mask the slight tremor in his voice. He’d had his world rocked.
Don’t tell him yet.
For whatever reason, his mom saw something in the mayor that she liked. Manuel and his entire family were in a delicate position. If I had no idea why Orten wanted to shut me up permanently, how could I trust that he wouldn’t harm Manuel if I told him? This was even worse than before.
Evade.
“Honestly, I’m a little lost myself.”
Checking the mirror, I noticed we still had company. Was it paranoia or a real threat?
Spying a side street, I turned at the last minute, spinning the wheel hard. Manuel huffed a breath of surprise but said nothing.
A few seconds later, our pursuer joined us.
Dusk came and went an hour ago. True darkness obscured the details of the vehicle’s color or make. From the height of the headlights, I wanted to assume it was a lifted vehicle of some kind.
It could be anything big and oversized.
Right.
I pressed a little harder on the pedal, my heart rate picking up.
The residential road lacked streetlamps, preventing me from verifying my suspicions.
My hands maintained a death grip on the steering wheel, and my sweaty palms felt the fatigue.
I released and regripped the second the road cleared of residents parked at the curbs.
Thank goodness I’d made my first week at school a focus on rebuilding hand muscles.
We’d have been in serious trouble without all the extra handwriting practice.
Who knew?
“You’re driving kind of fast, aren’t you?” Manuel remarked. “Whatever George wanted, he’s no Olympic runner. Pull over so we can talk.”
“You have no idea how much I would love to do that.”
“So do it.”
On a whim, I selected another side street. This one seemed to lead out of town. Technically, all roads in Fairview did if you kept going in one direction long enough. “I can’t.”
“You can’t or won’t?” He released a nervous chuckle. “Should I be worried about pressing kidnapping charges?”
Three seconds later, the vehicle turned on the same street. At least that much was confirmed. It was following us, no ifs, ands, or buts.
“Can’t, and I tried to kick you out, remember? What kind of kidnapper would do that?”
Manuel noticed the headlights now too. “How long have those been there?”
I sped up. “From the time we took off.”
His head whipped in my direction. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to sound paranoid or crazy until I was sure.”
“What are the odds it’s just a coincidence?”
“Slim to none.” I fished my phone from my pocket and handed it to him. “This Jeep is old, so there’s no Bluetooth. My passcode is one, two, three, four. Can you unlock it and call someone for me?”
He went ahead and did so. “You know, I would feel special that you trusted me with your password, but honestly, half the town could guess it.”
“Haters gonna hate.”
“Hmm. That’s fair. I suppose your password could have been all zeroes.”
I shot down another street, hoping to find something more populated, because this abandoned looking one wasn’t cutting it. The driver behind us grew bolder, closing the distance.
The phone shifted from the lock screen.
“Okay, I’m in.” Manuel’s thumb hovered over the contacts list. “Who am I calling? Nine-one-one?”
“Mr. Truth.”
He paused. “Who?”
My cheeks burned in the dim glow from the dashboard.
To be fair, when I programmed the agent’s contact information in under the cheeky nickname, I hadn’t planned for a scenario where I’d be preoccupied in a high-speed pursuit, needing someone else to call for help to bail us out—someone not connected to the local law enforcement—just in case. “You heard me.”
He input the contact name and clicked it.
“Okay, Mr. Truth it is.” He didn’t put it on speakerphone, instead bringing the phone up to his ear.
“Hello? Is this, uh, Mr. Truth?” A beat passed while he listened to the response.
Whatever the other person said had Manuel looking at me, his eyes round.
“Oh, you were the guy at the school the other day? And your name is Agent Veritas.”
Oh boy.
If we didn’t die tonight in a fiery crash, I’d perish from embarrassment after the fact, even if Manuel looked more amused than annoyed. Maybe he needed the levity to endure the tense situation.
“Why am I calling from Willa’s phone? Right, uh, we think we’re being followed.”
“Put it on speakerphone,” I mumbled, frustrated with deciphering half the conversation. I needed my full attention on the road so I didn’t kill us by clipping a parked car.
Manuel followed through in the middle of Veritas’s answer.
“—you’re being followed?”
Manuel answered, having heard the beginning of the question. “Pretty sure. She’s made at least four turns in the residential areas of town, and they’ve followed us each time.”
“And it’s not a coincidence?”
“No, there are more direct ways to get to the main drag,” Manuel replied with confidence when I might have faltered. Despite everything, I was glad he was here.
“Okay, I’ll text my team. They can track you using her phone, but don’t hang up. Stay on the line.”
“No problem.” Relief coated Manuel’s words. He glanced at me, putting the phone against his chest for a minute. “Why didn’t we call nine-one-one?”
Because I was worried the driver was the cops?
“I wasn’t sure if they would take it seriously. Ben’s dad hasn’t painted me in the best light.”
Manuel’s jaw clenched, but I didn’t think his ire was directed at me. “That’s messed up.”
“What’s messed up?” the muffled speaker asked.
Manuel jumped and pulled it from his chest. “That she felt like she couldn’t call the police and get help in a life-or-death situation.”
“Hmm,” Veritas said. It was a carefully neutral sound, as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
Of course, he dealt with situations like this a lot more than we did.
“So I have my team tracking your location now, and we’re on our way.
Is there any information you can give us about the person following you? ”
“No,” I said. “It’s pretty dark out. I can’t make out any details except that the vehicle is large or lifted based on the height of the lights. It’s difficult to watch and split my attention on the road too.”
“That’s fine. Focus on driving, kiddo. You’re doing great. Just keep the line open. I’m about ten minutes out, and my team isn’t much farther behind that.”
“I’ll watch,” Manuel added, swiveling in his seat to stare out the back. It was a solid plan. The size of the back window would offer an unhindered view.
My skin buzzed with cool energy.
I kept making turns at random, hoping to shake the pursuer to no avail.
Manuel cleared his throat. “You don’t think it’s George, do you?”
I wanted to reassure him, I did, but instead, I let the silence drag out.
Veritas filled it. “Who’s George?”
Manuel kept surveilling out the back, his left arm stretched over the middle and braced on my backrest. “My mom’s fiancé.”
“Why would it be your mom’s fiancé? Did you run away or something?”
“No, but I climbed in her car so we could talk. We were parked in front of my house across the street, but then we saw him, just standing there on the lawn. He was looking—staring at her. He’s never acted that way before. I don’t think he was even breathing. It was creepy as hell.”
“George, you said? Would his last name happen to be Orten?” Veritas asked in a nonchalant tone.
If he was trying for subtle, he’d failed.
Manuel’s gaze shifted to the phone and then to me. “Okay, what’s going on? Because there’s no way you guessed that off the top of your head. There must be a hundred Georges, even in a small town like Fairview.”
“Hmm. Willa? Do you have anything to add? Because at this point, I have nothing more than suspicions,” Veritas prodded.
“Suspicions of what?” Manuel asked. “What do you suspect him of doing?”
The way his voice gained a shrill quality made it sound as if he had suspicions too.
I licked my lips. “Uh—”
Manuel’s big exhale interrupted. “It isn’t George who’s chasing us. George doesn’t drive a truck. It’s some dark color.”
Dark truck?
Reflexively, my foot stomped the gas pedal harder, making the Jeep lurch forward as it gained speed.
How did he know I’d be going to Manuel’s? Had he tapped my phone?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Manuel yelled.
“What’s happening?” Veritas shouted, though the phone speaker was drowned out beneath all that was happening inside the cab.
“Why are you going faster?” Manuel questioned, holding on.
“We need to get somewhere with witnesses fast!” And yet, my hands turned the wheel in a different way than I intended—a road out of town.
“This is the opposite of populated!” Manuel glanced behind us. “He’s getting closer.”
The Jeep whined as I pushed its limits, and wind battered its boxy body until staying in the lane felt like corralling a bucking bronco.
Then, a thought seemed to hit Manuel. “Truck. You mentioned a black truck on Friday after you left my house, but we didn’t talk about it because Kole interrupted.”
Agent Veritas rolled with every new piece of information he gleaned. “Willa, do you know who’s following you? Is that why you called this morning?”
My voice came out breathless with all the adrenaline flooding my veins. “No.”
Veritas didn’t hesitate. “That’s not entirely true.”
Manuel blinked at me. “Now I know why you programmed him in as Mr. Truth.”
Veritas continued, undeterred, “Have you seen this black truck before?”
“Yes. After I left Manuel’s house—”
“Manuel… What’s your last name?”
Manuel frowned. “Why? Am I a suspect because of George?”
“No need to feel special. I always gather all the details. It helps keep my team from being blindsided. Our policy is to run backgrounds on everyone.”
Manuel’s grip tightened on the cell. “Emmanuel Cortez Lezama. Happy?”
“It’s not about you,” Veritas reassured him.
Manuel deflated. “Except that it might be.”
The whiny cry of the Jeep cycling through gears filled the cab.
Veritas cleared his throat. “So, Willa, you left Manuel’s house and…”
“My phone died, and I got lost—sorry, too many details. Long story short, the black truck found me in town. I was stopped at a stop sign, checking the notes Manuel jotted down, so the driver had to go around me. It almost sideswiped me because it got so close. I thought it was road rage, because I’d stopped in the middle of the road instead of pulling over. ”
“You get a good look at it?”
I provided the make and model, but apart from that…
“It had all tinted windows, including the windshield, so I couldn’t see who was driving it. No license plate either.”
“You have a decent eye for detail. My guy is running those parameters now,” Veritas replied.
“That can’t be it,” Manuel denied. “He got pissed at you for blocking a remote intersection? And now he’s tailing us because of that? Willa, you aren’t one to overreact. You left my house smiling, but your dad said you arrived home crying.”
“No, actually, and that’s why I don’t think it was random road rage.
The same vehicle was waiting for me on a side road on my way home.
It’s notorious for accidents because it’s hidden by trees.
The truck lunged forward when I passed. It almost hit my side, except I swerved.
Half my wheels fell off the road. If I didn’t have so much experience riding off-road, I would have wrecked. ”
Or worse.
Manuel glared through the back window at the driver.
Veritas said, “Did you get all that? Planned, not random. Narrow down the search by running it against our list of suspects. Sorry, you two, I have my team on comms listening in to our conversation. It saves a lot of time. They are checking that information against what we’ve been compiling.”
Oh.
I didn’t get a chance to feel self-conscious.
Manuel cried out, and I gave a startled scream when the stalking vehicle jumped at us, closing the distance and colliding with our bumper.
“He hit us! He hit us!” Manuel shouted, clinging on to whatever he could grab. The phone fell to the floorboard, taking a lower priority in the face of survival.
We swerved across the highway, wobbling precariously since the Jeep’s suspension was at least a decade old. I fought the momentum and straightened us out.
“Damn,” Manuel murmured, fishing around for the phone and quickly explaining what’d happened to Veritas. “You’re a good driver.”
“Thanks?”
“I need another seatbelt.”
We both kept a wary eye on the mirrors.
It hit me then that if I’d tried harder to kick Manuel from the car and been less freaked out by the mayor charging at us, then he wouldn’t even be mixed up in this mess.
We were hurtling down a dark, narrow road at eighty miles an hour in a car that possessed all the aerodynamics of a school bus that’d passed its prime decades ago.
Hell, we were lucky another supernatural attack like before hadn’t transpired with me behind the wheel.
I glanced at Manuel, only for a second. “Hey, I’m sorry you’re here. This—”
“Don’t be. Seriously.” Manuel placed his hand on mine, warming my skin. “You’re cold. I’m over here sweating bullets, and your hand is freezing.”
It was?
I just had to tempt the universe. If a ghost decided to mess with me now, we’d be in big trouble. Bigger trouble.
“Willa,” Veritas interrupted. “Do you know who the driver is? My team is having a hard time keeping a steady line on reception to run their programs on the fly.”
I licked my lips. “No.”
Silence greeted that.
I glanced over. Manuel stared at me hard. Neither of them believed me.
It was Veritas who did all the poking though. “Fine, then who do you think it is?”
I took a deep breath and glanced in the rearview mirror at the blinding headlights too close for comfort.
“Chief Pierce.”