by Chrys Fey
“Hello, I’m picking up my dress. Kennedy, Beth.”
The woman’s carnation pink fingernails tapped the keyboard. Then she went into the back room and returned with a white garment bag. Beth followed her to a changing room where she stripped out of her jeans and T-shirt and shimmied the dress over her hips. The seamstress zipped the dress up her back. Atop a small platform, Beth studied her reflection in the wall of mirrors.
Her makeup was minimal and her hair was in an impatient bun, but the dress radically changed her appearance. Pleasure swelled inside her. I look like a bride. Who would’ve thought?
“So how does it feel?” the seamstress asked.
Beth shook her head in wonder. She angled her body this way and that to see as much as she could. “It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. It fits like a glove, but I can still breathe.”
The sounds of the women fawning over the brides-to-be entered the viewing room. A sudden and painful longing for her mom hit Beth in the gut with such force the air left her lungs. Tears instantly clogged her throat and coated her eyes. It felt as though someone had taken a corkscrew to her heart.
She stumbled off the platform and hurried into the dressing room with silk tangling around her legs. Her hands shook as she took off the dress and put on her clothes. After paying for her dress, she sped out of the boutique and through the parking lot to her car. She gently laid the garment bag across the backseat, and then slammed herself into the driver’s seat. That was where she shattered. The tears she had been holding back leaked from her eyes as if a dam had broken. Her body shook with her sobs. They were so strong that the car rocked. The sounds crashing against her eardrums didn’t sound human, couldn’t possibly be coming from her. Her fingers fumbled with her keys until she got the right one in the ignition and started the engine. She turned the radio volume up, not caring what song was playing, and collapsed onto the steering wheel.
She wished her mother could’ve been there to help her pick out her dress and to handle the pesky little details of wedding planning. Her mom wouldn’t be wearing a pretty dress and sitting in the front row. Her dad wouldn’t be looking dashing in a suit and walking her down the aisle. There wouldn’t be a rose for her mother during the ceremony or a father-daughter dance at the reception.
Although Donovan’s mom and grandma would be there, her parents wouldn’t be.
In the years since the brain tumor took her mom’s life, and heartbreak promptly took her dad’s life, she had healed as much as any child could, but their absence weighed heavily on her now.
She leaned back and gripped the steering wheel in her hands as she fought to control the onslaught of tears. Her lips quivered, her body quaked, and more tears zipped down her cheeks. She let them come until she was empty. Hiccupping with emotion, she dug through her purse for a tissue and mopped her face. She tossed the tissue to the floor on the passenger’s side and took a few deep breaths before putting the car in gear and leaving the parking lot. Her chest continued to palpitate with sorrow as she drove, but she kept the tears at bay.
The light ahead turned yellow. She slowed and came to a stop at the white line. Buildings rose high around her. While leaning her head back, with her hands on the steering wheel, she concentrated on her breathing. Her eyes strayed to the rearview mirror and the black vehicle behind her. She looked away, but the sound of an engine revving had her gaze flicking back to the mirror.
Her spine snapped straight, and her hands became ice on the wheel. The car behind her was a black sedan with heavily tinted windows. The sedan she saw when she was undercover as a streetwalker flashed in her mind.
When the light changed to green, she eased her foot onto the gas pedal. She had to force herself not to stomp it to the floor.
“Calm down,” she told herself.
Countless sedans with tinted windows traveled the roads of Florida. She couldn’t know for sure if this sedan was the same one as before.
She glanced in the rearview mirror again. Two dark shapes lurked behind the windshield of the sedan. Their features were blackened by shadows. Her mouth went dry. All the moisture in her body went to her palms. She tore her stare from the sedan and looked straight ahead. Her foot slowly lowered on the gas pedal. The engine’s roar became louder as the car picked up speed.
With a peek at the rearview, she calculated there was two cars’ length between her and the sedan. A sigh fluttered from her lips. Her body was relaxing into the seat when the sedan rushed forward. Its tires ate up the asphalt and plowed into the rear of her car. She launched forward with the force of the impact. She let out a cry and gripped the steering wheel. The car fishtailed. She was fighting to control it when the sedan crashed into her again. Her foot hadn’t let up on the gas pedal, and she had no intention of stopping.
Pulse throbbing in her neck, she raced through a yellow light, swerved the car into the inner lane, shot around a slow car, and made a fast right turn into traffic. Angry drivers sent their horns blaring, but it didn’t faze her because the sedan was gaining. Hands shaking, she slapped the knob on the radio to turn it off, snatched up her cell phone from the center console, and jabbed speed dial number one. She activated speakerphone before dropping the phone into her lap. Ringing filled the inside of her car. The sound grated on her already frayed nerves.
“Answer, answer, answer,” she chanted as if her plea could be heard through the rings and touch the ears of the person she needed.
“You better not be calling to say you’re skipping out on me a week before the wedding.” Donovan’s teasing voice relieved her, but it couldn’t distill her fear.
“D-Donovan…” Her voice wobbled. “A sedan is following me. It hit me twice. I can’t lose it…I don’t know what to do.” Her words came out in a breathless rush.
“Where are you?” His voice was surprisingly calm but deep with aggression.
She glanced into the rearview to see the sedan drawing nearer. She jerked the wheel and floored it onto the on-ramp. Her foot didn’t flinch off the gas pedal as she maneuvered onto the highway and pushed the car to eighty. “I’m on the turnpike,” she said through gritted teeth.
“How far are you from home?”
“A couple of exits.”
“When you get off at our exit, head straight to the police station. I’m on my way.”
“Okay.”
With the sedan on her tail, she urged the car forward. She moved past all the cars that seemed to be immobile and made it to the Orlando exit faster than ever before. She punched the brake when she came to a red light. The sedan crept so close she couldn’t see the front bumper. Her heart rate accelerated. Even in the city, the driver wasn’t going to let up.
“Beth, you need to talk to me.”
She jumped at the sound of Donovan’s voice, having forgotten about the phone in her lap. “Sorry. I’m at a red light. The sedan is riding my bumper.”
“Baby, do whatever you have to do to lose him.”
She nodded as her hands tightened on the steering wheel. His order gave her strength. “I will.”
The light turned green. As soon as the cars in front of her moved, she shot forward and weaved in and out of cars in both lanes. At that point, she didn’t care if the drivers called the cops on her, or if she passed one on the road, because the sedan was on her ass. She had witnesses and proof in the form of damage to her car.
After flying through an intersection, the sedan squeezed into the other lane and zoomed up beside her. She tried outrunning it, but the sedan angled toward her car and rammed into the side of the front bumper, forcing her off the road. She cursed as her car jumped over the curb, sliced through bushes, and landed on a sheet of asphalt so hard she bounced in her seat. Her shoulder bashed into the car door.
“Ow. Son-of-a-bitch!”
“Talk to me!”
“They ran me off the road into a parking lot. I’m okay. I’m still driving.” She would never stop. No matter what they did, she wouldn’t stop driving.
&nbs
p; She drove through the parking lot. The sedan followed her. With a quick jerk of the wheel, she turned down an aisle. The peal of tires had her head whipping to the right to see the sedan flooring it down the next aisle over. It was level with her car as if they were racing. Getting to the end of the parking lot wouldn’t help her, though. It would trap her. She stomped on the brake, yanked the stick shift into reverse, and jabbed the gas pedal. The car flew backward. By the time her chasers realized what she was doing, she was already at the start of the aisle. The police station was twenty minutes away, and she didn’t want to get back on the main road where she could easily be spotted, so she cut across the road to a side street and spent a good five minutes making random left and right turns until there was no sign of the sedan.
She slowed the car to a stop. “I lost them. I don’t see them anywhere.”
“Good job, baby. Now please go to the police station. I’m almost there.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
When she pulled up to the station, Donovan was pacing on the sidewalk. She parked next to his truck. Immediately upon stepping out of the car, Donovan was at her side. He pulled her to him in a tight embrace. She held onto him. The adrenaline and energy she had behind the wheel vanished from her body the instant she saw Donovan waiting for her. Her throat constricted. Tears pressed wetly against her eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Donovan asked with his face buried in her neck.
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak without bawling. He drew back and cupped her face with his hands. The warmth of his palms seeped into her pores, comforting her. The wall of tears over her eyes grew thicker at the sight of his concerned face, his lowered eyebrows, and imploring violet eyes. She took a shuddering breath.
“I’m okay,” she managed. “Just shaky.” He kissed her forehead and the sweet contact made her chin wobble.
“You’re sure you weren’t followed?” His gaze scanned the street.
She looked, too. “Pretty positive. I couldn’t stop checking the rearview mirror on my way here. It would be easy to spot them now.”
He lifted her hands and checked them. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she knew wrist injuries from holding onto steering wheels were common in car accidents. After a moment, he studied her face from forehead to chin. “Did you hit your head? Did the seatbelt catch you?”
She squeezed his hands. “I swear I’m okay. I might need a new car, though.” Although she tried to sound flippant, her voice was small.
Donovan didn’t point out the tremble in her voice or how it cracked, for which she was grateful. Instead, he examined the car with her. A gash in the side above the front left tire, mangled backend, and crumpled trunk.
“You go through a lot of cars, Beth.”
“Hey, this wasn’t my fault, and my other car was a piece of crap. But I’m not the one who ran into a tree.”
Donovan gave a small chuckle. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
She smiled. “Never.”
Donovan took her hand and led her into the station. Thorn waited for them inside. As soon as he saw Beth, he launched forward and pulled her into a hug.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She patted Thorn’s back.
He held her at arm’s length. “Are you sure?” He looked her up and down and turned her in a full circle.
When she was facing him again, she said, “Do you want to do a strip search to be sure?”
Thorn’s worried experience transformed into a grin. His gaze flicked to her right where she knew Donovan stood just a step behind. “Okay,” he said.
“No.” Donovan stepped forward. “Not happening.”
Thorn sighed. “Killjoy.”
Although Thorn was their friend and a jokester, he put on his detective mask the second they sat down and he picked up a pen. “Beth, tell me what happened.”
She went through everything from the moment she spotted the sedan behind her to when she lost it. Her trembling had stopped, and she was able to speak without her voice cracking.
Thorn completed a crash report and took notes based on what she saw in the hopes of catching the men who tormented her. “Were you able to catch a license plate number?”
She shook her head. “The sedan never got in front of me. If it is the same sedan I saw when I was undercover, though, I was able to make out a V and a W. I know that won’t help much, but the front is banged up from their assault on my car, so that has to be a big identifier.” She doubted they would drive the sedan again. Not with the evidence of their crime all over their front bumper.
“And you couldn’t see the driver?”
“No. The windows were too dark. All I know is there were at least two. I have no clue if anyone sat in the back or not. They appeared to be average height, and by their build, I am confident in saying they were men.”
Thorn jotted down her words. “Can you tell me anything about the vehicle other than a black sedan? That’s not much to go by.”
She shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know much about cars.”
“Maybe you noticed something but don’t realize it. Close your eyes and look through the rearview mirror again. What do you see?”
She did as Thorn instructed. The car was on the larger side and had made a meal out of her compact car. She saw the pitch-black windows, the sleek black paint, and the chrome lines of the grill. In the middle of the sparkling grill, she had caught a glimpse of the car’s logo just before the sedan had zoomed up. With her eyes closed, she drew a symbol that looked like three shields in red, white, and blue. She passed it to Thorn.
“A Buick?” He nodded as he studied her drawing. “That might help.”
Beth still felt bad for not having more information. It was like in San Francisco when she hadn’t gotten a good look at Jackson Storm when Buck was talking to him. If she had, they would’ve known who they were up against sooner.
Thorn walked them back to her car and wrote down what he saw with his own eyes. When he finished, he set the report on top of the car and stepped back in disbelief.
“Damn.” He looked at Beth in such a way that she had to look away. “How did you manage to drive while they were doing this?”
She shrugged and kept her gaze on the asphalt. “I just did. I knew I couldn’t stop, couldn’t let them get me. If I crashed into something, I had a feeling they would’ve dragged me out of the car and forced me into theirs.” She looked up then. “I have no idea why I felt that way, but it was strong.”
The two men glanced at each other.
After silence stretched for a moment, Thorn embraced Beth. “You need to be extra careful from now on. If possible, don’t go anywhere alone.”
Beth nodded, but she resented the fact she couldn’t live her life without fearing someone was after her. Who was doing this and why? What did they have to gain?
Thorn left to file the report, and Donovan called a tow truck to transport her car back to their apartment. Beth insisted it was still drivable, but Donovan didn’t want her behind the wheel, which she figured was for the best, as her hands were still unsteady.
When neither of the back doors would budge, Donovan had to smash the back side window with a rock. With the glass gone, Beth reached in and retrieved the garment bag. She hugged it to her chest. “At least they didn’t ruin my dress. If they so much as put a tear in it, I’ll be going out there myself to hunt down their asses.”
“With me riding shotgun,” Donovan added.
Three hours later, Beth returned from the ER. She was cleared of all accident-related injuries, but they prescribed her muscle relaxants as a precaution for spasms.
After talking to her insurance company, she ventured downstairs to get the mail. Bills, junk mail, two magazines, and a manila envelope filled their small cubby. She brought the mail back to their apartment, dropped it on the counter, and began going through them one-by-one, saving the manila envelope for last. The retur
n address didn’t have a name, but it had been sent from Orlando. Figuring it had to do with their wedding, she lifted the two silver prongs, peeled back the flap, and pulled out a photograph. Her eyes widened, and her mouth cracked open in surprise.
“Donovan!”
He rushed out of the bedroom. “What? What is it?”
She turned the photo in her hands so he could see it. He snatched it from her. As he studied it, his jaw flexed, and his eyes burned with rage. He slapped the photo on the counter and snatched up the cordless phone.
Beth looked down at the image of herself in full hooker costume. Her hand on her hip, and her finger crooked in invitation. It was the same come-hither look she gave to the driver of the sedan, thinking it was Ramirez. In the corner of the photo, written in bold black letters, was a message.
We see you, bitch.
“Thorn, you need to come over. Now.”
Donovan’s demand brought Beth around. He was on the phone, and the look on his face was intense, as if he could murder someone for threatening his fiancée and nearly killing her mere hours ago.
“Beth got something in the mail from them. You need to see it.” A few seconds later, he jammed the phone back on the hook.
How he was acting, and the things he was saying, scared her.
“Donovan, what’s going on? Ever since you got back yesterday, you’ve been acting strange. You know I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
He braced his hands on the counter and lowered his head. That stance told her what he was about to say was hard for him.
“I saw Buck yesterday.”
Beth blinked. She was stunned into silence.
“I wanted to know who was threatening you. He told me to talk to Jackson Storm, so I had Thorn take me to maximum security.”
Her eyes widened. Her hand shot out, and she gripped his arm. When he turned, she gaped at him.
“Jackson said the threats you’ve been getting are from his men, because he put out a kill order on us.”
Her knees weakened. She wanted to sit but couldn’t make her brain follow any commands. Two words kept replaying in her mind. Kill and order.
