by Tracy Brody
As she left the airfield Wednesday afternoon, she turned right onto Honeycutt Road. When she passed Texas Pond, a dark vehicle pulled out behind her. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it if Sheehan hadn’t followed her last week and then learning he was indeed working in the maintenance company at the airfield.
It took several seconds of watching in her rearview mirror to be sure it was a large SUV—not Sheehan and his big truck. A similar SUV parked near the entrance to the pond’s parking lot had caught her attention yesterday.
A few miles later, she navigated onto 401 Business. What appeared to be the same SUV turned and stayed a few cars back. Was it her imagination? Probably coincidence since this was a thoroughfare lined with restaurants and shops. Still, the déjà vu of Sheehan following her made her check her rearview mirror again. Would he resort to driving his wife’s car, hoping Kristie wouldn’t know it was him?
What would be his endgame? A little payback? Intimidation? The glare of the sun on the SUV’s windshield kept her from confirming it was Sheehan. If he pulled up next to her and it was him, she’d look him right in the eye. Bullies tended to back down when someone stood up to them. Or if she called the MPs—and she sure as hell would report him again if he kept up this stalking bullshit.
Instead of riding her tail, though, the vehicle hung back. Why? If he was trying to follow her home, she’d make it easy for him—kind of.
Instead of going to the complex where she had the appointment tonight, she continued to the one she’d seen last night. She had no intention of living there.
If he had followed her last night, she might have missed the SUV in her rush to get here after work, but tonight when she parked at the building next to the sales office, she watched the SUV cruise in and park two buildings away.
Here goes nothing.
Getting out of her car, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and strode to the stand of mailboxes like she did this every day. While pretending to check for mail, she kept an eye on the SUV. No one got out, and she still couldn’t see the damn driver.
Did she dare walk by the building where he was parked? Probably best to act as though she wasn’t aware she’d been followed.
She crossed the blacktop to the building and climbed to the second-floor landing where she made the turn, so she’d be visible if he was watching. After a few moments, she hugged the banister and snuck down to the ground floor. She ducked out the back, using the courtyard walkway connecting the buildings, then eased toward the entrance. She peeked at the parking lot in time to see the SUV leaving.
Ah, ha! He had followed her. It had to be Sheehan. She fumbled for her phone to get a picture, but she was too late.
She blew out a deep breath, and just in case, waited another minute before returning to her car. She kept an eye out on the short trip to the other apartment complex. If her plan worked, now he would think she lived here. Good luck with that.
Fifteen
Saturday night, the headlights of a passing car shone through the Lundgrens’ front door sidelights, catching Kristie’s attention because of its snail’s pace. Muffy, their gray tabby, slept stretched out on the floor. Too bad that Ray and Stephanie didn’t have a dog. It was her second night alone with the Lundgrens away at the beach, and she didn’t need to get paranoid already.
She hesitated, then laid her book on the couch and crossed to the foyer to peek out. It wasn’t Sheehan’s truck, but a dark SUV idled across the street. Was it the same one that had followed her three days ago? The headlights were off now, but in the faint glow from the dashboard lights, she could make out a person in the driver’s seat. Seconds ticked by with no one getting out.
Staying far enough back so her silhouette wouldn’t show, she edged closer to the window.
Could it be Sheehan? Mack’s truck was in his driveway. If she had his number, she’d recruit him to check it out. Calling the police would be overkill. It might be someone who pulled over to text. Right, safety first.
She waited. The car didn’t move. Finally, she grabbed her phone and her pistol. After she tucked the weapon into the waistband of her shorts, she slipped out the kitchen door on the side of the house. As a precaution, she snuck through the neighbor’s backyard.
The SUV hadn’t left when she edged around the side of the house. Confronting whoever was in the car on her own, especially at night, wouldn’t be smart, but if she could get closer, she’d snap a picture of the license plate. Ray would have access to someone who could find out who the vehicle belonged to. If she had evidence, she could do something. And in case they saw her and tried something, she was armed.
She activated the camera on her phone and turned off the flash before making her way to the front of the neighbor’s house. If the neighbors saw her and came out, she’d be okay with that.
Even at maximum zoom, she couldn’t capture the numbers on the plate in the dark. She had to get closer. If she had a dog to walk, that would make pulling this off a lot easier.
Kristie stood on the sidewalk about to take a picture when the SUV’s passenger door opened. She snapped the picture as quickly as possible, then reached for her weapon, keeping it at her side. Her breath rushed out when Mack climbed out. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t look her way.
He said something to the driver, then closed the door. He started to turn, caught sight of her, and did a doubletake.
“You looking for me?” His voice had a teasing lilt.
“No, I’m just, uh …”
Mack kept approaching, giving her some time to come up with a story. Why couldn’t Muffy be a Labrador or a mutt? She slid her hand behind her and tucked the pistol back into her waistband.
“Just, uh, what?” he pressed, stopping short of invading her personal space. His eyes crinkled in suspicion, then cut to her hand as she brought it to her side.
“I saw a suspicious vehicle idling outside. I thought I’d get the tag number in case …”
“That was Tony. We went to dinner. You got a case of PDTS?”
“No, I don’t have P-T-S-D!” she corrected him.
“Not PTSD. PDTS—post-deployment traffic syndrome—where you evaluate every vehicle to determine if it’s a potential threat.”
“I can do my job without it causing problems.”
“Then what’s got you so spooked that you came out packing?”
Shit. He’d seen her weapon. She huffed. “Someone followed me last week.”
“What do you mean, ‘followed you?’”
“The first time—”
“Wait, wait. First time?” Mack stood straighter, his eyes wide and wary. “Let’s go inside to discuss this.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m handling it.”
“Handling it by checking out cars with a weapon in hand? Inside,” he ordered.
“But—”
“My place or yours? Never mind.” He angled his body to corral her in the direction of Ray’s house.
“Front door’s locked.” She veered off toward the side of the house.
He stayed right on her heels, already doing surveillance like a bodyguard.
“Coffee?” she offered once they were inside, hoping to gain a few seconds to plan her explanation so he wouldn’t overreact.
“Sure. Give me details,” he ordered while she spooned coffee into the machine’s basket.
“I ran into a guy who has an old beef with me at one of the gas stations on post. He rode my tail then followed me for a few miles. I ditched him in a shopping center, and he left.”
“Good that you know who the guy is, but he did it again?” The concern in Mack’s voice was undeniable.
“The other night, an SUV followed me from the airfield when I went to look at apartments.” She swore silently when water sloshed onto the counter instead of making it into the coffee maker.
“Same guy?”
“I can’t say for sure. It wasn’t Sheehan’s truck, and he didn’t tailgate me like before. He hung back, and I couldn’t see w
ho was driving. I parked and pretended to go inside an apartment building, and the SUV left a minute later. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”
“I don’t like it. I can see him being a dick the first time, but if he made a plan, waited, and stalked you, he could be escalating. What’s this Sheehan’s first name?”
“Bryan. With a y.”
Mack typed the name into his phone. “Is he assigned to an aviation unit?”
“He’s in the maintenance company.”
“What’s your history with him? Ex-boyfriend? Promoted over him? Gave him a bad review?”
“More complicated than that.” Come on, coffee. Based on Mack’s raised eyebrows, she had a feeling they were going to need it.
“My last tour, I asked Sheehan, the senior crew chief in our maintenance shop, to check my aircraft after I detected a vibration. When we took the bird up the next day, I still felt it. We returned to base, and I went to the Maintenance Test Pilot. Horton called Sheehan over and asked him what he found. Sheehan said everything checked out and insinuated that I was being paranoid. The week before, a craft experienced mechanical failure and made a hard landing. Everyone survived, though both pilots suffered spinal injuries, and the crew chiefs were banged up, so I was being cautious.”
“Understandable,” Mack agreed.
“My co-pilot, Kerns, told Horton he felt it, too, so he ordered Sheehan to take another look, then assigned us a new bird. We wrapped up missions that afternoon, and Sheehan came back, said he didn’t find anything, but he tightened some bolts. Horton took it for a test flight, and it was good to go. Sure enough, no vibration.”
“You think he didn’t want to admit missing something?”
“It sure felt that way. He’s also an ass who doesn’t like taking orders from a woman. If Kerns asked the first time, he probably would have been taken seriously. I didn’t raise a stink, but then one of the maintenance guys, this kid Pawley who I like, told Horton he’d seen Sheehan replace a part in my tail rotor.”
“What a prick. They bust him?”
“He said it wasn’t related, just doing preventative maintenance while the bird was there. The part was gone, so no solid evidence, but Horton didn’t buy it. Wasn’t the first, nor second complaint about Sheehan’s work—or lack of—and Horton did reprimand him. Somehow Sheehan blamed me. Started talking smack about me to the men reporting to him that there was nothing wrong and that I’m making up shit about him not doing his job because I’m afraid to fly after Mears and Boushey’s crash.”
“Even though you’d gotten another craft and gone out?”
“Exactly. And flew every mission assigned to me after their crash. I have to look after the safety of my entire crew, and when Sheehan wouldn’t knock it off, I had to bring him up for insubordination. Coupled with the other complaints already on his record, he got an Article 15, which kind of sent him over the edge. I went directly to Horton for any maintenance needs and steered clear of Sheehan.”
Sheehan kept his mouth shut, but either treated her as invisible or shot her death glares if he could get away with it. Hardly a fun working relationship. “He was such an ass that he had no friends in the unit. Apparently, he read the writing on the wall because he requested a transfer before Colonel Muñoz found a way to force him out.”
“And ended up here. Lucky you.”
“I was hoping to never deal with him again, but aviation is a small community.” Very small, and despite the fifteen-percent chance of being at the same base, the chance of crossing paths was way too high.
Mack sipped his coffee and stared at her over the rim. “Have you told Ray about being followed?”
“Not yet.” She’d put that off, thinking she’d handled Sheehan after he followed her to the apartment complex. “I’ll tell them, and if I can’t find and get in an apartment before they get back from the beach, I’ll get a hotel.”
“That’s not why I asked. Here, you’ve got Ray, there’s a security system, and I’m right across the street. You’re safer here than in an apartment or hotel.”
“But I can’t take the chance of putting Stephanie or Alexis in danger if Sheehan becomes unhinged.”
“It’s not like this is some Colombian drug lord after you. You can tell them when they get back, and let them make the call. You know we’re the Bad Karma team. Dishing out karma to evil-doers everywhere.”
“You can’t go vigilante on him.” That sounded exactly like what Eric would suggest if he were here. “A strong warning would be okay, though,” she relented.
Mack’s sexy, throaty chuckle melted the tension that had made her arms rigid.
“I can’t let you get in trouble because of me,” she warned.
“No worries. We know where to draw the line. And how to cover up things.” He didn’t quite hide his grin behind his coffee mug. “Do you change up your route regularly?”
“Yes. And after he followed me the first time, I haven’t come straight here. I’ve been changing routes, stops, and times.”
“Good. It’s not likely he followed you then, but I’ll check your car for tracking devices in the daylight. Tonight, either you stay at my place, or I’ll stay here with you.”
“You don’t need to do that. I can set the alarm, and I have my weapon,” she protested.
“I don’t have to, but otherwise, I’m going to make perimeter checks every half hour and sit across the street watching the house all night. I’ll get a better night’s sleep if we’re under the same roof where I can react quickly to any threats. So, which is it? You can take one of my girls’ bedrooms, or I can sleep here on the couch.”
Her fingertips drummed on the tabletop. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. I can change the sheets—”
“I’m not sleeping in the chief’s bed. Or his daughter’s. The couch is fine. Trust me, beats a lot of places I’ve slept. All I need is a pillow.”
He maintained eye contact as if hoping she’d offer another alternative. The refrigerator hummed and hummed.
“I’ll get you a pillow,” Kristie caved, pushing up from the chair.
“I’ll get one. I’m gonna grab a few things from my house. Be right back.”
While Mack was across the street, she put her weapon away. Was this a good idea? The two of them spending the night under the same roof? It was early. If she begged off to go to bed now, he’d know she was avoiding him. It’d be rude.
Being together like this wasn’t fraternization—technically.
They should make the most of it. As friends. Nothing more than Mack making sure she was safe from the likes of Sheehan.
She turned on the living room TV and searched the channel guide. Good old TV Land came through.
When she let Mack in a few minutes later, he broke into a smile when he saw M*A*S*H on the screen. He set his bag on the floor and his pillow on the couch. “You going to watch with me?”
“If you promise not to call me Hot Lips.”
“Yeah. You’re not her biggest fan, are ya?”
He remembered. That little fact sent a buzz through her body. A hot, sensual buzz that made her tingle in all the right places. No. Wrong places. The wrong places. She swallowed down the desire welling up. “You want a beer?”
“Sure. Got any peanuts or pretzels?”
“I’ll check.” And take a minute to get it together. At least the upside was she wasn’t worried about Sheehan anymore.
It was hard to think about Sheehan with Mack sitting beside her, though he wasn’t making it easy to keep her thoughts on the show and off him—by being Mack. Funny, charming, easy to be with.
“Eck,” he grumbled and picked up the remote, muting the volume when a different show started after the second episode of M*A*S*H. “Sorry. Can’t stand that show.”
“Me, either. You can turn it off. I should let you sleep.” She got to her feet and carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen. He followed with his empty beer bottle.
Mack checked the doors before he turned off the lig
hts throughout the house. She thought he was being overprotective, but he had a point. Pawley and Horton told her how pissed Sheehan had been that she went to the colonel about his insubordination. She’d first envisioned Sheehan doing some property damage, but would he do something stupid? Try to hurt her?
She didn’t lock the bedroom door. Mack was here to protect her. A simple lock wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted in. She had to keep trusting him.
And try to keep things professional. Even though it’d been so damned hard sitting next to him watching TV. It felt good. Comfortable. The way she hadn’t been comfortable with a man since Eric. She hadn’t wanted to tell Mack, or anyone, about being followed and risk looking weak, but he hadn’t belittled her at all.
She settled into bed, hyperaware Mack was right down the hall. Sleeping on the couch. A couch. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Were the same thoughts running through his head?
Stupid Army regulations. They weren’t in the same unit, and never would be. She’d never have to give him orders. Though she could think of a few she wouldn’t mind giving him.
Sixteen
Kristie appeared while Mack knocked out his push-ups in the living room. “Morning,” he said, pumping out another. He stopped and got to his feet. “I made coffee.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re up earlier than I thought, with you being an aviator.”
“Really? You’re going to rag on aviators even after I pulled you out of the jungle?” Kristie grinned but shifted to neutral when her gaze briefly dropped to his bare torso.
“All right. I take it back.” He picked up his shirt and pulled it on. “Didn’t want to leave for a run and make you think I’d abandoned my post.”
“I don’t see that happening. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” He hadn’t wanted to make noise and wake her.