The Shadow: Someone is Watching (Rahab's Rope Series Book 1)

by Kimberly Rae

  Steve shook his head. “I don’t trust you to leave this building.”

  “I want to find out who is doing this as much as you do,” Meagan said. “It’s my reputation and testimony on the line. Here.” She dug around in her purse and took out a camera. “This camera has all my pictures from my trip to India. These photos are priceless to me.” She set the camera on his desk. “I’ll leave it here with the promise to be back tomorrow at whatever time you choose.”

  “Nine a.m. And I’ll need your phone, too.” Steve held out his hand. “Wouldn’t want your liaison with all those Indian rupees to mysteriously never show up.”

  She shook her head. “I need my phone.”

  “You wouldn’t if you were in jail.”

  Biting her bottom lip, she fumbled in her purse and brought out a Smartphone in a custom-made case covered with photos of Indian children. “I’ll be here in the morning. But for now I have to go. Okay?”

  Cole picked up her scarf and held it out to her. “I’ll drive you back.”

  “I’ll walk.” She reached for the scarf and followed her curt words with a hint of a smile, like she was throwing him a crumb.

  He took it. “Then I’ll walk you back.”

  She did a one-shoulder shrug. “If you want, but there’s no need. I have mace, remember?”

  He grinned. “I remember. It’s pink with stripes.”

  “Well, the container is anyway.” Her scarf was around her neck and she positioned the hat onto her head again. He noticed she looked into the glass partition between the office and the hallway and made sure her bangs were down over her forehead, though it did not fully cover the fading purple mark underneath.

  “Did you hit your head when you ran off the road last week?” he asked.

  Her gaze left the glass and shot to him. “How do you know about that?”

  “Way to go, Cole,” Steve leaned back in his desk chair and clasped his hands behind his head. It was the first time he had smiled all day. “You’re a real smooth one.”

  She looked at him like an animal did a newly discovered predator. Cole wanted to kick himself.

  12

  Thursday, January 1

  5:00 p.m.

  Meagan pressed her bangs down and grimaced. The bruise was still tender. “How do you know I ran off the road that day?” She hadn’t wanted to walk with Cole Fleming back to her car, still parked near the store, but having this conversation in the office with Steve’s added comments would be worse.

  “I’m sorry. I know that sounds creepy,” he said.

  “Sounds creepy? It is creepy. Were you following me?”

  “Not for any weird reason.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The wind picked up her scarf and she barely caught it before it blew away. He wasn’t wearing anything over his suit coat, and it had to be less than forty degrees.

  She refused to feel sympathetic toward him. “So you have a non-weird reason for following me? Did the FBI ask you to?”

  “No.” He looked even more chagrined. “Steve asked me to find you and bring you in for questioning, but I did the background check on my own.” His shoulders went up, then down. “I found out where you live, a few other things about you, and...man, this does sound creepy.”

  She picked up her pace. “You’re telling me.” They had reached the parking spaces across from the store. Meagan grabbed her keys. “I don’t want to know anymore. I’m going home.” She got inside and peered up at him through the open door. “You aren’t going to follow me, are you?”

  “Look, I’m not the kind of guy who follows women around.” He put his hand on the top of her car and leaned toward her. “Usually.”

  “Oh, so I’m just an exception?”

  “Exactly.”

  She shook her head. He acted like what he said made sense. She shut the door and turned the key. The car gave a gurgle and a cough, then died. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Cole was still there. “Try it again,” he said through the window.

  She did. Same result. She let her head fall back against the headrest. “I don’t believe this whole day.”

  He motioned for her to come out. She opened the car door. “Don’t tell me you’re a mechanic when you’re not working for the FBI.”

  “I’m not,” he said, smiling. “But I have owned a few old cars, and one of mine had trouble with the starter. It made that same sound, just like yours did.”

  “Were you able to fix it?” She didn’t have money for expensive repairs. Everything had gone into her trip. No matter how much she planned not to, she never could keep from leaving all the money in her possession with the workers in India. They had so many children to feed. Their work was much more important than her getting a new outfit, or splurging on those winter boots she wanted. Then again, car repairs didn’t fit under the unnecessary-luxury-item category.

  “Yeah. A friend taught me how to hit the starter with a hammer whenever it died like this.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “No. It worked every time. Do you have a hammer in the store? I’d get mine out of my car but it’s parked a few blocks away.”

  She looked him over, from his large dress shoes up to his ears, red from the cold. Was he crazy? “You want me to go get you a hammer?”

  He nodded. “And a screwdriver, in case your starter is hard to reach.” He leaned down by her feet and found the lever to pop the hood. Once it was open, he rummaged around in the engine as if the car was his.

  In no position to refuse free repairs, however unconventional, she tucked her keys into the pocket of her khaki pants and made her way across the two lanes to the store. She had to unlock the door; everyone had gone home for the day. Without the lights on, the store took on a haunted look. Or maybe she was just jittery. She wished she could tell her grandmother about the mess she was in and get her wisdom and insight. But Nana was in heaven. Meagan’s days of asking her advice were over.

  Crossing the store, using the fading light from outside rather than turning on the overhead lights, she made her way around jewelry displays and baskets of decorative carvings to the register. Brianna had put up new wall hangings recently, so she might have left the hammer in one of the cubbies under the register. Now where she’d find a screwdriver was a mystery.

  Once around the counter holding the register, she put a hand on the wooden surface for balance and squatted to look in the cubbies. Down there, everything was dark. She should carry around a flashlight along with her mace. Not that it would help; she’d left her purse in the car, in plain sight of a man who admitted he’d followed her the other day but still hadn’t explained why.

  She imagined all sorts of spiders or bugs or even furry rodents as she reached into each of the small squares and felt around. She pulled out one pad of sticky notes, several pencils, tags for pricing items, and finally, a hammer.

  “Good enough,” she said and rose. He’d have to do without a screwdriver. She wasn’t going in the back room to get one. Even turning the lights on would not curb her apprehension, and she needed to get back to her car and get her purse.

  When she stood, the move of her hand brushed a paper off the counter. The yellow sheet floated to land a foot away where some of the outside light shined. She leaned down, picked it up, and glanced at it as she set it back on the counter.

  The sticky note on top of the sheet was in Brianna’s handwriting. Meagan would recognize it anywhere; they used the adhesive notes to leave messages for each other multiple times throughout the work day. She read it aloud. “Meagan, a guy came in and left this for you. I wasn’t here and didn’t see him. Are you dating somebody?” The last question had six question marks on it. Leave it to Brianna to be trying to set her up again. With the way Meagan’s day had gone so far, it was probably the CIA.

  She removed the sticky note and skimmed the words on the paper. Dear Meagan, I’m glad the bruise on your head is healing. I was worried about you. You are a good person and VERY beautiful. I love to watch
you. Soon I will tell you in person.

  Meagan’s heart pounded. Who had left this? Her gaze darted around the room, now seeing shapes in every shadow. Was someone in there, watching her? She crushed the paper in her right hand and, too fearful to worry about looking foolish, rushed to the door. She threw the paper in the wrought-iron wastebasket on her way by, but then stopped and went back to retrieve it. Kelsey might recognize the handwriting.

  Meagan locked the door and as she made her way across the street, she could not help but wonder about the man who stood in front of her car, wiping a dipstick with a napkin he must have gotten from her glove compartment.

  He couldn’t have left the note. He was with her all afternoon.

  But what if he sent someone to drop it off? Or what if he left it there before he sat in the square to wait for her? She hadn’t gone back into the store after that. The note could have been there all afternoon.

  It didn’t seem like the kind of wording she would expect from him, but what did she know about Cole Fleming really? Nothing except that he didn’t work for the FBI, he admitted he’d followed her, and he was too good-looking. He was nice, nicer than Steve Campbell at least, but nice did not always mean trustworthy.

  “Lord, I’m getting kind of scared.” It was a meager prayer, but all she had time for before Cole saw her approach. He held out his hand and moved toward her. Was he going to grab her? Had he tampered with her car and that was the real reason it wouldn’t start? Was he going to use it as an excuse to offer her a ride home, and then...and then what?

  “The hammer?” he said, his hand still out.

  She looked down, surprised to see the large tool gripped in her left hand. “Oh! Sorry.” She handed it over, careful to maintain a safe distance as she did so. He gave her an odd look but then put his attention back under the hood.

  “Did you find a screwdriver?”

  She looked back at the store. Whoever wrote the note had been in there, inside her store. “No. I didn’t.”

  “Hmm.” He moved to consider various parts of the engine. “It’s possible...”

  She found herself drawing closer. If she got a good look at the engine, she might be able to tell if someone had messed with it.

  “Here we go,” Cole said. He leaned down and worked the hammer in between parts she could not name but were probably important. He lifted his hand and gave something a loud whack. The metallic sound twanged and reverberated through the air.

  “That made the insides of my ears itch.” She moved her jaw back and forth, then rubbed a finger in each ear.

  He raised his head with a chuckle. “Better plug them, then. I’m going to hit it one more time.”

  After the second hit, he closed the hood. “If that doesn’t do it, you’ll have to call somebody. That’s the extent of my car knowledge, unless you need a battery jumped or a tire changed.”

  She slipped back into the car and tried the key. The little Volkswagen sputtered to life again. “It worked!”

  He wiped his hands on the one dirty napkin, and she lowered her window to offer him a handful. “Thank you.”

  With a smile, he said, “Do you want me to follow you home, to make sure it gets you all the way there?”

  “No!” The note in her pocket crinkled as she put on her seatbelt. She lowered her voice. “No, thank you. I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Okay. But keep that hammer handy. I should show you where to hit it if it acts up again.”

  She had to get away from this guy. “I think I know where the hammer goes. I watched you do it. Thanks.” She shifted gears and rolled her window up, refusing to feel rude for driving off so abruptly. He wasn’t her friend. He was barely an acquaintance. And if he followed her again, she would call the police. She didn’t care if Steve Campbell checked out or not. The police hadn’t checked on Mr. Cole Fleming.

  When she got home, she was going to do some checking herself.

  13

  Thursday, January 1

  5:30 p.m.

  Cole had no intention of following Meagan Winston again. He was in enough trouble with her already. But when she drove around the corner, and a familiar grey Oldsmobile took the same road moments later, Cole’s gut told him something wasn’t right. He’d seen that grey car too many times for it to be coincidence.

  Suspicion growing, he raced to his own black Sedan. By the time he got onto the road, both vehicles were out of sight, but if Cole’s theory was correct, they’d be headed on Meagan’s typical route home. Three minutes later, he spotted the grey car and in front of it, Meagan’s VW bug. Was the grey car following her, or was the person in it connected to Meagan? She said she had to get home for an appointment. People went to appointments at doctor’s offices, or at the dentist, not at home. Was it to meet someone and warn them about the investigation, or to get money, or more drugs?

  He hit the fifth number on his speed dial. “Steve,” he said when Steve’s phone went to voice mail, “there’s a grey Oldsmobile trailing Meagan Winston. I’ve seen it twice before.” He listed the license plate number. “Check it out, would you? If you find the guy’s phone number, you can see if Meagan’s phone has any calls to it.”

  He hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Cole didn’t want to think of Meagan Winston as a drug-dealer, the kind of person who sold to buyers desperate for their next hit, the kind of person who knew they were part of lives being damaged forever, and they did it anyway. Never far away, Sadie’s face came to mind. He had not even recognized her this last time, she was so changed from the girl he’d left behind. He’d thought she would be safe. Never dreamed...

  He should stop thinking about her and focus. And he needed to start looking at Meagan Winston as a real suspect. It didn’t matter that she was likable, smart, and had more than a handful of appealing qualities. Her story didn’t hold water, and the evidence was there.

  This grey car only added to it.

  The Oldsmobile remained far enough behind Meagan to avoid detection, or perhaps far enough behind to make Cole think he wasn’t collaborating with her. Cole slowed to keep a good distance back once the grey car veered off the main road onto a two-lane side road, and he put even more distance between them once they were within a mile of Meagan’s home. Cole had the route memorized from when he’d looked it up online, another skill he’d developed in the service. His sense of direction rarely failed him; if only his discernment about people was as accurate.

  Cole parked at a lone gas station and waited five minutes, then resumed his route. He turned off onto the gravel drive that led to Gerald and Alice Winston’s home, where Meagan had lived since college. He skimmed the bordering woods as he jostled his way toward what a more romantic person might call a cozy cottage, with stone exterior across the front, an arched doorway, and a small stone front porch that extended from the front door to the circular drive. Meagan’s little car was parked in front of a tottering wooden outbuilding that might collapse with a good gust of wind. It looked nearly as old as the house itself, and the whole place gave the impression no one had been in a condition to keep it up for some time. Steve would say it was more evidence. People hooked on drugs cared little for maintaining anything else.

  He slowed to a crawl as he neared the house. Where was the grey Oldsmobile? Cole would have seen if it had returned to the road, for the drive circled around like the path of a boomerang. The grey car would have passed Cole on its way out. He didn’t see any kind of garage. Was it hiding somewhere?

  A quick survey then a deeper one did not reveal the missing car, but as Cole’s gaze passed by the house, he saw a woman looking out through the front bay window. His car was just passing the house at that moment, so there was no way he could avoid being seen. Meagan Winston’s eyes found him and widened. She took a step back and lowered the shade. He stopped the car and considered his options. He could go up to the door and explain about the grey car, watching for clues as to whether she knew the person in it or not. He could just leave and h
ave her think he’d followed her again, but that would make things worse. Then again, if he waited to explain, she might be less angry than she would be if he rang her doorbell right now.

  Stuck in the mire of indecision, Cole jumped when a blue van drove up beside his and then left the gravel drive to park next to Meagan’s VW. Out came a woman in scrubs, snow white hair curled around her head. She carried a medical bag of sorts and walked with confidence up to the front door. Before she could knock, the door opened and Meagan ushered her inside with a hurried, fearful glance his way.

  Meagan’s actions and reactions seemed so innocent, but the facts continued to stack against her. Was this new person Meagan’s appointment? Was she the old lady with white hair Meagan had seen on the video?

  The middle man Steve had arrested told them the drug money was scheduled to be delivered today. DEA personnel were waiting at the drop-off point in downtown Atlanta. If Meagan was handing off money to this lady instead of at the drop-off point, those DEA guys in Atlanta were in for a long, boring stint.

  He heard the sound of gravel shifting behind him and turned. The grey Oldsmobile shot out from the wooded area about a quarter mile down the drive. The car sped in the opposite direction and Cole did not get even catch a fleeting look at its driver. He turned the wheel and raced after the car, keeping up with it for several miles until losing the trail in traffic on the freeway.

  He’d made the wrong choice. He should have stayed and tried to talk to Meagan, or waited to talk with the white-haired lady with the bag. Now with no answers, closer at this point to his apartment than Meagan Winston’s home, he decided to call it a day. Maybe after the weekend he’d have a better idea how to approach this whole thing.

  __________________________

  Thursday, January 1

  6:00 p.m.

  “How did you find my number?”

  Meagan skipped Steve’s question. “He followed me home. I told him if he followed me again, I’d call the police, and he did it anyway.”