Page 31 of Ticket Out

“Hey. You want a lift?” The man inside was in shadow. She just caught a glimpse of a cap pulled down over his forehead.

“No, thanks.” She took a step closer to the bus stop.

“I’ll get you home faster than the bus,” he said. His voice was strangely low, as if he were trying to disguise it.

“She said no, mate.” Tony took a step closer to the van, and with a sudden jerk, it took off.

As the van sped away, the bus rumbled up to the stop.

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate the escort.” Gabriella waited for the bus doors to swing open.

“You going to be all right?”

She gave a nod and a wave and climbed in, digging in her bag for the right change.

She looked out as the bus left the stop, saw Tony was still standing on the pavement, head bent as he drew on his cigarette. He looked in no hurry to go anywhere.

The bus stopped all along Cromwell Road, then turned north west toward Notting Hill, squealing and jerking as it negotiated tight corners and threaded through streets crowded with cars. During one such jerk and squeal, Gabriella glanced back, and thought she saw the white van, following them.

For the first time, her uneasiness bloomed into actual fear.

She was close enough to home she could get off anywhere now, and still make it to her door in ten minutes.

She eyed the other occupants of the bus. There were a few kids upstairs, she could hear them joking and laughing. Downstairs with her there were two men who looked like they were coming off a late shift, a few couples who had probably been to the movies, and a short, round woman in a scarf and a shabby overcoat.

When it looked clear one of the couples, one of the men, and the overcoat lady were all getting off at the next stop, Gabriella joined them, slipping in the middle of the group as they disembarked.

The stop was in darkness—Gabriella could see a broken street light—and when the bus squealed to a stop, it overshot slightly, coming to a halt in front of what looked like a pedestrian path between a house and a park.

Gabriella ducked her head and took the path, tagging along behind the young couple.

The path opened out onto a street she recognized, much to her relief.

She jogged all the way home, looking behind her often.

There was no sign of the van, and when she closed the front door behind her, she leaned back against it, a little out of breath.

“Trouble, Gabby?”

She almost gave a shriek as Solomon emerged from the passage to his uncle’s flat.

She glared at him. “That’s the second time you’ve scared the living daylights out of me.” She straightened up.

“What’s the trouble, pet?” he asked.

She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. “Pet?”

“That’s what the tea lady at work who’s from Newcastle always says,” he said with a grin. “I like it.”

She debated telling him; decided it couldn’t hurt to have his boys keeping a look out.

“I saw a white van in Clematis Lane a while ago, and it might be involved with the killings. I thought one was following me.”

Solomon took her by the shoulders and moved her out of the way, opened the door and stepped out.

She could hear him jog down the short walk to the road.

He came back more slowly. “Nothing out there now.”

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