Page 72 of Breaking Matt
I watched my car pull out of its parking space.
It was happening. The nervousness I had felt earlier had worsened and I felt nauseous. I breathed in and held the breath for a moment, trying to calm myself. He put his phone back into the inside pocket of his jacket while his eyes followed my car out of the exit.
"How long do we wait?" I whispered.
"A few minutes."
He gave me a sideways glance as I clasped my hands in my lap, trying to fight the urge to freak out. He put his sunglasses on.
"Trust me. I'll get you home safe." His voice pulled my attention back to him. "The windows are bulletproof."
I nodded, not wanting him to hear how nervous I was feeling. Inside it felt like there was a hurricane messing with my emotions, leaving nothing remaining where there had once been stability. I was feeling frazzled and unhooked. Even the added information that the windows were bulletproof did nothing to calm my emotions. It felt like every second we waited was dragging on, and minutes felt like hours.
Finally, Mark started up the car and backed out of the parking spot. My hands gripped my seatbelt like an anchor as we slowly made our way to the exit.
The sun blinded me for a moment, so I put my hand up to shield my eyes. I slid my sunglasses down from my forehead and over my eyes to block the bright light.
Mark did a scan of the surrounding vicinity before he turned left into the street. I fisted my hands, feeling my nails dig into my skin as I tried to remain calm. Allowing myself to freak out would only make things worse. Later, when I was safe back home, I could fall apart and allow myself to deal with the negative feelings that were spinning me out of control.
I looked back momentarily to see a car pull out from the parking lot in my building to follow behind us. They were driving the same kind of black SUV with darkened windows. I couldn't see their faces.
"Are those your guys?" I asked Mark before swallowing to ease the dryness in my throat.
"Yes."
I looked back to the front and tried to manage my breathing.
Everything will be fine,I told myself. I hated feeling weak and emotional. It was all I had seemed to feel since my life had changed when Courtney had been taken. I bit my nail.
"That's a bad habit," Mark murmured beside me. He hadn't even looked in my direction.
"I can't help it." Admitting I wasn't in complete control was difficult. "I do it when I'm stressed."
When I'd been younger my mother had tried everything to stop the habit—even making me wear nail polish that tasted terrible—but none of it had worked. I had eventually grown out of it when I had made a point of looking after my nails. But every now and then I would fall back into it. It gave me a comfort I couldn't explain.
He remained quiet as he continued to drive. It wasn't a long drive to my parents' house, but because I was on edge, it felt like it took forever.
I checked my watch. We'd been on the road for fifteen minutes.
Each time we stopped at a traffic light I could see Mark watching the surrounding cars, trying to determine if they were a threat or not.
Despite all the precautions he'd taken—the diversion, the car with the bulletproof glass and the additional bodyguards following us—I didn't feel any safer. And no matter how much he assured me that nothing would harm me, I couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that something bad was going to happen. My instinct told me it had been a mistake to leave the safety of the apartment. I gripped the seats and could only hope I was wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The urgeto hyperventilate was difficult to fight but somehow I continued to breathe without going into a full-blown panic.
Every now and then I would look at Mark. He was calm and drove with precision. I tried to reassure myself that if there were a problem he wouldn't look as in control as he did. I was trying every excuse I could find to talk myself out of my growing fear.
I held on to my seatbelt as I turned back to see if there was anything that looked out of place. It wasn't like I would even notice if we were being followed by someone we shouldn't, but it was a way of keeping myself busy and it felt like I was helping.
As we left the busy city road, Mark picked up the speed but remained just below the speed limit. It was only when I saw him look at the rearview mirror twice in the span of a few seconds that I felt a feeling of foreboding return.
Something was wrong.
"We're being followed," Mark said, answering my unasked question.
Oh, my God!
