Page 10 of Gator's Gambit
The silence that meets my words is telling. “I’m so sorry, Godric. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not like some kind of state secret.” Yet it still takes a moment for him to continue. “We were out on a mission that went bad real quick. Got ambushed. During an explosion, I took shrapnel to the shoulder, sustained some damage.”
The short, choppy sentences tell me I’m treading on sensitive ground so, as much as I’d like to ask more questions, I decide to leave well enough alone. I wrack my brain for something else to talk about, but when I turn to speak, I notice him frowning at the rearview mirror.
“Something wrong?” I ask instead.
He opens his mouth to answer, then shakes his head. “No.”
I turn to see what could possibly have him frowning like that. For a split second I think I see a familiar vehicle and my blood runs cold, but when I take a closer look, I don’t see it anymore.
My heart pounds in my ears, and I feel the anxiety ratchet up. I’m unaware that I’m rubbing my hands up and down my thighs until Godric places one of his over mine. “You okay?”
The concern in his voice has a lump forming in my throat. No, I’m most certainly not all right. In fact, things are so not okay that I’m convinced I’m losing my mind. I stare out the window, willing myself to calm down.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, hoping to bluff my way out of an awkward conversation I don’t want to have. Much like Godric about his shoulder.
“The thigh rubbing – it’s one of your tells when something’s got you out of sorts. That and the lip-chewing thing you do.” Who knew the man paid such attention to detail?
I don’t know how to answer him without opening myself up to the conversation I’m avoiding, so I simply reiterate, “I’m fine. Honestly.”
For a brief moment, I can feel his eyes on me like a laser beam, but thankfully he doesn’t pursue the matter. We arrive in New Bern just minutes later, and he heads straight for Walmart. As luck would have it, there’s a parking spot five bays from the front door, and Godric zips into the space with a grin.
“Sit tight,” he says before hopping out of the car. I watch him jog around the front and come around to open my door. The man moves with such grace and purpose, it’s a pleasure to watch him.
Then again, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m enthralled with all that is Godric Soren.
“Thanks,” I say as he helps me out. I take a quick look around the lot and go stiff as a board as once again I’m sure I see afamiliar vehicle. I’m not sure if Godric notices, but I thank my lucky stars when he doesn’t say anything.
We’re in and out of the store in no time at all, quickly finding all the things his mom wants. Before I know it, we’re back at the car. Like the gentleman he is, Godric opens my door, and my blood runs cold as I spot a tarot card lying on my seat. The death card.
I know it’s meant to symbolize metaphorical death – of a cycle or era, new beginnings, change. But I also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it’s meant to symbolize physical death in this instance. He promised he’d come for me, and now it seems he has.
I reach in to pick it up, hoping Godric hasn’t spotted it. That hope is dashed when he wraps a gentle but firm hand around my wrist. “Don’t touch it.”
I nod, but don’t say anything. I’m not sure I could get a word out anyway. It’s like my throat is sealed shut – no words can get out, no air can get in. I can’t seem to draw a deep breath, and my heart is pounding harder than earlier when I thought I saw Evan.
Bizarrely enough, as freaked out as I am, this little rectangle of card is tangible proof that I’m not going out of my mind. It doesn’t make me feel any more secure, because its existence proves that someoneis, in fact, stalking me. But it, at least, alleviates my fear that I’m going insane.
Evan Alexander promised me he’d ruin my life before he killed me, and it seems he’s a man of his word. The man is certifiable, and no amount of reasoning with him will deter him. I’m terrified of what he has planned for me but feel helpless to stop him.
4
GATOR
The first emotion that hits me is anger. Who the fuck broke into the vehicle?
The next one is, why? And who were they targeting? I’m guessing it has something to do with the vehicle I saw tailing us on our way to New Bern earlier. Pity I couldn’t get a good look at the driver since the windows were tinted, making it difficult to see inside.
Closing the door and relocking Em’s car – not that it means anything since someone’s already broken in – I take Fancy’s hand and head back into Walmart to buy some resealable bags. Not sure if there are any prints to be lifted off the card, but it doesn’t hurt to err on the side of caution.
Ashen, her hand shaking in mine, Fancy walks woodenly beside me. Everything in me yearns to pull her into my arms and offer her comfort. And the strength of that yearning has me backpedaling. I leave in a couple weeks to head back to base. We live in different cities. More importantly, I don’t even have a clue how Fancy feels.
Putting myself out there, only to get shot down, does not appeal to me in any shape, size, or form. Add to that the fact that I have no idea how either of our families will react – especiallyEm since they’ve been best friends since they were babies — and you have a recipe for disaster. But the look in her eyes has every protective instinct baying for blood and my arms aching to wrap around her and hold her close.
Back at the car, I walk around the entire thing, carefully checking. As suspected, there don’t appear to be any fingerprints around the lock or the edges of the door. Clearly whoever is doing this has some self-preservation and/or street smarts.
Wondering if the tarot card is the only “gift” they left, I go around a second time. I crouch down and feel my way along the undercarriage, as far as I’m able to. A new spurt of anger has adrenaline flooding my system as my fingers encounter a small lump hidden in the inner curve of the back bumper. Not visible to the cursory glance, easily overlooked due to its size, and wholly invasive.
