Page 41 of Capturing You
The driver followed him.
Though Brooklynn needed some supplies, that wasn’t the only reason Forbes was making this trek into town. Usually, he had everything he needed delivered.
The cameras covered every inch of his property, but that view didn’t extend to the road—an oversight he would fix, if he could figure out a way to do so without alerting the very people he needed to watch. He wanted to know if the house was being surveilled, and if so, by whom.
The police car told him the house was definitely being watched, and thanks to the sun beaming through the windows of the car behind him, he had no trouble seeing the driver.
It was Lenny, Brooklynn’s stalker.
Because they didn’t have enough to manage with the smugglers and murderers.
Not that Forbes was one for speeding, but he was very careful to keep his speed below the limit.
He wasn’t surprised when, as he was slowing to stop at the intersection to the state highway, the lights flashed behind him.
Here we go.
Rolling down the window, he pulled over onto the strip of dirt beside the narrow country road. He tapped his phone where he’d set it up earlier, then located his driver’s license and papers.
By the time Lenny the Stalker approached, Forbes had both his hands on the steering wheel. No need to give this guy any excuse to claim he feared a threat.
He watched in the rearview as Lenny peered into the bed, then the backseat of his pickup before he stopped outside Forbes’s window.
“Morning, Officer Taggart.”
“Where you headed?”
“Portland.”
“For?”
Since it was none of Taggart’s business, he didn’t bother answering.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance.”
Forbes handed them over. He’d had his name legally changed years before so nobody could connect him to the mansion or Shadow Cove. “Was I doing something wrong?”
Studying the paperwork, Lenny said, “You crossed the yellow line.”
This country road didn’t have a yellow line.
Forbes didn’t bother to point that out.
They both knew what this was.
“I guess you didn’t find your friend on my property yesterday.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Mind if I have a look in your truck bed?”
“I’ll ask the same question as the one I asked yesterday when you demanded to search the Ballentine Mansion. You have a warrant?”
“Don’t need a warrant if I have probable cause.”
“Which is?”
“I saw movement when I walked up. Seems like maybe someone’s under there.”
Forbes was thankful he hadn’t unloaded the truck after he’d picked up the supplies to replace some second-story flooring, ruined after a roof leak. Not that he’d be installing it—he’d leave that task to a professional.
