Page 8 of My Super Sexy Spy
The Next Day
Beth
I was walkinghome with a little extra bounce in my step. I’d done it. I’d gone to see a travel agent and I’d booked a two-week trip abroad. Three cities I hadn’t yet written about—Venice, Florence and Rome—and, finally, Paris, which I felt I knew already, but was going to now actually experience.
With the expense money, the advance money on the book, and my normal savings I’d done it all first class. Flights, hotels. Nothing but the best. I mean, if I was going to attempt to break free out of the shell I’d formed around myself, why not do it in style?
Turning a corner, I caught someone in my periphery vision. Six-feet, dark hair, black suit with a tie. Sunglasses. I’d seen him when I was coming out of the travel agency, too. Now, two blocks farther away and one block over, and he was still walking in my general direction.
On the opposite side of the road, but still it felt too close. For the past few weeks I’d had that vague feeling of being watched. A feeling I’d told myself was based on my general paranoia. Now, I wasn’t sure.
I kept my pace steady and, once I turned so I was out of his view, I stepped into the first store available. A small convenience mart that had a cashier and mounted camera behind the register in case of a robbery.
If I was right and the guy across the street was following me, he would walk right by without realizing he’d passed me. I reached inside the satchel across my chest and wrapped my hand around the can of mace I always carried with me.
The mace was the second thing I’d bought after my MacBook, and the moment I’d gripped it, I’d known a sense of security that had eluded me in the time I’d spent homeless.
I watched as the suit blew by the store, and I could see by the kick in his step that he was startled to see I wasn’t ahead of him on the street.
Pushing open the door, I pulled the mace out of my bag and came up behind him. This dude was following me, and I needed to know why. I was mostly a recluse these past few years, according to Jared. There was no reason anyone had to tail me, and nothing from my past should have found me after all this time.
“Hey, asshole,” I called out as I came up behind him. “Anyone tell you stalking is a crime? Tell me right now why I shouldn’t call the fucking cops on you.”
I was not going to call the cops. As far as I was concerned, they were still the enemy. But if I could scare this guy into thinking I would, then maybe that would be enough to shake him loose.
He stopped walking once he realized I was behind him. He turned slowly with his hands lifted and spotted the can of mace held out toward him.
“Beth, just wait a second,” he said slowly.
That only got me angrier. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
“Listen to me. I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket and pull out ID. Okay? I’m a law enforcement officer, and I was only following you because I wanted to talk to you.”
I lifted my chin in consent. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in the suit pocket, then pulled out a badge with an ID next to it.
FBI.
What. The. Fuck?
“I was following you to get a sense of your habits before I approached you. Nothing creepy, I swear.”
“What does the FBI want with me?” I’d been a nickel-and-dime crook years ago. Surely they were not coming after me for anything I’d done to survive so many years later.
“We just want to talk to you. Do you have some time now? We could go back to your place—”
“No way,” I cut him off. “Not unless you have a warrant.”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. How about a cup of coffee?” He’d put his badge away and gestured toward the end of the street where there was a Starbucks on the corner.
Curious, despite myself, I nodded. Putting my mace away, I followed him and took a table in the corner while he bought us two black coffees.
When he sat down, I took note of his appearance. Military style cut hair, sharp jaw line, clearly fit without being bulky. He was handsome in the traditional sense and yet I was totally unaffected by him. The badge put him solidly in the not-my-type camp.
“Talk. I’m listening,” I said, sipping my coffee even as I kept my eyes on him.
“The truth is, you’ve been under surveillance for the past few weeks, Beth.”
I knew it. My street sense for trouble was still apparently in working condition after being dormant for a few years.
