Page 15 of Falling for Carla

He took off and in a few minutes, we were all ready to go. I had noticed Carla and her friends left a minute or two before us, and I hadn’t seen a sign of the guy who’d been watching her for at least an hour. So either he was long gone, or he was waiting to make his next move. The cop instinct I still carried told me to be on the lookout in case it was option two.

We parted ways at the door. I headed to my car, keys ready and head on a swivel. The habits and instincts didn’t just fade away when I retired from the police force and started my academic career. I caught sight of Carla and her friends just down the block. I kept an eye on her and saw, to my surprise, that she broke from her group and waved them off. Carla went back toward the bar. Something felt off to me. On instinct, I turned around and went in that direction myself.

CHAPTER 12

CARLA

I was almost to Brenda’s car with the girls when I realized I’d left my phone on the table at the bar. I told them to go on. I’d call a ride share. Brenda tried to argue that she’d walk back with me, but I knew damn well that her wedge sandals were killing her and she’d never survive the walk to the bar and back to her car. I told her that as an independent woman and a future cop, I was capable of getting my phone, calling a car and getting home on my own. Finally, I convinced her to go on without me.

I was grateful to find my phone still on the table. I texted Brenda to let her know I had my phone back, and I was going to get a Lyft home. Once I was out on the sidewalk, breathing in the fresh night breeze after being back in the stuffy, crowded bar, I tapped the icon for the ride share app to order a car.

Before I could enter my location, a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm jerked me back by the waist. I grappled toward the corner of the building with my hand, scraping my fingers on the brick as I was hauled back. I kicked out, but I was being dragged backward into an alley. I made myself breathe through my nose and stay calm, focus on escape not on screaming or trying to wrestle away from someone bigger than me.

When he stopped dragging me backward, slammed my heel into his instep as hard as I could. His grip on me loosened enough that I dropped and slid out of his grasp. Swinging around, I delivered a sharp kick to the balls. He made a noise and fell to the ground gripping his nuts and muttering.

I stooped to pick up my phone and never took my eyes off him. He was still clutching his balls and cussing, so I took a good look at him. It was the guy from the bar, the one who had watched me and creeped me out.

“Fuckin’ bitch, you’re gonna pay for that,” he growled.

Before I could make a smart-ass remark, I took a step back away from him. I collided with someone who was right behind me. Fuck. He had an accomplice, some other asshole who was going to hold me down for him or something. I thumbed the emergency code on my phone from memory to summon 911 and stepped to the side. The guy didn’t make a move to put his hands on me at all, and I looked back to see if I could get around him.

It wasn’t an accomplice. It was Drake Sheffield, standing there behind my shoulder, stony gaze fixed on my assailant. I heard and recognized the sound of a sidearm being un-holstered—it was practically the soundtrack of my childhood. The creep on the ground scrambled to his feet and took off down the alley away from us.

Shaking, I whipped my head around to gape at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I like to hang out in alleys and pretend I’m in Die Hard,” he said.

“Are you…being a smartass right now?” I asked.

“Yes. I was at the bar with some friends tonight and I noticed that guy watching your table. When we left, I was headed to my car and saw you go back to the bar by yourself. It’s second nature, as an ex-cop, to be alert to potential threats, to notice things that seem a little off, like a woman breaking off from her group and walking alone at night. It wasn’t personal.”

“I didn’t think you were a stalker, Professor,” I said wryly. “I’m glad you showed up. Also 911 is calling my phone back. I have to take this.”

I accepted the call and told them who I was and where I was and that I was safe now. They already had an officer on the way, and I was instructed to stay there and give a statement. I felt so tired all of a sudden. I wanted to sag against the brick wall. Instead, I strode purposefully back to the sidewalk and stood in front of the bar waiting for the police. Drake came with me.

“So, you carry concealed?”

“I have a permit.”

“I didn’t think an ex-cop and criminal justice professor was packing an illegal piece,” I said.

“Good,” he replied, and just crossed his arms and stood there waiting with me. It wasn’t long before a squad car arrived, and an officer got out. In a few short minutes I recounted what happened and gave a general description of the man. Then I turned to my professor.

“Is there anything you noticed about him?” I asked, then turned to the cop. “He came up and basically chased the guy off.”

“Drake Sheffield,” he said, extending his hand. “Retired LAPD. All I would add to her description is that he was more like 220 than 200 pounds, left-handed and had a tattoo on the back of his neck. I only saw part of it, but it looked like wings or a bird of some kind in green or black. I only heard him speak once but his vowels were flat. Not a local. East Coast maybe, or upper Midwest.”

“Damn,” I said, impressed.

“You were a detective, right?” the officer asked, and got a nod in response.

“Thanks for the details. If you remember anything else, call this number, ma’am,” he said, and left me with a card.

“So did you know the guy from the bar?” he asked me.

“No. But he didn’t seem like a regular creeper, the kind that’s pushy and then gets pissed when you say no. There was something off about him.”

“Apart from the fact that he was clearly a predator?” he remarked.

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