Page 11 of Faceless Threat

A sigh. “I would’ve gone with you.” That’s it? No yelling? No scolding? Instead, he sounds disappointed.

Why is that worse than the other reactions I’d expected. “I didn’t know.”

“I did tell you to call me.”

“Not for this,” I point out, only to have that defense immediately shot down.

“Did I not say at any time and for any reason?”

“You did.”

A lecture is not ensuing. Concern, however, is and, just like with the disappointment, I don’t know how to take it. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” I reassure him, seeing as how he truly seems worried about that fact. “Just letting the situation get to me. Seeing things that aren’t there.”

Who am I trying to convince?

“What if they are?” I don’t respond, thinking about that possibility – and not liking it. “There, I mean,” he clarifies, mistaking my silence for not understanding. He does have far more experience with this stuff than I do, which isn’t as reassuring as it should be because now I’m worried about the daily safety of a man I barely know, so I heed that for what it is.

A warning to always be aware, vigilant.

“There’s this car,” I tell him. “I saw it shortly after leaving. I assumed I either lost it or was simply being paranoid when it didn’t pull in behind me at the store.”

“And now?”

“It’s back.”

“Where are you?” I give him the street I’m on, adding a landmark as I pass it. “You aren’t far from me. I’d prefer you come here as opposed to going home. There’s no guarantee it’s actually following you. It could merely be a coincidence.” Or not.

“I have groceries,” I remind him like a dolt. Of course, I do. That was the whole purpose of my trip.

“I needed to hit the store myself,” he jokes, making me feel a bit better about my predicament.

“Glad I could save you the trouble,” I tease, my heartbeat settling enough it now longer feels like a wicked drum solo pounding in my ears.

Usually I enjoy such a thing…but only when it’s coming through my radio or buds.

This is nowhere near as pleasant.

Danny proceeds to give me directions, though I no longer need them as I catch signs indicating the police station is ahead. “I’ll meet you there. I’m still at home.” As if he knows I’m curious, and am finding it hard to not blurt my questions, he explains, “Late night.”

Jealousy rips through me, overshadowing the fear that had started receding, the guilt for worrying him. “I see.” Red. That’s what I see as I imagine what he might’ve been doing. And with whom.

“We don’t have regular hours,” he states. “Leads don’t always come during shifts.” A chuckle. “Since most of them come from people who prefer the night, it’s not uncommon to be woken up in the middle of it to get information I need.” I’m glad it was professionally related instead of personally, but I also feel bad as I realize his brain probably never gets to shut off. His job is twenty-four hours. Even when it does give him a break, I have a feeling he’s still thinking of it in some way.

When the building is in my field of vision, I breathe a little easier. “I’m here.”

“Stay in your car. I’ll look for it. Don’t get out of it for anyone else.”

Yet again, my newfound condition reminds me it’s not that easy.

“Danny?”

“Yeah?” He responds, the noises associated with traffic now coming from his end of the conversation.

“I won’t recognize you.”

**Danny**

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