A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (7 page)

The light changed and the cars inched forward, but the motorcycle stayed with her.
 

She was paranoid. It was just heavy traffic and he didn’t want to be one of those jerks who cut off cars and zipped through the lines of cars.
 

Lindsey reached for the stereo and clicked through the preset radio stations to distract herself. She sang along with Miranda Lambert and tried not to keep her eyes on the view of the helmeted rider behind her. The afternoon sun was behind him, making him only a silhouette. The light turned green again and she crept into the intersection, then put on her blinker and eased into the middle lane.

As soon as she did, the motorcycle followed. A shiver of alarm ran up her spine.
 

“You are being paranoid,” she said out loud.
 

On impulse, she squeezed the small convertible between two cars in the far left lane, then turned left without signaling. She found herself on a side street. Alone.
 

She sped down the empty street. The next major boulevard would take her back toward the Hogans’ house. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she waited for a break in traffic, then turned onto the three-lane one-way street, now heading in the opposite direction she’d been traveling. She glanced up at the street sign, then in her rear-view mirror as she prepared to merge right.

And there he was.
 

The same motorcycle was behind her again.

He stayed on her bumper, changing lanes when she did, and following her down side streets. Her breath came in shallow gulps as she spied the familiar red and black pattern on his jacket—the same pattern she’d seen on the bike messenger.
 

“Damn,” she whispered. This could not be a coincidence—the guy was stalking her. Maybe she wasn’t losing her mind.

She gripped the steering wheel and tried to concentrate on the traffic around her, but her eyes kept drifting up to the rear-view mirror. The black helmet was there every time she glanced back, no matter where she went. She was nearing a high school where there was always a knot of cars near the parking lot. There was a good chance she’d be stuck in the traffic snarl in front of the school parking lot.
 

Without signaling, she steered the sports car on to a side road, zipped through a strip mall parking lot and exited on to a busy street going in the opposite direction. The motorcycle wasn’t behind her. She heaved a sigh of relief and sped up, zipping along a tree-lined residential street.
 

It was probably nothing. Just her over-active imagination. She was getting as nutty as Charlie.

She glanced up to check the mirror again, to reassure herself. No motorcycle.

Instead, a large black SUV was coming up fast on her bumper.
 

And it stayed there, no matter where she went.

She couldn’t lead the SUV back to Kathleen’s house and she didn’t know where a police station was, and frankly, she wasn’t crazy about bringing the police into this. What if the guy was just a horrible driver and wasn’t stalking her? She’d look even crazier than usual.

She passed an intersection, saw the motorcycle again and watched as it pulled behind the large vehicle behind her.
 

That can’t be a coincidence.
 

She could go back to the newspaper, but explaining this to Sam didn’t appeal, either.

Ben
. He seemed to believe that she had someone harassing her.
 

Keeping her eye on the road, she reached across the front seat and grabbed her bag. She fumbled with the zipper and retrieved her cell phone and headset. Trying not to be too obvious about it, she tucked in the earpiece and grabbed the phone. It had been muted while she was in the library and now she had a long list of missed calls—Kathleen’s number at the top.
 

Maybe she should call Kathleen, go by the boutique instead of calling Ben. He had already rescued her once today. Well, twice, really. That was enough for one day.
 

The phone in her hand rang, startling her so that she jerked the wheel, veering perilously close to a large green waste bin on the side of the street. The SUV backed off a few feet and she caught a glimpse of the license plate in the rearview mirror.
 

“Lindsey, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, you do have my phone number,” she said, trying for a sarcastic tone to cover up the relief she felt at hearing Ben’s voice.
 

“Kathleen is worried sick about you,” he said.
 

“I left her a note,” Lindsey said.

“She called the house and you didn’t answer. She’s been trying your cell phone for over an hour and you’re not answering,” Ben said. “You were not supposed to leave the house.”

“I’m not under house arrest. I have work to do.”
 

“What was so important that you would risk your safety to go out?”

Lindsey checked her mirrors. Yes, her friends in black were still behind her. She zipped down an alley and they followed.
 

“Shit,” she breathed.

“Where are you?” Ben asked again.
 

“Wait,” Lindsey said. “You believe me? That someone is stalking me?”
 

“I believe something is going on and you need to be careful.”
 

Close enough.
 

“I’m driving around, trying to shake a motorcycle and a black SUV that have been tailing me for half an hour. I’m running low on gas,” she said.
 

“Where are you now?”

“I think I’m in the South Parkland neighborhood.” She read the street signs and gave him the intersection.
 

“Okay,” Ben said. “You know how to get to Twin Rivers Park? The parking lot by the duck pond?”

“Yes,” Lindsey said.
 

“I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m driving Kathleen’s car.”
 

“Give me ten minutes,” Ben said, and the line went dead.

Chapter Six

Ben grabbed his leather satchel and his keys, his heart pounding. How in the hell was he going to get to Lindsey before the people following her got to her? He ran out of his office, nearly knocking Sharon over. He grabbed her shoulders to right her before she toppled over into the mail cart.

"Sorry, Sharon. Important meeting. I'll be back later."

He ignored Sharon's indignant huff and raced toward the elevators. Paralegals and secretaries popped over their cubicle walls like prairie dogs. He skirted the crowd waiting for the elevator and ran for the stairs.

"What meeting?" Sharon yelled, but her voice faded as the stairway door slammed behind him.
 

Ben pulled his Jeep out of the parking garage, then headed across downtown toward Twin Rivers Park. He’d spent plenty of time at the park, a popular site for festivals and family gatherings that sprawled through a large swath of the suburban area south of the main business district. There was a zoo at the north end and a large picnic area at the south end. In between were soccer fields and play areas and the baseball diamonds where the law firm's softball team played. All of these areas were connected by running trails. A narrow two-lane road curved through the park, intersecting with various parking lots. Ben headed south toward the duck pond, looking for Kathleen's white BMW convertible.
 

The park was packed with minivans and SUVs, so the little white convertible stood out, especially as it was being closely followed by a black SUV with tinted windows, just as Lindsey had described. They were on the road on the other side of a baseball diamond, heading toward the south end of the park. If he hurried, he could probably intersect Lindsey and her stalker.
 

And then what?
 

He fumbled with his cell phone, just as a motorcycle cruised by him, passing him on the narrow street. The motorcyclist slowed when he reached a parking lot, driving as if he were looking for someone before speeding off. Ben couldn't see the man's face, but that jacket was certainly familiar. The black and red leather jacket was identical to the one worn by the bike messenger earlier at the courthouse.
 

Ben slowed the car, keeping an eye on the road, and tapped in Lindsey's phone number.
 

"I can see you," he said. "Drive past the next parking lot. You see it ahead?"

"Yes," she said.
 

"Okay, when you pass the intersection, I want you to gun it," he said.
 

This stretch of the road was nearly deserted—the ball fields Ben was passing were empty, save for a few people playing catch. The small white sports car and a large black SUV continued their parade as Ben approached the intersection he'd just directed Lindsey toward. Lindsey slowed as she approached the intersection, tapping her brakes. The car behind her slowed, too.

Ben caught Lindsey's eye and nodded. She gave him a grim smile and then the little sports car lunged forward, a testament to the eight-cylinder German engine under the hood. The SUV was caught off guard and Ben was able to squeeze his vehicle between it and Lindsey's car.
 

"Okay, good job," he said.
 

"Now what?" she said.
 

Good question.
 

"You know the playground, by the duck pond?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.
 

"Drive there and park the car. Lock it and run."

"Run to where?"

"The other side of the play area. I'll pick you up in the parking lot by the soccer field. Stay out of sight as much as you can."

"Okay," she said and Ben could hear the doubt in her voice.
 

He eased his foot off the gas and his car slowed. The black SUV crept closer to his bumper, but Ben kept his pace at a crawl and watched the white convertible speed up and pull away from him and the menacing driver behind him. In his rearview mirror, he could see the driver’s angry expression. Dark glasses, baseball cap—no way he'd recognize the guy. The driver pounded the steering wheel and gestured, then honked and flashed his headlights.

Ben slowed even more, keeping his car in the middle of the narrow lane to keep the SUV from passing. Ahead, the road curved and a grove of trees hid the white sports car from sight. It would take her only a few seconds more to pull into the main parking lot. His car crept along at a snail's pace as the driver behind him motioned with increasing rage.

With an apologetic wave, Ben finally pulled over and the SUV roared past.

"Asshole," he muttered, pulling back onto the road and heading toward the east side of the park where he promised to meet Lindsey. Turning the car away from the main parking lot, his eyes were drawn to the motorcycle heading in the same direction, picking up speed.
 

He'd have to hurry to get to Lindsey first.
 

Then the motorcycle left the narrow lane, jumped the sidewalk and cut across the manicured lawn of the soccer field. He watched helplessly as it sped in a straight line toward the parking lot where he’d told Lindsey to wait.

Lindsey squeezed the BMW between two minivans, pulling forward as far as she could to hide the little car. She grabbed her messenger bag and her ball cap. She scrambled from the car, locked the doors, and jogged into a crowd of mothers and children. Once in their midst, she slowed. Did she blend in with the other women? She was the right age. She was even wearing khaki pants and a colorful t-shirt, the apparent uniform of the afternoon play-date. She sidled up to a woman about her age walking with two little girls.

"Hi, do you live around here?" It was a benefit of being a reporter—no fear approaching perfect strangers.
 

"Yes," the woman said.
 

Lindsey introduced herself. "My husband and I just moved here," she said. "I'm trying to find out more about the schools..."
 

"Oh, we have great schools," the woman said with a wide smile. "I'm Emily Robinson."

"Nice to meet you. My girls are about the same age as your daughters, I think."
 

Her falsehoods slipped easily off her lips. When had she learned to lie so convincingly?
 

"Well, you're going to want to get on the list for Sunset Elementary," Emily said. "It's consistently one of the top scorers in the county and they have a lot of great after-school programs. They even have an organic garden."

Lindsey smiled.
 

"Sounds great," she said, scanning the parking lot on the other side of the huge play structure for any sign of the black SUV. No sign of her tormentor, but also no sign of Ben.

"Where did you move from?" Emily asked, pulling Lindsey back to the conversation.
 

"Los Angeles," she said.
 

"Well, this is a great place to raise a family," Emily said. "You'll just love it here. Oh, Holly, sweetie, your shoe's untied."

"I'll get it for you. You've got your hands full." Lindsey crouched next to the little girl and tied the pink laces slowly, glancing up again at the parking lot. Still no sign of him.
 

"Oh my God," Emily said. "Can you believe that guy?"

Lindsey‘s head jerked up, her heart racing at the alarm in Emily’s voice. "What?"
 

"That motorcycle! It's on the soccer field."
 

Her heart hammering in her chest, Lindsey stayed crouched but looked in the direction of the field. Her stomach clenched at the sight of the too-familiar black and red leather jacket. With the motorcycle taking a shortcut over the grass, there was no way she could get to the parking lot without being spotted.

"Someone should call the cops," she said.
 

"You're right," Emily said, whipping out a cell phone and dialing 9-1-1. As she reported the motorcyclist to the dispatcher, another woman approached with two little boys in tow.