Page 7 of Smith

“Send me the listing so I can look at it and don’t worry that smart little head of yours. Zane owes me a few favors. I’m cashing one in.”

“Don’t tell me, you saved his life,” I teased and slammed on my brakes when some dickwad cut in between me and the car in front of me. “I hate driving through Wilmington.”

I glanced in my rearview mirror to make sure I wasn’t about to get rear-ended. My eyes went back to the Toyota in front of me but quickly flicked back to the mirror—more accurately to the red Tesla three cars behind me. I’d seen that Tesla twice before. Once when I pulled out of the hotel parking lot. Again when I stopped to get gas.

“I gave him a lift when I was still flying MH-60’s,” my dad told me. “How bad’s traffic?”

“I’m going fifteen in a sixty-five.”

That was all my dad needed to settle in for a conversation while he had his morning elixir of some sort of healthy concoction and I crawled along on the freeway wishing I had a coffee. Not that I minded the company, I loved shooting the shit with my dad as long as the topic of conversation wasn’t my safety.

Thirty minutes and ten miles later I’d had enough. As soon as I saw the exit for the Christiana Mall I changed lanes when I could—meaning, I waited my turn instead of cutting in front of someone like a selfish dick and merged out of the gridlock. The mall wasn’t my favorite place to be but there was a Barnes & Noble. And everyone knows books make everything better. It wasn’t until I turned onto Mall Road I noticed the red Tesla had exited behind me.

Shit.

“Listen Dad, I hate to cut this short but I just pulled into the mall parking lot. I’m gonna browse the romance section of Barnes & Noble until this traffic dies down.”

“You and your books. When you were a kid, taking away your books was the only punishment that meant anything to you.”

I heard that my whole life and he wasn’t wrong. The normal kid punishment of no TV or phone or going out never worked with me. I’d much rather hang out with my BFFs Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield and roam the halls of Sweet Valley High withthem than sit and mindlessly watch television. Of course as I got older I graduated to fantasy because that was the thing to read. But when I found romance in my late teens, that was it for me—I’d found my home. Thankfully, my dad never perused my selection or there might’ve been an uncomfortable conversation.

Sadly, I passed the Barnes & Noble and continued around the mall loop keeping an eye on the Tesla.

“Well, Daddio, I haven’t changed much. I’d still rather be lost in fantasy than deal with real people.”

Luckily my dad didn’t understand my quip. I was positive his idea of the fantasy books he thought I read were nothing close to the reality of the fantasies I actually read.

There were other realms and alternate universes and gods and goddesses and dragon slayers, then there were, sexual gods and pussy slayers who graced the pages of the novels I read. By my estimation it was still high fantasy—men like that didn’t really exist anymore than the kind who eradicated phantastic creatures.

“Love you, sweetheart.”

God, I loved that my dad still called me sweetheart.

“Love you, too, Dad. Talk soon.”

I disconnected the call, Joe Jonas came back through the speakers telling me he was stumbling out of bars, and I did something I never, ever did—reached over and rummaged through my purse to pull out my phone. Then I did the second most dangerous thing a driver could do—engaged the screen, pulled up my texts, and scrolled until I found the message I needed.

I did this mentally chastising myself for not saving his number so I didn’t have to drive distracted. I told myself I was in a parking lot, so I wasn’t being a complete asshole putting other drivers at risk but I still shouldn’t have been looking at my phone. Unfortunately parking wasn’t an option. Not with theTesla four cars behind me. I might’ve given my dad a hard time for being overprotective but I wasn’t a horror movie heroine either. I had zero interest in being murdered in a mall parking lot.

By the time I had my thumb hovering over the call icon it was Nick Jonas’s turn to sing. Tragically the best part of the song was replaced by ringing.

Just when I thought I was going to have to leave a message he answered, “Smith.”

“Hey, it’s Aria. Sorry to bother you but I think I’m being followed.” I cut straight to it.

“Where are you?”

“Christiana Mall.”

I checked my side mirror and the car was still there.

Damn.

“Stay public. The more people?—”

“I should’ve told you I’m in my car. I’m driving home from Philly. The traffic is horrible. I decided to pull off the freeway and wait it out. Now I’m getting ready to make my second loop around the mall.”

“Make. Model. And tag number.”

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