Page 22 of Once a Killer

“I should have called Dev a long time ago,” he sighed.

“No reason to call him until you were threatened,” she said, sliding on her seat belt and starting the car. She glanced at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Why would a computer nerd need a bodyguard?”

“That’s computer genius to you,” he shot back without thinking.

“Okay, genius, tell me this. Do you take the same route morning and evening?”

“Yeah,” he said, frowning. “I take the shortest way to and from my apartment.”

“Which is what most people do. But we’re gonna shake that up a little.” She pulled out her phone and opened her mapping app, then plugged it into the cord that connected it to the screen. In a few moments, the route was displayed.

He studied the screen and realized the route she’d chosen used different arterial streets. Longer to get home, but that was okay. He cleared his throat. “I always go the same way. The car could probably find its way home by itself.” He clenched his teeth and stared out the windshield. “Which is probably why they were able to target me so easily. I thought about varying my route, but it seemed silly. Until the near-miss.”

“That’s why whoever tried to hit you had the advantage. They knew which way you’d go. They could scout the whole route for the best access point.” She glanced over at him. “We’ll take a different route morning and evening every day.”

“I should have done that,” he said, clenching his teeth so hard they ached. He was supposed to be a smart guy. So why hadn’t he changed up his route?

Because he’d been in a hurry to get to the lab. In a hurry to get home. He sighed. “Not what a genius would have done, right?”

“You hadn’t been threatened. Hadn’t felt like you were in danger. So why would you change your route every day?” she asked, almost as if she’d read his mind. “You’re ascientist. You’re not a spy or a secret agent. You’re not a guy who has to vary his route to work every day.”

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel but didn’t take her gaze off the road ahead. “Until that near-miss car accident, were you worried? Did you think you were in danger? That someone was targeting you?”

“No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t. I was careful in the lab, because everyone who works there would know the value of my program if they got hold of it. And I was cautious about leaving my computer sitting around, about my safe. But I wasn’t worried about someone trying to kill me, for God’s sake. That’s the kind of thing that happens in movies. In novels. Not in real life. At least notmyreal life.”

Chapter 8

“Thisisyour real life, Jameson”, Bree said, never taking her gaze off the street. “At least until we figure out who’s after you and stop him. Or her.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, watching Bree, appreciating the way she studied everything. Seemed to be aware of every other car on the road. He figured she must have a very focused brain to be able to concentrate so completely on one thing.

The realization hit him like a slap across the face -- Bree was just like him in that way. She wasn’t writing code, but she was hyper-focused on her job. On keeping him safe. He’d bet big money she didn’t have anything else on her mind right now besides getting them both back to his apartment unharmed.

Her gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror. A few seconds later, she glanced in the side mirror. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Don’t move your head, but take a look in your side-view mirror,” she said. When his shoulders tightened, she grabbed his arm. Squeezed hard. “Don’t go all tense like that. We don’t want to tip him off. Just look in the mirror at the car behind us.”

He nodded once, and she let go of his upper arm. He shouldn’t have been surprised at how strong she was -- she’d put him on the floor too many times to count. But how the hell had she known that him tensing would be visible to whoever was behind them?

Being careful not to turn his head, he glanced in the mirror. Saw a good-sized SUV behind them. Black. He couldn’t see the person behind the wheel, though. The whole windshield was tinted.

“You recognize that car?” she asked after a moment.

“No. And I would have remembered it if I’d seen it before. Tinting the windshield is illegal in this state.” He frowned, trying to remember where he’d read that.

“Okay,” she said. “But right now, your job is to get the license plate number.”

“Too far away,” Jameson said immediately. “He’ll need to get a little closer.” He frowned. “It’s muddy. Unclear. The one that hit me was the same. Smeared with mud.”

“Get what you can,” she said. “Make and model, too. Anything will help.” Her gaze flicked from the road to her map. Back to the road. “We’re going to stay on this street for a while. There’s a fair amount of traffic. That should help. If he’s going to hit us, he won’t want witnesses who might catch his license plate.”

If it wasn’t for the mud, he’d be able to read that plate. He could read backwards. But looking in the side mirror, with the smeared plate? The car’d need to be closer.

At the last minute, she switched to the left turn lane and turned on the yellow traffic light. The black SUV followed, blowing through a red. “Where’s a cop when you need one?” he muttered.

They were heading away from his apartment now, but that was okay. Better to lose this guy before they led him to his house.

Bree glanced over at him. “This guy knows exactly where you live.”

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