Page 37 of Stone
It took her longer than usual to find something she thought they’d both agree on—a playlist that mixed folk rock, old-school country, and acoustic pop. The mellow melodies matched the vibe of a quiet night drive.
“Tell me if this doesn’t work,” she said, hitting the Play button.
When he didn’t respond, she glanced over. With his gaze fixed ahead of them, he appeared not to have heard her. She started to ask again, then stopped when she noticed the intensity of his expression as he watched the road, his eyes flickering to both the rearview and side mirrors as he navigated around an older-model sedan.
“Simon?”
“Just a second,” he said, turning left at a green arrow away from Interstate 80. Two blocks later, he turned right, then made another right.
She had a sinking feeling about the situation but didn’t want to interrupt Simon’s concentration to ask. Instead, she rested her head against the back of the seat and let him do his thing.
Three more turns later, he cursed under his breath.
“We’re being followed, aren’t we?” she said.
He inclined his head. “And he’s good. He knows these streets, and he’s anticipating my moves.” He paused, then added, “So you don’t think I’m incompetent, I’m being predictable on purpose.”
Despite the situation, she smiled. “Incompetentis not a word I would use in the same paragraph as you.” He flashed her a smile before they both sobered. “How do you think they found us?” she asked.
“They probably have someone watching Anna. My guess is they recognized you and have been following us, waiting for the right moment…” He paused and cursed again. “I should have considered this,” he said as he made yet another turn.
“Should have considered what? That the triad would have someone following Anna Palmer—a reporter who one of them made a single offhand comment about?”
“Yes.”
His jaw ticked, casting a small shadow on his cheek as the headlights of a car illuminated his face. “Well,” she said on an exhale. “I disagree, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s most important is what we’re going to do about it. So what’s the plan?”
He huffed, fell silent for twenty-two seconds, then his lips thinned. A beat later, he sighed. “I need to make a call,” he said before directing his phone to dial someone named Hank.
“Yeah?” a gravelly voice answered.
“You at the house tonight?” Simon asked.
“No. In New York.”
“Mind if I use it?”
“Nope. You all good?”
“I will be,” Simon said as he sped through a yellow light and hopped onto Highway 101.
“Bernice is there if you need her.”
“I may, thanks.”
“Let me know.”
“Will do,” he replied before ending the call.
Juliana kept her eyes glued to the side mirror, although she couldn’t tell which car followed them. “Who’re Hank and Bernice?”
Simon eased onto an exit ramp, then accelerated through the yellow light at the bottom and back onto the highway. “Hank’s an army buddy. Bernice is his bike.”
An eyebrow flew up of its own volition. “He named his motorcycle Bernice? As in ‘bringer of victory’?”
“Of course you’d know that,” he said, the affection in his voice cracking open her heart a little more.
“Derived from ancient Greek. Some famous women named Bernice include one of Herod Agrippa I’s daughters, a Hawaiian princess, and the first female umpire of professional baseball. Although, sadly, she only umped one game before retiring because men can be assholes and the other umps weren’t very welcoming.”
