Page 8 of Danger Close
“You want your Ma there.” I drew my conclusion, and came up with a solution. “What if I could get her there, and make sure she behaves?”
Taz got sheepish on me, curling in on herself. “I mean, yeah. What girl wouldn’t want her own mom at her wedding?”
Well, maybe that was a wedding gift I could deliver on.
“Well, let’s see what your old man can figure out.
Chapter 3
That Prickly Feeling
Teri
There it was again, that horrid feeling of being watched. Like someone you can’t see breathing on your skin. It unsettled every part of me until I was coiled so tight, every muscle and tendon hurt.
That was exactly what Ray wanted. He liked to play with his food, and toy with his kill. He was a fucking sadist. He enjoyed my misery. He savored it.
I held my head high. No one would see me bow down again. No one. Especially not him.
If I had nothing else, I would at least have my pride.
“I was born under an unlucky star,” I whispered to myself.
It was something my mother had said to me. She’d always looked at me as the cause of her misery. She'd married young, because I’d had the audacity to be conceived. Then when my biological father hung himself, she’d re-married because she felt she had no other choice. She blamed me for the life she lived. As far as I knew she was still married to my stepfather, unable to divorce because their priest would never allow it. It did not matter if he beat her, cheated on her, and treated her more like a pet than a woman.
She said I had brought bad luck. I was cursed. She’d never understand that she was the one who cursed me.
My daughter was right to stay away from me, but I still selfishly ached for the slightest feeling of tenderness from her. Just for one conversation that didn’t end in a fight. Justonce…Just one memory not tainted by everything else.
That strange feeling came again. The feeling of something swiping over your skin without actually touching you—like being touched by a ghost.
I looked over my shoulder. No one was there.
But I knew thatsomeone was there, watching. Someone just out of reach, just a little out of my periphery.
A windowless van with no company markings drove by, splashing a puddle in a deep pothole. I looked at the government plates, my step stuttering as I flinched from the curb, and pulled my arms protectively around me. Why didn’t I wear a jacket? It was far too cold.
My ear burned as I strained to hear everything around me. Chirping birds, the rustle of leaves, the sound of distant traffic. I had to be vigilant.
Complacency meant pain. I had to listen to myself, to my body, to the signs of misery around me.
You cannot avoid a trap if you do not see it.
I’d ignored that feeling before. I had dismissed it as the insane mind of a lonely, aging, paranoid woman. I would not do so again.
Awareness danced across my skin, as I heard footsteps behind me. Tapping. Tapping. Heel-toe. Heel-toe. Tap. Tap.
Whoever was following me matched my rhythm, using my own footfalls as camouflage.
Don’t look back.
I did not have to. I knew they were there.
My fists practically vibrated as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. I tried to envision how it would go. What would I say? What would I do? Where would my first strike be?
For once, I would attack first.
I kept walking down the road, pretending to be unaffected.
