Page 133 of Lovers Like Us
The stalker posted a close-up of the tour bus.Thisexact bus, and beneath the windows, the wordsDIE MOFFY DIEdrip in blood-redpaint
It looksreal.
My gut says someone just painted this bus. Outside. Rightnow.
Fuckinghell.
32
FARROW KEENE
Imove towards the stairs,unclipping my gun from its holster. “Stay here,” I tellMaximoff.
He’s right behind me, ofcourse.
“Maximoff.”
His jaw sharpens. “I get that I can’t follow you outside, but Donnellycan.”
“No. He’s distracted tonight. I’m not bringing him as back-up.” I unlock the busdoors.
Maximoff tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt. He’s more than frustrated. His nose flares, and he shakes his head repeatedly. He hates this. Waiting back. Feeling helpless when he’s trying to keepmesafe.
It hurts me knowing how much this is killing him.But… “I shouldn’t be your bodyguard if you won’t let me do myjob.”
He takes a tight breath. “Alright.Go.”
“Lock the doors behind me.” I toss him the keys and leave thebus.
My boots fall hard on pavement. I scan the VIP area. Valets aren’t at their podium. No bodies wandering. I check thebus.
Clean.
The other side faces hedges, and I carefully circle the bus, passing thehood.
No onehere.
The exterior isclean.
I only relax when I check the rear and the eight other vehicles parkedhere.
Safe.
But it lookedreal.
My gut is usually right. The worst part: I’m disappointed. If I knew who this son of a bitch was, it’d end the unknown. And I wanted to end ittonight.
I return to the bus. Maximoff stands with crossed arms on the first step, and as I approach, he unlocks the doors from theinside.
“What was it?” heasks.
I hand him my phone and then sit on the armrest of the passengerseat.
Maximoff studies the photo and drifts towards the driver’s seat. He barely blinks, and when he looks up, I see clearly that his concern lies withme.
“This is really getting to you,” he says. “Isn’tit?”
“No.” I holster my gun and take my phone back. “I’mfine.”
