Free Whittaker 01 The Enemy We Know by Donna White Glaser Page A

fear.
    “ What? And interfere with such a fine example of feminine independence? Not on your life. Besides, I have faith in you.”
    “ Thanks,” I grunted, rolling the lopsided tire toward my trunk. Dragging it across the blacktop uncovered the source of the flat. Another nail. No surprise there. Marshall let me bumble along as I hauled the Cheerio out and prepared to stick it back on. It was weird having an audience, and, karma-senses tingling, I got the distinct impression that Marshall was staring at my butt. I tried catching him at it, but every time I’d turn around his eyes would be innocently fixed on my face. The sneak.
    I felt marginally more comfortable when Mary Kate joined us, although she about killed me trying to help. In her eagerness, she tripped over the jack while I was twisting the lug nuts tight, knocking me on my butt. The specter of my car falling off the jack and landing on top of me almost made me hope that Wayne got me first.
    With a muffled chuckle, Marshall took possession of the iron, twisting the lug nuts an extra couple wrenches. In spite of my assertion of independence, I appreciated the added security. No sense winning the battle for feminism and losing the car in a roll-over. Priorities, after all.
    And, anyway, I’d already done all the hard stuff.
    When I left, the two of them stood in the parking lot as Mary Kate lay her plot to lure Marshall to his surprise birthday party.
    I didn’t have time to get to Al’s Auto Body before closing and was already late for the Friday night meeting. Again. I decided to go straight to the club and deal with the tire in the morning.
    After I parked, I spent several minutes hunting around the junk in the backseat, looking for my AA Big Book. I usually tucked it under the mini-landfill of paperwork and books in my backseat, hidden from anyone passing by. Finally found it wedged under the seat.
    As I made my way across the dark parking lot, my stomach knotted with anxiety. I hated being late, I hated dealing with smug Sandra as she draped herself over my boyfriend, and I hated the stares I knew I’d get from the old-timers for being late. Again. The feeble lighting added to my nerves.
    As I neared the corner of the building to the front entrance, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I stopped. For a moment, I stood frozen in an eerie sensation. Someone was watching me.
    Instinctively, I moved closer to the brick wall, putting it at my back. I scanned the parking lot, searching the shadows between each of the cars and trucks. After several seconds, I felt stupid. Then a car door slammed, and a man emerged from a dark-colored sedan. A Buick, I thought, like Dad always drove. My heart pumped wildly, sweat erupting like liquid popcorn from my forehead. He moved through the lot, keeping to the shadows.
    My brain screamed run, but my body added a new “F” for Frozen to Fight or Flight. If it were up to my genes, the human race would be extinct.
    Unexpectedly, he moved into a weak pool of light grudgingly provided by one of the few working overheads. It was Paul.
    Well, shit.
    With a burst of hysteria that I tried to pawn off as laughter, I waved at him. A smile cranked over his homely face, and he waved furiously. And kept waving. He seemed to be experiencing a waving spasm. Waved all the way up to me.
    “ Hey, Letty! Hi! You running behind, too? I got stuck at work. Don’t you hate that?”
    Paul’s chatter covered my embarrassment at overreacting. We turned to head into the club. My eyes, though, still hopped up on adrenalin, continued scanning. Then found something. Giddy with relief and slower to catch up, my brain hiccupped at processing the new information. A leftover giggle morphed into a gasp of fear.
    Across the street, Wayne stood leaning against the wall of my favorite bakery. Staring. Smiling. He waved, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

    No question now about talking to the police. Or Marshall, for that matter. I couldn’t keep denying that