The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,54
at Phoenix on Thursday morning—you saw it—the same day the security cameras got busted up. And we know he was following us on Saturday, and that he showed up at the press conference yesterday, but we have no clue what he was up to.”
“We have a small clue.” He closed the keypad cover. “You’re on his blog now.”
“What!”
“Look and see.”
I bounced off the counter and over to Dexter’s computer. A few keystrokes later and there I was, framed by the Ferrari’s passenger side window, looking like a slightly frowzy movie star. I recognized the shot—it had been taken on Saturday, the day Dylan followed us.
I stared at the image, sunglassed and remote. “I swear, no matter what I find out, it just confuses me more.”
“This is a complicated case.”
I looked across the room at him. Even under low wattage, his eyes were distractingly gorgeous. But the expression there was utterly professional, patient and polite and unwavering. He’d been nothing but above-board with me every step of the way, this man who opened doors, who said “please” and “thank you.” This man who had driven all the way up to Kennesaw as a favor for me, a woman he barely knew, because it was the decent thing to do.
And then I remembered all the times I’d snooped in his desk, eavesdropped on his conversations, quizzed Garrity about his personal life or accused him of being a liar and held him at sword point…
A guilty knot congealed in my gut. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. For disrupting your class. For yelling at you. For making a complicated situation even more complicated.” I exited Dylan’s blog. “Did Garrity tell you about the target with my picture in the middle?”
“He did.”
“Did he tell you it wasn’t the first time?”
Trey nodded. “He thinks someone is threatening you.”
“Or trying to scare me, I don’t know which.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But I’d say it’s because I’m getting close to something somebody doesn’t want me close to. And if it continues, I’m going to start packing heat, even if the state of Georgia says I have to do it openly.”
I expected an argument, but didn’t get one. Trey looked thoughtful, but then went back to his legal pad without a word. I moved closer.
“Does it really work? What you were showing that woman in class?”
“I wouldn’t teach it if it didn’t.”
“Could you show me how? Until that carry permit comes through…”
He made one final mark and stuck the pen behind his ear. “Of course.”
***
And that was how I ended up in a chokehold, with Trey standing behind me, one arm looped around my neck. I had my fingers deep in his forearm, but it was like tugging at a steel bar. My brain ratcheted into panic mode.
It’s just Trey, I told myself, he’s not really trying to throttle you. But my body was having none of it. My body knew he’d killed before.
“Damn it,” I hissed. “This wouldn’t happen if I had a gun!”
“Turn your head into the crook of my elbow so you can breathe. Lower your hips so that I’m off balance.”
I did as he said. But I was still breathing hard and fast, every muscle tensed for fight or flight. Even my teeth were clenched.
Trey’s mouth was right at my ear, his voice calm. “I’m using your resistance against you, see? If you relax, you take away some of my power. Stop fighting so hard. Go loose.”
My body rebelled, but when I did as he said, I felt the shift in his stance. Suddenly, he was struggling to support me.
“See, there’s leverage now. You can drop and roll, drop and get your weapon, drop and…stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Are you expecting anyone?”
I heard it then—the slam of a car door, the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Then silence.
Before I could react, Trey yanked me across the room and practically threw me behind the counter. “Get down. Stay there.”
“What are you doing?”
“Quiet.”
He moved beside the door, back flat against the wall, his gun held right below his belt. I hadn’t even seen him get it out. Then he hit the overheads, plunging the shop into darkness.
That’s when it became real, when the dark descended. Light-headed with fear, I crouched on the freshly swept floor. Time slowed, every second bright with adrenalin, amplified. I searched the floor for a weapon and my hands closed on the broom handle. Great. I was going to die in a room full of guns with a freaking broom