He let her get a couple blocks ahead before pulling onto the street behind her. Tailing someone on your own could be tricky. Too far back and you’d lose the target. Too close and the tail would notice you. He was lucky that she kept straight, at least until she hit the onramp toward Los Angeles. He followed her onto the highway, matching her sedate pace, keeping the faint glow of her taillights in view.
As the miles and minutes ticked past, a toxic mixture of anger, frustration and disbelief boiled within him.
What the fuck, Sarah? What the fuck?
The volcanic combination swelled until he felt like he was about to explode.
After everything that bastard had done to her, after everything he’d put her through, she was still willing to jump into her car at a moment’s notice, in the middle of the fucking night, for a God damn rendezvous?
By the time she took the exit for Dana Point Harbor, he was battle ready. Time to put an end to this midnight tryst.
He exited the freeway so far behind her he didn’t see which way she’d turned at the stop sign. But the only taillights on the street below were to the right. They had to be hers. He turned in that direction.
A few minutes later, lights brightened the darkness. The taillights in front of him got brighter, clearer. She’d slowed. So did he. She slowed even more, her brake lights flashing as she pulled into the parking lot for Point Break Motel.
So, she was grabbing a motel. Was Mitch in there waiting for her?
The toxic volcano inside of him bubbled hotter…higher.
A quick scan of the parking lot as he drove past showed her closing the door to her Nissan. She’d parked next to the motel’s office, which was lit and apparently open. She’d lucked out. Most smaller motels didn’t offer service 24/7.
He pulled into the second entrance to the lot as she disappeared inside the office—either checking in or picking up a spare key to a room already in use. After backing his truck into a slot next to a box van, he cut his headlights, slouched down, and waited. He had a clear view of the office from his position. He’d see and follow her the second she came out.
And then—in either the best, or worst timing—his cell rang. He knew, without even looking at the caller ID, that it was Tram. He’d been expecting a phone call once his buddy showed up at Sarah’s place and found nobody there. But he’d thought he’d have more time. Tram had said four hours—barely one was behind them. He considered ignoring the summons. But fuck, Tram would just track his phone. Might as well get this over with.
“She’s on the move.” He jumped to the point immediately.
“I figured that out since both her car and yours are gone.” Disapproval growled through each word.
Tag scowled. Yeah, fuck that. He was a big boy. Capable of making decisions on his own without checking in with Chicken Little. The sky was not going to fall if Tram sat this one out.
Silence dripped down the line.
“She meet up with Mitch?” Tram sounded guarded, as though he was trying to decide just how pissed he should be.
“Not sure.” Tag glared at the motel office. “She’s at a motel. Point Break at Dana Point. She’s in the office. Could be checking in or picking up a spare key.”
Although if she were picking up a key, she would have been out by now.
“Dana Point. Copy that.” Tram’s voice loosened, apparently appreciating the fact that Tag had given him the coordinates voluntarily, rather than keeping Mitch to himself.
Of course, Tram had to know that if Mitch were here, Tag was going to turn the bastard into Humpty Dumpty. Nobody would be able to put the fucker together again.
He shied away from admitting how much of his rage was personal and how much was professional.
“You could have called.” Tram’s voice turned growly again. “You could have let me know she’d skipped town.”
Yeah, Tram was pissed, alright. Tag couldn’t scratch up the energy to care. This wasn’t the first time they’d been at odds. It wouldn’t be the last. Although most of the fissures in their friendship had been because of Mitch…or Sarah…or both.
Food for thought, that.
He straightened as Sarah came out of the office and climbed back into her car.
“Gotta run,” he said. “She’s on the move.” He hung up before Tram could tell him to sit