Beaufort, South Carolina
March 18
Twitch hated malls, but she needed some new jeans. She wasn’t ready for maternity clothes yet, but she definitely needed to size up. Shopping bag in hand and munching on an iced pretzel, Twitch couldn’t resist the allure of the baby clothes in the window of the specialty store. Tiny mannequins in perfect little dresses with embroidered cherries and miniature silk roses. Across the display was a mock clothesline of onesies with funny quips like “Mommy’s New Man” and “Daddy’s Girl.”
Twitch turned away. She was a daddy’s girl. She desperately wanted the same for her son or daughter. Ripping off a loop of the pretzel with her teeth, she shook off her wallow and steeled her resolve. This baby would have a great life: dad or no dad. There was certainly no shortage of father figures in her world.
Twitch walked toward the next store, then spotting the trash can, stopped, and changed course. That’s when she noticed the man. He was behind her, window shopping at a candle store. He was wearing a baseball cap, polo shirt, and khakis. Had he been in the food court? When Twitch had turned back to throw away the rest of her pretzel, the man did an obvious stutter step, then returned to browsing.
Twitch was a happy-go-lucky person. She couldn’t count the number of times the Bishop guys had scolded her for her lack of situational awareness. If this had been an isolated incident, she probably would have dismissed it, but in concert with the anxious feeling of being watched that she had been experiencing, it was setting off alarms.
Fighting the urge to race to her car, Twitch continued along window shopping. She passed a tea shop and her mouth flooded. Oh God, she was going to be sick. Fighting back the nausea, she turned and moved to the escalators where a back hall led to restrooms and a small movie theater. She ducked around a promotional sign, tucked in behind a large potted palm, and held her breath. She counted the seconds. Nothing. Had she imagined it? A moment later, the candle browser strolled by. He looked around, then turned down the hall leading to the bathrooms.
Twitch hurried to the nearest exit and jogged through the parking lot to her Mini Cooper. Back on the highway, she pressed the button on the steering wheel and spoke the command. A reassuring voice drifted through the car.
“Nathan Bishop.”
“Hi, boss.”
“What’s the matter, Twitch.”
“It’s probably nothing, but can I stop by your office in about half an hour?”
“Of course. You don’t need to call to ask me that. What’s going on?”
“I think someone has been following me.”