If Abby thought she was pulling a fast one on me last night, she’d be wrong. While I appreciated—more than she’ll ever know—her efforts to distract me with a hand job that actually led to round two of stellar sex, it in no way deterred me from figuring out what she’s up to.
I didn’t ask her outright because I already knew what she was planning. No doubt in my mind, she’s going back to Hellman’s property. I assume she’s got three other women along tonight to aid and abet.
I could stop this. I could walk up to her door right now, but I don’t.
I don’t because I’m not sure if it’s the right play. I’m obviously worried about her getting caught. I’m worried about the risk, because I consider Levi a dangerous man.
But I also have some respect for what she’s trying to accomplish.
However, the real reason I’m not approaching or calling her out is on the off chance I’m wrong, that she is indeed having a true girls’ night out. I don’t want her to know I have my doubts. I don’t want her to think I don’t trust her, because I do. In fact, I think she tried very hard last night to give me nothing but the truth while forgoing details that might cause me concern.
Had she told me last night, I would’ve done my damnedest to talk her out of it. As it stands, I’m waiting to see where she goes, and I’ll follow discreetly. If she meets the girls at a bar for drinks or the like, I’ll head home. If she heads to Hellman’s, I’ll have to play it by ear.
The door to her apartment opens, and I sit up straighter. Abby trots down the stairs, and I can see enough of her outfit in the glow of her porch light to know she’s not going out for drinks. She’s dressed all in black—leggings, long-sleeved T-shirt, and tennis shoes. I’m surprised she doesn’t have face paint, but for all I know, she has a black ski mask in the black backpack slung over her shoulder.
“Shit,” I mutter.
To stop her, or not?
I follow my gut on this and wait. I watch as she gets into her car and pulls onto the road, turning left and heading away from where I’m parked. I wait until her taillights disappear around a curve, and I start my car.
Then I follow her.
I know where Hellman’s property is because I googled him after our first meeting in the clinic when he showed up armed. I wanted to know what type of man he is.
Levi Hellman owns seven acres about ten miles from the clinic, outside of the Washington city limits. Satellite views show a teardrop-shaped parcel of land with the narrow point sitting on the road. A long driveway heads deep into the property, and a house sits dead center. It’s big—at least four thousand square feet—and behind it are several large, rectangular buildings. According to Abby, that’s where all the dogs are kept.
Several acres of thick woods surround the property, buffering adjacent parcels. It will provide good cover for anyone wanting to sneak to the rear buildings.
Because Abby is headed in that direction, I keep well back from her. I know where she’s going. No sense letting her know she’s being followed.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, my pulse slightly erratic with concern. Not just for her safety, but what this might do to our relationship. While I admire the fuck out of her heart in wanting to help, I can’t support her engaging in dangerous, illegal activities. I mean, sure… go protest and get arrested. I’m cool with that. But sneaking onto someone’s property to steal what is rightfully theirs—and who is protecting said property with firearms—isn’t something I can let her do.
I’m also painfully aware I have no control over Abby.
All I can do is share my concerns with her and hope she chooses to build something with me and look for other routes to shut Hellman down.
I turn onto Sanitarium Road, knowing the kennels are down about a mile and a half. I drive slowly, giving Abby time to choose where she wants to park and how she’s going to meet her friends. It might be that they are doing nothing more than staking out the place, and I feel better knowing three other people will be with her. Power in numbers, I suppose.
When I come out of a curve, I see the mailbox for Hellman’s place ahead but don’t see Abby’s car, nor any others. A road to the left has a handful of houses from what I remember from the satellite view. Perhaps they chose to park there. I slow down, wondering if I should follow or just park out here and wait.