Chapter 70

His morning entailed a short drive from his house on Redfield Way—thirteen miles east of Glock Ranch—to a local coffee shop for a twenty-ounce coffee, black with two sugars. Then he dropped an envelope in the mail at the Stockton Post Office. Then he stopped at Ruddybaker’s Garage and chatted with two grease monkeys. From there he ended up on Caster Street, three vehicle-lengths ahead of me and—

My cell phone lit up with a call from Toby, making me jump behind the wheel of Gray’s silver Avalanche. It buzzed twice before I grabbed it from the passenger seat, pressed SEND, put it up to my ear, and politely said, “Hello.”

“You’re following me.”

My heart plummeted at the sound of Toby’s voice. Every nerve in my body seemed to have turned into granite and a ball of pain surfaced between my temples. Crazily I defended myself and barked, “Who is this?”

“You know who it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Who the fuck is this?”