“And if he doesn’t turn himself in?”
I sighed. “I’m not stupid. There’s no way he’s turning himself in.”
Cal narrowed his eyes. “Then what exactly do you expect to accomplish with this bluff?” He threw the paper down on the table.
“Don’t you watch any cop shows?”
He didn’t answer, just glared.
“If he doesn’t want to see his name in the paper as a murderer, he’s got to shut me up before I turn in my column for tomorrow.”
Something shifted behind Cal’s eyes. “Shut you up.”
I nodded.
“You mean-”
“I mean he’s going to come after me, and that’s when I’ll catch him red-handed.”
A muscle twitched in Cal’s jaw. “No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“No way am I letting you use yourself as bait.”
“This isn’t about you letting me do anything. It’s about me taking my life back.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I countered.
Cal threw his hands up in the air. “This is dangerous, reckless, and about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” I thrust my chin up, hands on hips.
He ground his teeth together. “And just how, exactly, are you planning on catching this guy before he actually silences you?”
I bit my lip. “That’s kinda where you come in.”
“Me.” A statement, not a question.
“Yeah. You’re the trained bodyguard. With you watching my back, we’re sure to get the jump on him before he does on me. Right?”
“No,” he said again, shaking his head.
“You have to. You’re being paid to keep me safe,” I pointed out.
“But not if you’re going to throw yourself into harm’s way!”
“Fine.” I squared my jaw. “I’ll do it myself.”
He stared at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyes flashing. “Like hell you will.”
I planted my feet shoulder width apart, matching him glare for glare. We stood like that in a totally silent standoff for a full minute.
Finally Cal broke the staring contest, threw the rest of his coffee down the drain, and slammed his empty cup on the counter.
“Fine. Let’s go to Disneyland.”
Chapter Eighteen
When I was a kid, Disneyland was just one theme park, and it was all about the kiddies. Lots of rides, no security gates, characters roaming throughout the park being mobbed by children of all ages.
Now, Disneyland has become a virtual city that’s as much for the adult members of your party as the little ones.
Downtown Disney spans a full mile of shops and restaurants, sporting such grown-up fare as the House of Blues, ESPN Zone, and Tortilla Joe’s, where the margaritas are to die for. (You know, if I was ever touching tequila again.) Past the movie theater, shopping mall, and street performers sit the two Disney theme parks-the California Adventure and the original Disneyland. While Disneyland is all balloons and lollipops in the shape of mouse heads, California Adventure is the big kid version, featuring a winery, a “beers of the world” stand, and roller coasters that launch you upside down at near NASA speeds.
I looked longingly at the twelve-foot-tall “California” sign across the walkway as the aunts grabbed me by the arm and propelled my toward the security gates on the kiddie side. Cal grumbled a step behind me, still put out that he had to leave his gun in the Hummer.
I watched a perky college kid search Aunt Sue’s huge beach tote and held my breath, hoping he mistook the Hello Kitty container for a sandwich and not our neigh-bor’s ashes. Luckily, he’d been trained to look for weapons and drugs, not dead people, and gave us a cheery, “Enjoy your day at the Magic Kingdom!” and waved us through.
I gave a mental sigh of relief.
Aunt Sue gave me a coconspiratorial wink.
Cal gave an eye roll.
Millie gave us a, “Let’s go on the pirates ride first!”
I put a hand on her arm. “Uh uh. No way. We’re here to do one thing. We’re going to do that, and then we’re going home.”
She pouted. “But I love the Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“And we did pay full admission,” Aunt Sue complained. “We should get our money’s worth.”
I clenched my jaw. “Fine. One ride.”
The two suddenly ten-year-old octogenarians clapped their hands with glee and led the way through the mass of tourists toward New Orleans Square.
Cal remained a silent shadow behind us.
Ever since this morning, he hadn’t said one word to me. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. He’d said. “Get in,” when he’d held the Hummer’s door open for me. That was it. Clearly, this whole bait plan didn’t put him in the best mood.
I’ll be honest, it wasn’t doing a whole lot for my nerves either. I’d looked over my shoulder a dozen times on the escalator ride down from the main parking structure. On the tram ride into the park, I’d done at least three double takes at the guy in the Panama hat and sunglasses seated opposite us before ascertaining that he was, in fact, just an innocent tourist and not some ominous stalker.
Even though I’d set up this whole thing, it was still a scary thought that I could, in theory, be staring straight at my stalker and not even know it. He knew what I looked like, but I had no idea who he was. Or even if he was a he for that matter.
I now knew how those ducks in a barrel felt at the county fair.
I kept my head down, staying close to the aunts, infinitely glad for the hulking bulk of Cal behind me, even if he was giving me the silent treatment.
We wound past the Jungle Cruise and Tarzan’s Treehouse, narrowly avoiding collisions with at least three strollers, and jumped into line for the Pirates of the Caribbean.
Two minutes into it, my phone buzzed from my pocket.
“Your pants are vibrating,” Aunt Millie pointed out.
“I know.”
“You gonna answer it?”
Considering I was pretty sure it was Felix calling? “Nope.”
She shrugged, as if to say the younger generation’s logic escaped her.
Aunt Sue opened up her tote bag. “This ride is going to be so fun! You’re going to love this,” she said to the contents.
“Please tell me you’re not talking to Mrs. C.,” I said.
She blinked at me. “Well, of course I am. This is her trip.”
I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me, young lady?”
Okay, I didn’t try all that hard.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mumbled as the line crept forward.
Fifteen minutes later we were being hustled into a soggy boat by a guy dressed like he’d just escaped from some 1980s version of Pirates of Penzance. The aunts took the front seat (‘cause Millie complained she couldn’t see a darn thing from the back) and Cal and I scrunched into the middle, while a family of four was seated in the seats behind us.
We floated past the bayou, the fake star-studded sky, crickets chirping, and the old guy playing his banjo on the porch of his swamp-side home. I fidgeted nervously in my seat, every diner at the Blue Bayou a potential threat ready to strike.
“I’m scared,” I heard the little girl behind me say, ducking under her dad’s arm.
Join the club, kid.
Only it wasn’t an animatronic version of Johnny Depp I was freaked about.
I tried to settle into the ride as we slid down under the ground, past shipwrecks and ominous skeleton heads talking about ancient sea curses. Down here, it was just my boat mates and me, so unless the little kid behind me was some mini stalker, I reasoned that I was pretty safe. I sat back and tried to enjoy the ride. Though I would never admit it to Aunt Sue, it was actually one of my favorites, too. It was cool down here, the scenes were flashy, and it even had kind of a catchy tune. I almost started singing along when we got to the piles of gold and pirates singing, “yo ho,” on top of their barrels of rum.