Someone To Watch Over Me (18 page)

He started up the engine, stretched over to
turn up the air-conditioning to maximum, and waited for the valet
to retrieve their vehicle. Sweat pooled into tears which traveled
down his face, chest, and back.

“I'm sweating like a stuck pig.”

Frank wiped his sleeve across his brow and
then tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Within a few
minutes, a valet appeared and retrieved the Escalade. Frank
tightened his grip. They wouldn’t give him the slip this time.

He turned on the radio and tuned in his
favorite station. The heavy metal music pulsed through the
speakers, and caused the dashboard to vibrate in rhythm to the
song. He waited until he glimpsed the SUV head back to the main
road, then he shifted the car in gear and followed.

The Escalade reached Scottsdale Road and made
a left turn heading north. Were they going back to the store or
were they heading somewhere else? He wrestled the impulse to move
in closer. He'd been stupid yesterday because he followed too
closely. To do this right you have to hang back, fade into the
background, like “white noise”, and he could do that. Frank was the
poster boy for white noise.

When they passed Shea Road, they made a turn
into a shopping center and went into a grocery store. Frank toyed
with the idea of waiting in the car for them to come out but the
air-conditioning in his grandmother’s car was mediocre at best. He
parked a few rows over and followed them inside. Frank grasped a
shopping cart and trolled down the aisles casting quick glances
searching for them. He found them pulling cans off the shelf in the
Mexican food section.

Morgan was placing items into a shopping cart
while the man stood nearby. The man said something in a low voice
Frankie couldn’t make out. Probably a joke because Morgan looked up
at him and laughed before setting a few items in the cart. They
looked like they belonged together, and the realization struck
Frankie in the gut like he’d been sucker punched. He held his
breath and clenched the shopping cart.
No, this can’t be. Morgan
and I are meant to be together.

He began to draw rapid breaths as his anger
boiled. He had to get out of here, now, before he did something
really stupid. He rolled the cart away a few feet before he
abandoned it and walked briskly back to the car.

He reached the vehicle, stopped and looked
around. What was he going to do now?

Transparent waves of heat rippled over the
dark asphalt of the parking lot. He spied them at the store
entrance.
Here they come.

Morgan and the man placed their groceries in
the back of the SUV. The man never strayed far from Morgan's side.
Hell, he even opened the passenger door for her to slide in. Who
did that anymore? “Sorry dude, but things are about to change.
Nothing you can do or say is going to change that,” Frankie
murmured.

The Escalade pulled out of the parking lot
and headed north on Scottsdale road. Frank put the car in reverse
and followed. He wouldn't lose them this time. In fact, the longer
he trailed them, the more he began to believe he had a talent for
tracking people. This SUV worked its way through the late afternoon
traffic for another twenty minutes when it happened. Frank missed
clearing the intersection during the same light as the SUV.

He sat in front of a line of cars and stared
in frustration as the distance between them increased. Frank
squirmed in his seat and glanced left and right as he pondered
running the red light. The smaller the SUV became, the more nervous
he became. “God, don't let me lose them now.”

Just when Frank though he’d lost them, the
SUV pulled into a left turn lane and entered Kierland Commons.

“Now what?” Frank muttered as they
disappeared from sight.

The light changed green and he floor boarded
the gas pedal. He had to catch them. Not bothering to use the
signals, he careened across the lanes to reach the turn lane. He
squeezed the steering wheel while he waited for a break in
traffic.

He'd barely entered the main street to the
mall when he glimpsed the SUV make a right turn down a side street
several blocks up. Frank slowed his vehicle to a crawl until he
reached the four way stop where they had turned.

Should he follow? What if he had to get away
quickly? He craned his neck around hoping to get a clear view of
what he would drive into, but couldn't see much.

“Hell,” he growled as he turned the steering
wheel and proceeded down the side street. Within seconds, the
street dead ended into a large parking lot. Most of the spaces had
been cordoned off for restaurant valet parking.

“Blood suckers. Isn't there anywhere in
Scottsdale where you can park for free?” Frank mumbled a curse as
he navigated the large vehicle, searching for free spaces. Finding
a small cache of unreserved spaces at the back of the lot, he eased
his car into one and turned off the motor. Now he’d find them.

He stepped out and scanned the lot for their
vehicle. Most of the cars were expensive European imports and the
occasional Hummer, so he walked across the lot and doubled back
along the side street. Where had they gone? He spied an entrance to
a subterranean parking garage. The words “tenant parking”
discretely marked the entrance. He quickly looked around to confirm
no one was watching and then stepped inside.

Several seconds passed before his eyes
adjusted to the cool darkness. The cavernous space echoed every
sound. His tennis shoes made a soft padding sound on the concrete
floor. Frank walked cautiously, trying to be as quiet as possible
and praying he wouldn’t run into a security guard. Then he walked
around and proceeded up the ramp to the second floor. There, he
found what he was looking for: the black Escalade.

He walked over and peered in the tinted
windows. Of course Morgan wasn't there, but had she left anything
behind? He scanned the empty interior of the vehicle. Nothing.

Stinking transmitter, he'd paid a small
fortune for it and it didn't work. “I'm going to get a refund,”
Frank whispered as he bent over and reached inside the wheel well.
His fingers felt the warm metal of the truck and he chewed on his
lip while he groped and searched for it.

A car came up the ramp and headed toward him.
Frank crouched down and crawled around to hide behind the front
bumper. The white BMW cruised by and parked several spaces down. He
didn't move as the engine shut off, and someone stepped out of the
car. He slowly straightened up, and peered over the cars when the
sound of retreating footsteps assured him they weren’t walking
toward him.

A man in a suit walked over to the elevator
at the far end of the garage. He inserted a pass key and stepped
inside before the doors closed.

Frank walked over. All he found was a brass
plate with the words “The Vistas”. “Damn!” He slapped the elevator
door and stood back, half hoping they’d open for him. Somewhere up
among the expensive, exclusive, and password protected condominiums
was Morgan.

He stormed out of the garage. So close! He
turned right as he exited the entrance and strode toward the main
street, looking up every few seconds at the building he couldn't
get into.

His mind ticked off questions to which he had
no answers. How would he get in? Which condo? What was she doing?
No. Don't think about that. Desperation morphed into a rage as
images of Morgan with the man entered his mind. They were up there
together.

Frank crossed the courtyard and took a seat
in front of the man-made water geysers. A few families had brought
their children to play in the water. He stared across the street at
the tower. How was he going to find her?

Fire escape? There must be stairs which ended
on the ground floor. But even if he found them, he had no idea
where to go from there.

Screams of laughter caught his attention, and
he gazed at the children as they cavorted around. A father and
mother sat on a bench and laughed at the antics. His resentment
bubbled.

Whether it was God, fate, or simply bad
Karma, he’d never know, but these kids had something he never had,
a family. His father had skipped on him and his mom so long ago
that Frank had no clear memory of him. His mother had never been
around much either. She either worked or spent her time searching
for the next Mr. Right in all the wrong places.

There had been a succession of men after his
old man left. His mother told him to call them uncles, but they
weren't. Sometimes nice, sometimes not, for the most part they were
indifferent to him. To them, Frank was like furniture, something
they had to navigate around and avoid bumping into.

His eyes traveled back to the condos. He must
get to Morgan.

***

Morgan set the groceries on the counter and
walked over to the patio door. She gazed at the sky as dusk
settled. This was her favorite time of the day. The summer sun
worked nothing short of a miracle when evening came to the Arizona
desert. The neutral palette of beige and sun-bleached green
transformed into rich tones. Like a kaleidoscope wheel, the colors
flowed from sky blue to yellow, orange, red and finally faded to
dusty purple before the darkness settled in.

Shawn unpacked the food in the kitchen, and
she heard the rustle of grocery bags. If she didn't get dinner
started they'd be eating later than she'd like, so she went to
change into jeans and a top. By the time she returned to the
kitchen, Shawn had finished putting the groceries away and taken a
beer out of the fridge.

“Want one?”

“Thanks,” she replied. He pulled another
bottle out, removed the cap, and handed it to her. “I've never made
sour cream enchiladas before.”

Morgan took a sip. “You don't have to help.
Go sit and relax.”

He went around and sat down on the bar stool
on the other side of the counter. “Tell me more about you and
Brad.”

She did her best not to cringe when he
mentioned her ex-boyfriend's name. She knew the topic would come up
eventually. Yesterday's phone conversation with Brad had been a
virtual slap in the face and left no room for doubt that things
were over.

Until now, she had avoided talking about the
breakup with anyone. But in the wake of last night's talk with
Shawn about his failed relationship, she couldn't refuse to
answer.

Morgan stalled as she took the rotisserie
chicken out of the plastic container, removed the skin and pulled
the meat from the bones. She sensed his gaze on her and ignored him
as she continued to work on the chicken. “I'm not sure where to
start. Exactly what do you want to know?”

“Let's start with something simple. How did
you two meet?”

“We met through a mutual friend two years
ago.” Morgan said.

“Stella introduced you?”

“No, my friend Liz did.” Morgan paused and
glanced up at Shawn. His face was expressionless, and she couldn't
get a beat on what he was thinking. Morgan resumed pulling the meat
off the chicken. “Brad and I had been exclusive for about a
year.”

“Sounded serious,” Shawn said.

Morgan set the chicken into a small bowl,
washed the cutting board, and then picked up the onion. She sliced
off both ends and peeled away the brown papery skin.

“Yeah,” she replied. “At least I thought
so.”

“What happened?”

Morgan’s eyes watered as she stacked the
slices and cut them into small pieces.
Well, at least I can
blame the tears on the onion.
She finished and scooped the
diced onion into another small bowl. Then she rinsed the knife and
took a sip from her beer.

Shawn sat in silence and watched her. At
first look, she would’ve thought he was calm and detached, but his
finger steadily worked at peeling the label from the bottle. “He
didn't want to take the next step. I guess in the end we wanted
different things,” she replied.

Shawn studied her. “Was the break up
bad?”

“No. There wasn't a fight or an argument. We
just went our own ways. I guess you can call it mutual.”

He set the bottle down and looked down at the
remains of the beer’s label which littered the granite countertop.
“I don't believe in mutual. Someone always walks away first.”

Morgan didn't reply immediately. She'd never
thought of it that way, but Shawn had a point. After they had “the
talk”, Brad became elusive.
He’d walked away first.
She
nodded. “You may be right. Where’s the can opener?”

“Second drawer from the top on your left,”
Shawn replied.

Morgan began to open the cans of cream,
chicken soup and diced green chilies. “We wanted different
things.”

“Yeah, I understand how that happens.”

Morgan glanced up at him. There was no pity
in his eyes, only empathy, an all-too-familiar solidarity shared by
those who'd been walked away from. “I need something to mix up the
sauce in.”

“The large cabinet behind you.”

She turned, opened the door, and searched
before pulling out a large plastic bowl. She added the sour cream,
soup, and green chilies, and stirred them before turning the oven
on. Morgan then arranged the tortillas, cheese, chicken, and sauce
near a casserole dish she found when she searched for the mixing
bowl.

Morgan glanced down. An array of ingredients
lay around her. “Now comes the easy part, filling and rolling the
tortillas.”

Shawn set down his beer on the counter. “Let
me help.”

He got up from the bar stool and came into
the kitchen, washed his hands, and then stood next to her. “Where
do I start?”

Morgan smiled and explained the process of
loading the tortillas and filling the casserole dish. She grinned.
“You’re not off the hook. You owe me pancakes, remember?”

“Tomorrow,” Shawn said.

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”