All Fixed Up by Linda Grimes

a U-turn, so it was heading the same direction I was. Could be a coincidence—maybe somebody happened to be leaving at the same moment I was—but it was traveling pretty slowly.
    I picked up my pace. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the driver was looking at his phone. Probably checking directions, or maybe texting. If Mom saw him, she’d give him holy hell for not keeping his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.
    I was even more reassured when the glow of a streetlight caught his face and I saw it wasn’t Loughlin. Hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath until then. Still, I hurried to the cross street—a major road where you could always find a taxi this time of morning. It didn’t take long for one to stop for me. The driver wasn’t thrilled with the address I gave him—he would have preferred a longer fare—but jollied up fast enough when I assured him I was a good tipper.
    Once we were moving, I peeked out the back window. The SUV was two cars behind us. It was a common model, but I recognized the driver’s haircut, so it had to be him.
    Calm down, Ciel. Stop being so twitchy. Lots of cars go this way. Just because someone is behind you doesn’t mean he’s following you.
    Unless, of course, he stayed behind you all the way to the relatively obscure gym you were going to, and held up traffic in his lane while he watched you leave your taxi and walk into the building, staring at you the whole time he was talking to someone on his cell phone. Then, I hazarded a guess, he was probably following you.

 
    Chapter 8
    Okay, I thought later, while I was beating the shit out of a heavy bag. The guy definitely hadn’t been Loughlin. Might be connected somehow, might not. For all I knew, he was some pervert who got his jollies following women, seeing if he could get them to react. Kind of like catcalling, only without words.
    Creepy? For sure. Dangerous? Hard to say. I’d mention it to Billy or Mark later, and see what they thought. There was no point in bothering them this early, not when I was now safely in a gym surrounded by well-muscled witnesses.
    I hit the bag with a rapid-fire barrage of punches. My form no doubt sucked—it was my first time wearing boxing gloves—but it was a great release all the same. The nice old man with the battered face at the desk up front had been unpacking some new youth gloves when I’d arrived. I admired their bright green color, and jokingly said something about how they must make you feel as powerful as the Hulk when you wore them. He’d laughed, and told me I should try them and see.
    He didn’t know it yet, but he’d made a sale. I did feel rather Hulk-like when I lit into the bag. Like I said, great release. Plus, as I’d suspected, a hell of lot more fun than wondering if I was pregnant. Time to figure that out later.
    I felt a warm hand on my bicep and reacted without thinking, twisting my torso and aiming up by instinct, connecting with the face before I could stop myself. He fell backward, landing on his butt, cradling his jaw with one hand.
    I’d never seen Mark look quite so surprised.
    I sank down beside him, reaching for his face with both hands. He flinched away from the gloves, understandably leery.
    â€œCrap.” I untied my right glove using my teeth, wedged it under my arm, and yanked my hand out. “I didn’t know it was you. I am so sorry!” I pulled the glove off my other hand.
    He pushed himself up to a steadier position. “My fault, Howdy. I shouldn’t have tried to adjust your form without telling you first. Good reflexes, by the way.”
    I blushed at his praise, as usual. “Thanks. What are you doing here, anyway? James never told me you came to his gym.”
    â€œI don’t. One of my guys told me you were here.”
    â€œHow did he—wait, did you have somebody watching Mom and Dad’s house? Was that who