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Her fingers tightened around the strap of her shoulder bag.
He’d removed his glasses. His eyes were an unusual shade of aquamarine, creating a striking contrast to his olive skin, black hair, and heavy brows. His tight-lipped smile failed to warm cold features.
She cradled her bag to her chest, her muscles bunched, preparing for flight mode. The train wasn’t crowded. Why had he been so determined to get into her car? And why did he seem familiar?
The man took a seat a few rows behind her. Maybe he’d get off at the next stop. He didn’t, but more people got on, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
He didn’t get off at the next four stops either. By the time the train pulled into L’Enfant-Plaza, Sophia was up and waiting for the doors to open. Without looking back, she bolted from the train, weaved through the crowd, and climbed the moving steps of the escalator rather than waiting for them to ferry her.
As she neared the top, she glanced back. A family with small children crowded onto the escalator, blocking the man.
The busy station’s crowds and multiple exits might work to her advantage. She headed for the D Street exit and raced up the steep escalator that ferried passengers to surface level.
Finally, she reached the top and onto the street, her lungs on fire. She scanned the exiting crowd behind her for a brief second, then hurried down D, cut through the small park to 6th, then up to Maryland, and over to Independence Avenue. Only then did she stop to catch her breath and look around. There was no sign of the stranger amongst the pedestrians milling around her.
Above her head, tall banks of clouds cluttered what had been a cloudless, blue sky.
Her heart was still galloping like a racehorse. She dug her phone out of her bag and called Emily. “I just had the weirdest thing happen.” She told her friend about the stranger while she walked the rest of the way to the Rayburn House Office Building at a more leisurely pace.
“You should call the police,” Emily said.
“And tell them what? A creepy guy may have been following me? He didn’t speak to me, didn’t approach me.” Sophia passed between the massive ionic columns of Rayburn’s horseshoe entrance and through a set of glass and metal doors to the security checkpoint. “Maybe I imagined it.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” Sophia promised her friend. She hung up, texted her former boss, Tony, in Congressman Kellerman’s office that she was downstairs waiting, and placed her bag on the screening table for inspection.
By the time two-thirty rolled around, Sophia had finished up her meetings. A dead calm had descended over the trees, disturbed only by gusts from passing cars. She cast a wary glance at the sky and picked up her pace back to the Metro. She descended into the station’s bowels and took the shorter escalator to the yellow line track.
A flash of red drew her attention further down the platform. The air punched from her lungs, replaced by a sick feeling of dread.
It was a coincidence. Had to be.
The train pulled in, drawing crowds to the front of each car door.
It probably wasn’t even him. She hadn’t gotten a good look.
She sat through the next five stops, her stomach in knots, face pressed against the glass as she scanned disembarking passengers. Finally, the train decelerated into King Street Station. A humid gust of wind blew through the raised outdoor platform, tugging strands of hair from her twist as she stepped from the car. She peered up at the gathering storm clouds.
Her muscles twitched in warning. She scanned the platform and froze, her feet cemented to the hexagon tile floor.
That flash of red at L’Enfant Plaza hadn’t been her imagination.
The stranger stood mere feet away, a malevolent amusement lighting his aquamarine eyes and twisting his lips. This close, it suddenly struck her where she’d seen him before.
In her rearview mirror.
“Why are you following me?” If only her voice had come out stronger instead of shaking with fear. Her gaze darted around the platform. Where was a police officer when you needed one?
“Tell Lachlan Mackay his day is coming,” the man said in a crisp British accent. He turned and disappeared down the escalator to street level before she could take a full breath.
A rumble of thunder in the distance snapped her out of immobility.
How had he known she and Lachlan were colleagues? And why had he targeted her to deliver his message?
Whatever Lachlan was involved in, he was in danger. She needed to warn him.
Her shaking fingers could barely manage the rideshare app. Even if the weather didn’t look menacing, there was no way she was walking back to the office. Fortunately, a driver was nearby with an ETA of two minutes. She stayed on the train platform for another minute, then took the escalator to the street and fast-walked to the rideshare zone, scanning the area for any sign of the British man.