Page 93 of Accidental Murder
Kayla slapped the handlebars with glee. Maybe she wasn’t waiting in vain.
“Would you like to leave a message with my nanny?” Cici asked.
“I’ll call back.”
Even though the pole blocked most of the chilly wind whipping through the parking garage, Kayla’s fingertips ached. How she wished she’d taken gloves from her uncle’s shed. With her feet planted on either side of the bike for balance, she shoved her hands into her pockets to warm them.
Dozens of people filed out of the first elevator and strolled to their vehicles. Not Taylor Simmons. He didn’t emerge from the next four elevators, either. She began to wonder if she’d assumed wrongly. Even if he had descended to a lower floor, he should have driven past her by now.
Gritting her teeth, she continued her vigil. When he finally exited an elevator with five button-downed executive types, she questioned her theory about him. He didn’t look like a man who could commit murder. On the other hand, he didn’t seem broken up about his wife’s death, by a long shot. He was talking in an animated fashion, as if he was telling a rip-roaringly funny story. The guy to his right burst into laughter, then the five nodded goodbyes and dispersed.
A short while elapsed before Simmons drove past Kayla. In a black Jaguar.
Gotcha!she wanted to cheer.
Without looking in her direction, he used the employees’ exit and turned right onto the street.
Kayla slotted her paid ticket into the turnstile and sped out of the garage. She pulled in behind Simmons, confident the helmet and jacket she had on would be enough of a disguise.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
A mixof drizzle and clouds made the driving slick, but Kayla kept pace behind Simmons as he weaved in and out of traffic. He didn’t head in the direction of his home on Russian Hill. He swung south on the 280 Freeway. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper, which made her pursuit easier. She could conceal herself between cars without losing sight of him.
When he exited on Half Moon Bay Road, Kayla questioned her decision to follow him. For all she knew, he could be going to visit someone at the beach. Even so, she turned off the Suzuki’s headlight for fear of detection and proceeded. The two-lane highway didn’t have streetlights. The cloud-covered moon was worthless for seeing potholes. She clenched the handles of the bike and prayed she wouldn’t hit one.
At Skyline Drive, Simmons turned left. He sped past Upper Crystal Springs Reservoir Vista Point, a spot that on any other occasion would have conjured up good memories for Kayla. After her mother and brother died, she and her father and Ashley had gone on many outings. A picnic here, a hike there. She pushed the memories away.
Focus.
A mile later her breath snagged in her chest. The road was empty of traffic. Empty of buildings. There were no businesses. No homes. Had Simmons caught sight of her? Was he luring her into an ambush?
Tentatively, she trailed him around a series of winding turns.
At a straightaway, he slowed to a stop.
Pulse racing, Kayla veered into an expanse of bushes. Bracing for impact, she ducked her head. Though the jacket and helmet protected her body, thorns ripped at her hands and neck. She tamped down the pain, switched off the engine, and listened. Hard.
No car door slamming. No footsteps padding toward her.
She mustered the courage to peek from her hiding place and made out Simmons’s silhouette in the front seat of the Jaguar. Was he talking on a cell phone? How could he? She didn’t have any reception. He could be communicating with colleagues via a walkie-talkie, she supposed.
After a few minutes, the Jaguar moved ahead. When Kayla could no longer make out the car’s taillights, she pulled onto the road. Less than a mile farther, she caught a faint illumination of red. Then the light vanished. Simmons must have turned.
Kayla sped to an unmarked driveway on the right and spotted taillights a hundred yards ahead. Then the car disappeared.
Again she wondered if she was driving into a trap. On high alert, she eased forward. She reached a dead end and cursed.
Until she looked left. Beyond a parking lot, she spied a sprawling one-story gray building.
She hid the bike in a stand of trees and, keeping to the shadows, sneaked toward the edifice. Simmons had exited his car and was standing at the main entrance tapping what she assumed was a security pad.
A buzzer sounded. Simmons yanked open the front door and stepped inside.
Crouching low, Kayla stole to the entrance. Above the security pad hung a small placard:BLEDSOE RESEARCH INSTITUTE.
Excitement surged within her. She was at the right place. Now what? She recalled reading in Sara’s notes how Sara had waited until a delivery truck had arrived to gain access.
A security camera swooped in her direction. She dropped to the ground in the nick of time and crept along the wall toward the rear of the facility.