At the receptionist desk, Sloane was busy signing her name on the digital screen while I slipped my card back into my wallet. The smell of coconut oil and hairspray still clung to my hair. 

As we turned to leave, I glanced at her casually and said, “By the way, I think someone’s been following me.” 

Sloane blinked. “What?” 

I pushed the salon’s glass door open as the warm California air brushed on my skin. “Yeah. A black SUV was trailing me last night after I left ...