by S. M. West
“Where are you going?” he asks when I go left to his right as the elevator doors open into the parking garage.
“To my car.” I don’t bother to stop, only feet from my vehicle. “I’ll meet you at the station.”
“Does that thing even drive?” He glances over my shoulder at my two thousand and seven Toyota Corolla that he had brought over to his place. “There’s no way that thing passed its emissions test.”
“It drives just fine.” I place my hands on my hips. “And it did pass the test, thank you very much. I thought you said we were going to be late. Or do you just want to stand here and trash talk my car some more?”
“Get in my car. I’ll drop you at work after the police station.”
“Zach, I need my car today. Besides, dropping me off at work will only make you late for your meeting. And what about tonight? If I go with you now, how am I going to get home later?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No, it’s easier this way. See you there.”
Thirty minutes later and we’re done. I’m less tense and grateful for Zach at my side as we leave the police station. Although Zach is now the one stressed out or something and it’s been mounting ever since Tom showed up.
“Thanks for coming,” I say to Tom as we head toward the parking lot.
“No problem, any time.” He leans down to hug me and Zach stares, his jaw locked and eyes stony. What is his problem?
“Nice to meet you, man.”
Zach shakes his hand and asks, “Tom, you want to help out with this?”
“Of course. That creeper needs to be put away. Tell me how?” Tom rakes his fingers through his already unruly blond hair.
“I’ve got security detail on Hummel but just in case he gets the jump on us again, can you and your friends go by Paige’s place at least once a day and make sure things are okay? That there’s nothing unusual or you don’t see him there.”
“Sure, that’s easy.”
“I don’t understand.” I cock my head to the side, studying Zach. “I’m staying with you, why do you need to keep an eye on that place? I’ve given him notice and I have no intentions of ever going back to that place.”
“I know, but technically you’re still renting it and he can’t go by there without getting your consent. If we can catch him breaking the agreement, even if there’s no real threat to you, it’s something else we can use in our case against him.”
“Sweet.” Tom beams and I frown. I doubt Joel’s going near that place, but I understand and appreciate Zach covering all the angles.
They exchange contact information and Tom leaves, then it’s just Zach and me.
“Thank you also for coming. I hope having Tom here didn’t tick you off.”
We’re nearing our cars, parked side by side, and while it’s my call whether Tom was here or not, I want Zach to know I’m grateful for all he’s doing. Absentmindedly, he lifts his head and nods, eyes glued to his phone.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you later.” I’m at the driver’s side of my car and he’s busy texting. This time, he doesn’t even bother to look up in my direction. “Zach,” I say harshly, and his head snaps up, puckering his brow.
“What did Tamara mean when she said Joel’s done this kind of thing before?”
His features harden and his lips press white, studying me in a way that suggests he’s weighing his response.
“I already told you. He harassed another tenant.” His words are measured and tone flat, and while I may not know him well, I sense he’s trying too hard to be detached. To downplay my question.
“No, it wasn’t like that. She said it right after you rudely cut the officer off from going into the details of the lab results.”
Thinking more about our entire time in the police station, I realize he was acting weird. At the time, I thought he was feeding off my tense vibes but now, I’m not so sure.
“What is it that you don’t want me to know?” Narrowing my gaze, I examine his expression for the slightest twitch or tick.
“Why do you say that?” He slips his phone into his jacket pocket and steps closer to my car.
“Stop deflecting and tell me what’s going on.” I round the hood and stop only a foot or two from him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Folding his arms across his chest, Zach releases an exasperated breath and I bite back my irritation.
“Fine. I’m moving out. Today. I won’t stay with someone who lies to me.”
“You’re being silly.”
“Am I?” I chuckle wryly. “I don’t think so. And just because you seem to need a refresher with the law, I’m going to let you in on a little-known fact. Tamara may be billing you, but I’m her client. If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll make sure she does.”
“Why won’t you drop this?” he growls and his fists curl.
“I have a right to know. What Joel did happened to me. Please tell me.”
“Dammit.” He scrubs a hand roughly down his face. “Joel did something similar to what happened to you to another tenant.”
“Go on.”
“I cut the officer off because…” His steely blue eyes chill my heart. “He masturbated with your underwear.”
His growl rumbles low in my chest and I clench my jaw so as not to release a disgusted sob. I stagger backward, my body hits the car, and the metal takes my weight as I let what he just said sink in. Gripping my elbows, he stares intently into my eyes.
“We were watching him. I took every precaution to make sure he didn’t get a chance to do that to you.”
“But he did,” I whisper, the words cutting my throat like sharp gravel.
“Surveillance screwed up and they didn’t notice he’d left his house to go to yours.”
I feel like I’m being violated all over again and I want to scream. And with Zach here, I want to blame him for what Joel did. Logically, this isn’t his fault. No matter what Zach did or didn’t do, he isn’t responsible for Joel’s disgusting acts.
“Okay.” I push from his grasp toward my car door.
“Are you?” He doesn’t leave my side, taking my hand and turning me to face him.
“I’m fine. Before I go, is there anything else you’re not telling me?”
“No, that’s it. We’re doing everything in our power to get him behind bars for a long time.” He’s confident and I force a smile, even if only because of his willingness to help.
“Thanks.” I pull my hand from his and slip into the car. “I’ll see you later.”
My mind reels, still processing everything as I leave Zach standing in the lot. There is no one to blame except Joel Hummel. Whether or not I’d met Zach or not, or had his help, likely I’d still be in this very spot.
On the bright side, I’m out of there and Zach did help. Things could have been worse and that’s what I have to remember. They aren’t, thanks to Zach.
Seventeen
Zach
It’s after eleven when I get home and there’s no sign of Paige or Morgan. After walking from room to room on the main floor, I take the stairs, hoping to find Paige asleep in our bed.
Halfway up, JP appears from his quarters. “Mr. Rothwell, good evening.”
“JP, where are Ms. Hayes and Ms. Rothwell?”
“They’re out, sir.”
“Out?”
“Yes, they said something about self-defense class.”
“Self-defense?” I arch a brow and he nods.
I’m pleased to hear Paige is taking action and so quickly. It isn’t surprising. She’s strong and independent, but I’m a bit disappointed and frustrated she never said anything to me.
“Did either of them say when they’d be back?”
“No, sir. But they did say something about dancing afterward so I imagine they might be late.”
“Fine.” My disappoint morphs into irritation and I continue up to my bed. “Good night, JP.”
I haven’t spoken with Paige since
this morning when she discovered just how deranged her landlord is and, more importantly, that I failed to keep her safe. I thought about calling or texting, but I’m not one to call just because and nothing I could think of to say sounded right or acceptable.
Despite fatigue, I’m awake at well after one in the morning when she stumbles into the room reeking of stale cigarettes, reminiscent of the outside entrance to the dive bars Morgan likes to frequent.
I don’t say a word, lying still and watching her strip off her clothes and fall into bed in only a shirt and panties. I could relish the thought she’s more and more comfortable with living with me. I like that idea but that doesn’t explain her actions.
She’s tired, maybe even tipsy, and doesn’t have her wits or the wherewithal to care. That’s my guess anyway.
Sleep eventually comes and when I wake early in the morning, Paige is wrapped around me again. Like the night before, it’s still hard to believe her body pressing against mine didn’t wake me.
I’m not cuddly when I sleep or used to someone draping themselves over me. Yet for some unknown reason, Paige hugging me with a vise-like grip doesn’t even cause me to stir during the night.
My morning routine of a workout, shower, and breakfast keeps my mind off the puzzling woman in my bed. Once I’m dressed and ready to leave, it crosses my mind to wake her and talk. But I don’t.
Depending on how you look at it, my day goes much the same as the last. Foreign and troublesome. Like a splinter festering underneath the skin, at first, our lack of communication went undetected, or at least I thought so.
Until this alien and unwelcomed sensation started to swell and throb under my skin. And now it’s at the point where talking, like the removal of the splinter, is the only thing that will quell the hard-to-ignore discomfort.
Paige is on my mind all day long, but I don’t reach out or do anything about it, and she doesn’t contact me either. Resolved to talk in person and no longer able to suppress the urge to face her—see her—I leave the office well before I should, with a lot of work left unfinished.
I arrive home a little past eight and before I even set eyes on a single soul, I feel or, more the opposite, don’t feel her presence.
Paige isn’t here.
Morgan’s sprawled on the couch eating chips and watching something loud and offensive on the flat screen.
“She waited for you. Stayed as long as she could before leaving. She even told Nan to go without her.”
Shit. The foundation meeting. I completely forgot.
“Umm.” Not wanting to get into anything with my cousin, I play off my stupidity with nonchalance, scrolling through the news feed on my phone. A night of further aggravation faces me, and I grimace inwardly.
“The foundation meeting was tonight. You should have been here. She was a ball of nerves. Worried they would treat her like Reagan did.”
“I got caught up on a call.” I’m more defensive than I intend and my cutting tone causes her to sit up straight.
“Speaking of calls. I don’t understand why she didn’t call or text you. It was plain to see she wanted to speak with you.”
Morgan’s observation sends a warm, unfamiliar feeling through me. She wanted to talk to me.
“How do you know she didn’t call me?” Staring intently at Morgan, I cover for Paige’s uncharacteristic behavior. If she were really my girlfriend, calling me would be second nature.
“I guess I don’t.” She turns from the TV, cocking her head to one side. “Well, did she call you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Need I remind you our relationship is none of your business.”
“No fair. What’s the big deal?” She can be exhausting. Like a dog with a bone, she doesn’t know when to stop gnawing at something and bury the thing.
“I’ve got a headache and don’t have the wherewithal to do this with you.” I rub at my temples. “I’m heading up. Will you be out tonight?”
“Nope. Just me and Fleabag.”
“Night, Morgan.”
Removing my tie and then my cuff links, I’m only feet from ascending the staircase when she asks, “What’s going on with you two? Seems like there’s this tension or distance between you. Did something happen?
“Good night.” I take the stairs two at a time.
Paige comes home late and she’s up and out before I wake the next day. I miss her body plastered against mine. By that evening, I’ve had enough of this deliberate avoidance, and I make a point of being home early, only to discover Morgan and Paige have gone out.
Again.
According to JP and the note Paige leaves, they’re working on the Foundation gala, which suggests she has accepted Nan’s request to run Nuit Étoilée.
Not to be ignored and no longer willing to endure the strange haunted feeling invading me, I get up extra early on Thursday morning and when I return from my workout, she’s dressed and packing a bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Hi. I thought you’d already left.” She almost sounds disappointed.
“Nope. Still here. What’s the bag for?” My chin dips in the direction of the small suitcase she’s zipping up and my hands curl into the towel draped over my neck. My knuckles whiten as I wring the cotton tight in frustration.
“I’ll be in Montreal for the weekend. I’m taking the train and spending time with my mom and Sam and when I get back, I’ll be moving in with them.” With the suitcase now on the ground, she finally faces me. “If it’s okay with you, I need a few days to make arrangements to pick up my clothes.”
“Were you going to tell me these plans of yours?”
“I’m telling you now.” She tucks a few dark strands behind her ear, peering at me as if there’s nothing wrong or surprising about this.
“’Yes, but only because I surprised you. What were you planning to do? Text me once you were there?”
“I told Morgan last night.”
“Morgan isn’t me nor does she speak for me.” I stalk into the room, now standing in front of her. “What’s going on? Are you upset with me for the screw-up with Hummel?”
“No. That wasn’t your fault. All you’ve done is help me. I don’t blame you for anything.”
“Then what is it? What has you running?”
I take her hand, leading her to the bench at the end of the bed. Avoiding my gaze, she bites her lip and smooths down the front of her skirt.
“It’s overwhelming. I need to get back to normal. To my life.”
Her features tense and it’s clear everything with her landlord, and maybe even our deal, has taken its toll on her. But what isn’t clear is if she wants out of our arrangement.
“And you can’t do that here?”
She snorts. “No. Nothing about living here is normal.”
“It can be. I’ve told you to treat this as your home.” I shift a bit closer, our knees now touching. “Who are you going to hug in your sleep?”
“What?” Her eyes widen and a pink flush creeps into her cheeks.
“You hug me in your sleep.”
She dips her chin to her chest before lifting it to meet my gaze. “Sorry about that.”
“I like it.”
We stare at each other for a moment before she swallows. “I usually hug a pillow when I sleep.” She shakes her head. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
“I want to come with you to Montreal. Meet the family.”
“No.” She shoots to standing, taking quick steps to put distance between us. “Don’t you get it? I’d have to introduce you and explain us. They know I’m dating you but I’m not ready for that. Having you with me defeats the purpose of why I’m leaving.”
“So, it is me.”
“No, it isn’t.” She releases a heavy, exasperated breath. “You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m twisting your words?” I’m now standing, too. “You’re talking in circles and I’m getting dizzy.”
I rake my hand roughly through my damp, now musse
d, hair and she worries her bottom lip as our gazes lock. At least she can look at me.
“I’m going for the weekend. Alone.”
“And then you’re moving out.” My tone and expression are equally resigned, belying my displeasure and mounting frustration. “Are you having second thoughts about our deal?”
“No. My going away this weekend and moving out doesn’t change our agreement.”
“To me, it seems like the first step to ending things.” My smile is sardonic, and her eyes flick away uneasily. Perhaps not wanting me to see that I’ve hit the nail on the head?
“It isn’t. I promise.” Her words don’t carry much weight given she still isn’t looking at me.
“Really? And what do I say to Nan and Morgan when they hear you’ve moved out?”
“My living here was temporary. They knew that, so did you.” She pulls up the handle of the suitcase, wheeling it toward the door. “I have to go. I’ve got a meeting before I head to Union Station.”
“Do you want a ride?” My need to help overrides my annoyance. “I’d drive you but I still have to shower and get ready. My driver can take you.”
She pauses at the threshold, now staring intently with warm cocoa eyes. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Head on down. I’ll make the call.” I pull my phone from the pocket of my shorts. “Safe travels and have a good weekend.”
“Thanks, and you too.”
After my shower, Morgan slips in beside me on my way to the elevator. It’s as if she was lying in wait.
“G’morning.” She beams.
I grunt in response, not even making an effort to lift my eyes from my phone. She’s ready to pounce, it’s coming, and maybe, just maybe, if I give her little to no attention, she’ll lose interest.
“So, Paige is away this weekend?” I ignore her, hitting the call button for a driver. “Why didn’t you go to Montreal with her?”
I press the elevator down button, and she blocks the doors, hands on hips. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I had meetings.” My tone is flat, disinterested.
“You could have rescheduled.”