by J. Conrad
Before he can spit out his insult, I say, “No. This was some stranger who threatened me, both in person and over the phone. As you mentioned, I did give all the information to the police. I also have a court date set for a temporary restraining order. The truth is, I thought this had more to do with me than you.”
Rance’s left eyebrow twitches when I mention court. He frowns and glares at the wooden tabletop. His gaze flicks back up to me. “That doesn’t make sense. I thought you said you didn’t know him.”
“I don’t know him. I had never seen him until recently when he appeared outside our office one evening. And it doesn’t make sense to me either. Somehow, he knows something about my past, and he’s angry with me because of it. But it’s something that doesn’t have anything to do with him or you,” I say. I’m not going to volunteer the specifics. “If I would have told you this sooner, would you not have bought the property?”
Epstein sniffs and takes a drink of his cola. His jaw muscle twitches. “Of course I wouldn’t have.”
But for some reason, I don’t believe him. I recall his concern about the annex building. He scrutinized the old permits, his face drawn and his body tense when he asked if Martin had done any other renovations. Of all the square footage to look over, an insignificant addition was his primary focus. That dirty, wooden building, with no insulation and basic fixtures, the concrete soiled from critters. Why was it so important? My imagination starts running wild. With my history, it doesn’t take much.
“Okay,” I say. “Well, do you know of any reason someone wouldn’t want you to have that property or would want to harm you?” He hasn’t answered my question from earlier.
Rance almost rolls his eyes. “Of course not.”
He isn’t going to tell me. Also, he wants me to know I’m foolish for asking. He sits there, stiff and closed off. Instead of continuing his query or being antagonistic like he was at first, he withdraws into his uptight resentment again. I must be on the brink of learning something he doesn’t want me to know. Tiptoeing around the edge of it.
If Trent were here, he might be proud of my initiative. Or he might be embarrassed for me, which I am myself. My chest tightens, and I shove the thought away. Trent doesn’t care, and I need to quit lying to myself.
“Unless you have anything else for me, I need to get going,” Rance says, adding, “since I have hundreds of thousands of dollars in fire damage.” He glares at me over his barely eaten chicken sandwich.
“I don’t think the damages will be in the hundreds of thousands,” I say. I try to make my voice sound reassuring, but a trace of criticism leaks in. “Since the buildings have to be renovated anyway, you’re probably only looking at a little more than what you were going to have already. But yes, the cleanup will be some work.”
Secretly pleased with myself, I wipe my hands on a napkin. I haven’t allowed him to intimidate me. He’s lucky I’m here at all.
“Anything else?” he asks. He shoves his plate away.
“No. I told you everything I know.”
Rance huffs. “Well, I don’t think you told me everything.”
I guess he thinks scowling while saying the words frightens me. But I’m scared all the time anyway, so whatever comes out of his mouth doesn’t matter much. He scoots out of the booth, his foot kicking the support leg under the table.
“I think I can say the same for you.” I prop an elbow on the table as I swivel to look at him. “You know, I just wanted to help. To do the right thing. I didn’t have to say anything, especially since doing so puts me in danger. I don’t know what Nick’s problem is or what he’s planning, but I thought telling you might help keep you safe. I regret that your building was targeted—if, in fact, that’s what happened—but better it than you.”
“Yes. Thank you.” He gives me a stiff, formal nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have ruined property to attend to.”
I say nothing. He’s still glaring at me with those cold, dark eyes, and I wonder if he expects me to apologize. Well, he’s not getting that.
Rance leans down and takes the handle of his briefcase. After grabbing his ticket from the table, he turns on his heel, and without waiting for the waitress, walks to the hostess stand to pay. No sooner does he exit the restaurant than my cell rings. I dig it out and stare at the screen. It’s becoming too predictable.
I answer and push “record.” “This is Aria.”
My gaze darts around the restaurant and out the windows that face the parking lot and a side street. I wrap my left arm around my waist.
“Choosing sides with no information is as good as cutting your own throat,” Nick Pearlman says.
“Did you set that building on fire?” I ask. My hand shakes so much I lean my elbow on the table to steady myself. I wonder if I’ll get lucky, and he’ll admit to arson. I don’t know that that’s what happened. But what else?
He clicks his tongue. “Please. Why would I need to do that? Like I said, you don’t know what kind of person Rance Epstein is. But I can also tell you he didn’t set fire to the building either.”
“No shit,” I say. “No one’s stopping you from telling me whatever it is you want me to know. All you’ve done so far is insult me and label Rance Epstein a criminal. What’s really going on here?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. But I can’t over the phone. Just meet with me one time, and you’ll leave with everything,” Nick says.
“Why me? Tell the police. They’re the ones who need to know. If Rance is doing something illegal, there’s not much I can do about it,” I say.
“There’s something you could have done about it. You shouldn’t have sold that property to him.”
“Why?” I ask. I twirl my straw while I wait for him to spill it. He doesn’t.
“Please, you only need to meet with me once. We’ll do it in a public place, with lots of people around. It will be very safe for you. I have no intention of harming you, and I won’t if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. My phone starts to slip in my sweaty fingers. I switch hands, then wipe my palm on my slacks. Some of last night’s dizziness returns.
I add, “Whatever’s been going on between you and Rance needs to be sorted out by the police. Or at the very least a lawyer.”
“No, this is your fight too. And you haven’t paid your dues. Everything comes with a price,” Nick says. “Even self-defense, as you put it.”
I grab a clean napkin and wad it in my fist. A small, nagging suspicion needles me. “What am I paying for, exactly?”
“You know damn well what you’re paying for. And you’ve had blood on your hands far too long already. I guess an eye for an eye is the only thing people like you understand.”
My free hand jerks and I knock my coffee mug over. Milky, brown liquid sloshes across the table and drips onto the floor.
An eye for an eye.
Any remaining doubt bleeds out of me and disappears. He knows I killed Ayden... and somehow, he knows about the blue eye ring. A sick chill runs down my spine all over again. I lean forward in the booth, ignoring the coffee spill and putting more weight on my elbows.
In a voice so calm it scares me, I say, “Sorry, but you’re too late. Someone beat you to it, and I already got what was coming to me last winter. I have the scars to prove it.”
“Tell yourself whatever lies you need to,” he says. He hangs up.
I wonder what it will take to satisfy Nick’s thirst for vengeance—what punishment he’ll deem most befitting. Will it be one of my eyes or both?
13
When I get back from my lunch date from hell with Rance, Kyle’s waiting for me. My young boss stands near the door of his office. He’s frowning—a rare thing for him. Drawing his eyebrows down, he stares at the floor and flexes his fingers.
I stop in the entryway, waiting until he looks up. “Is everything all right?”
Kyle shakes his head. “No. Rance Epstein has threatened t
o sue us.”
I drop my purse on the floor. I glance around and rub the back of my stiff neck. I knew there was a possibility of this happening, and yet I proceeded anyway. I was so out of sorts from Trent’s letter and the flashback that kept me up half the night that warning Rance seemed like the only good I could do.
“Well, I don’t think he has much of a case,” I say.
“Apparently, he does. He said you informed him of the garbage this Nick Pearlman character has been spouting—the stuff he’s been threatening you with, or whatever he’s been doing,” Kyle says.
“Yeah, the thing is, I had to tell Rance what I know. Because his life might be in danger. But I don’t see how anything I said can be used as evidence for our liability for the fire,” I say. “He said Detective Spade already informed him about Nick, so regardless of what I did, Rance knew about Nick going in.”
“I wish you would have checked with me before meeting with him. This makes it look like we were withholding information about the property,” Kyle says.
“No,” I say, crossing my arms. “And I can testify to that effect because we didn’t know anything. Some stranger having a problem with Rance isn’t information about the property. Not really. Besides, Nick’s threats have more to do with me.”
“I just don’t understand, Aria. Why would you tell him this? And I don’t get why this Nick guy has anything against you in the first place. Are you sure you don’t know him somehow? I know you don’t lie, but—” Kyle sighs, leaving the doorway and stepping into his office.
I follow. On the desk, chocolate and caramel scents waft from a small, open box a client gave him. “I truly don’t know him or his motives. Nick told me he knows what I did in self-defense a year ago. But I don’t understand why he’s bothered by that unless he knew Ayden. That’s the only connection that makes sense. Spade hasn’t found anything either yet. Regardless, I had to tell Rance. I couldn’t leave that on my conscience—especially if Nick winds up hurting him or trying to. It might be my fault for not saying something.”
“Aria, you don’t always have to do the right thing. Because the right thing isn’t always the right thing. I mean, not in every case. If someone is threatening someone else, you just go to the police. Which you did. But now, you’ve placed yourself, me, and the business in the middle of this. I just wish you would have consulted with me first.” He sighs. “Well, I guess we’re going to court. I hope you’re right that he doesn’t have a case. I’m not so sure.”
My knees are shaking, and I pull out the chair across from Kyle’s desk. Kyle hasn’t sat down. He still lingers near the door and fiddles with a leaf of the rubber plant.
“What should I do?” I ask. I take a seat.
“Right now, nothing. But please promise me you won’t say anything else to anyone about this,” Kyle says. He turns slightly, fixing his gaze on me.
I bite my bottom lip as I lag for a response. “I can’t say I can promise that one hundred percent. What if something happens and I have to tell someone?”
“Aria, please. This is a mess. And it can get worse. Just promise me you won’t say anything else to Rance. Not until we go to court and get this sorted out—permanently,” Kyle says.
“Okay. I won’t say anything.” I’m not trying to lie, but I’m not sure I mean what I say, either. I look down at my lap and smooth the creases from my pants.
Kyle pads over and settles into his chair. “Good. Now let’s see if we can get through the rest of this workday.” He forces a small smile, and I know he’s trying to make me feel better.
The strange thing is, I do feel better. It hasn’t been a good day. It was full of tense conversations and now a threatened lawsuit. But at the end of it all, my conscience is clean. I didn’t do what everyone wanted. It wasn’t easy, and it earned me a lot of resentment. But I did the right thing, and because of that, I’ll be able to sleep tonight no matter what else happens. I’m not sure I can say the same for Rance and Nick. I’m becoming convinced they both have far worse skeletons in their closet than I do.
When I pull up to my stone façade, two-story house in Round Rock, I notice a man with dark hair sitting on the porch, watching me. I slam on the brakes before I reach the driveway. The tires squeal. My body whips forward as I grip the steering wheel.
“Son of a—”
It takes me a second to realize the man is Trent. Shaking my head and swearing under my breath, I pull into the driveway, park, and turn off the car. Trent showing up like this after giving me that letter only proves he’s more confused than I am.
I get out and close the door of my sedan harder than I intend before slowly walking up to the house. I halt a few feet away from Trent, waiting for him to speak first.
“Hey,” he says. He rises and steps down to the walkway. “How are you?”
I intentionally pause for a few seconds. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
Trent clears his throat. “Is it all right if we talk about it inside?”
“Sure. We can speak upstairs in my room. Otherwise, there’s no privacy.”
“Great. Thank you.” Trent smiles, and I have to admit he looks relieved. But the smile soon fades. Something concerns him. He doesn’t want me in his life—not really—yet he called me, and now he’s appeared on my porch.
When I unlock the door, I find Margarita, Rebecca, and Ann on the couch. They’re seldom home at the same time. Rebecca’s short, blonde hair contrasts Margarita’s longer, black locks, and Ann’s a brunette like me. Almost in unison, their gazes swing to Trent and hold. They’ve never met him, but their undivided attention tells me they suspect this is him—the guy who rescued me.
“Aria,” Rebecca says. “You have to introduce us to your guest.” She stands and grins. Margarita and Ann pop to their feet beside her.
Well, I’m glad some of us are excited. “Of course. Everyone, this is Trent.”
“The Trent?” Margarita asks. She raises an eyebrow at him, then at me.
“Yep. This is Trent, the man who found me and saved my life.” It’s still true, after all.
I wait by politely while Trent and my housemates shake hands and exchange a few words. When I move toward the stairs, Rebecca grabs my arm.
I flinch and yank it away. “The arm grabbing has to stop. I have ears.”
“Sorry,” Rebecca says, giving me space. “It’s a bad habit. I just wanted to say if you want to stay here and chat, or if you want to use the table in the kitchen, it won’t bother us a bit.”
If she’s concerned, I don’t know why. But as I peer into her wide eyes, I find curiosity, more than worry, reflected there. Having just met Trent, she wants to know more. She wants to figure him out.
“Thanks, but we’ll just head upstairs. See you guys later.” I give an off-handed wave and start for the steps. I turn to find Trent lingering awkwardly.
“Nice meeting you,” he says to the three women before following me.
We reach my room, and I shut the door behind us. Since I did laundry last night, the air smells like fresh sheets. Clean linens—as though that has any bearing on the present situation. Maybe it would for a normal woman in an actual romantic relationship, but not for me.
My face heats as I sit on the edge of the bed. I look up at Trent. He thinks of himself as average-looking, but beyond brown hair and brown eyes, he’s not ordinary to me. My heart pounds, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s near me, temporarily raising me from my bottomless pit of loneliness, or because I’m hurt and confused by his communication lately. Maybe both.
I motion to the chair by my small desk. “You can sit if you want.”
He pulls out the chair and slowly eases into it, his gaze darting about my modest but tidy bedroom. Four library books are stacked in a neat tower on the desk. On the dresser sits my Kindle, a six-inch-tall stuffed cat, a basket containing a few makeup items, and my black alarm clock with red digital numbers.
Trent squirms like he’s uncomfortable. He leans forward
with his elbows on his legs, then folds his hands and studies my face. “I’m sorry I dropped by unannounced. I’ve been a little worried about you.”
“Worried about me? Why?” I frown. He doesn’t know the latest developments in the Nick and Rance saga.
“I saw the news story about the warehouse buildings on Lamar. Wasn’t that the property you were trying to sell? The one you said had been on the market forever, and you finally had a buyer for it? The reporter said the Austin Fire Department suspected arson.”
I’m not sure where it comes from, but I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s the same property. It’s kind of the nucleus of my existence right now.”
“Did you hear about the fire when it happened?” Trent asks.
“I saw it, actually. I was riding my bike after work, and I saw the smoke and the fire trucks. It looked pretty bad. There’s been a lot going on lately, to be honest.” I shrug off a chill. “But before we talk about that, I’ve got to say I’m thoroughly confused. You wrote me to say you wanted me out of your life, but then you call me, and now you’re here.”
Trent pulls back. His brow creases, and he swallows. “How could you possibly get that idea from what I wrote? I said that—” He pauses, looking sideways while he recalls the words. “—I had done some thinking, and if you wanted to stay with me, it was okay. Because you’d been coming over to the house a lot anyway, which was fine, and I just thought there wasn’t much point in you doing so much driving. It’s been so quiet without you. Too quiet.” He pushes his palms against his jeans with stiff arms.
“How can you say that with a straight face? I have the letter right here, and that’s not what you wrote,” I say.
Trent’s mouth falls open, and he glares at me like I’m speaking in tongues. “Okay. Let me see it.”
I sigh, turning to the nightstand where I lay the letter. The folded piece of paper isn’t there. I pull the drawer out and start rifling through it just in case I stuck it there last night. There isn’t all that much inside, so it shouldn’t be this difficult. A few pens, a notebook, a pair of sunglasses. Maybe it fell. I check the floor, but no luck.