I turned the picture over, realizing a second later that I’d placed him facedown in my lap. The images came on before I could stop them, burning past the walls of my memory. His head nestled between my thighs. His thick, chocolate brown hair gripped in my fists. The feel of his tongue, gliding over my hidden places.
I love your sweet little cunt.
I snatched the paper, folded it, and tucked it into my wallet.
My phone beeped, and I knew it would be from Amy even before I picked it up. Sure enough, I was right, and shot back a quick response that I’d be there in ten.
Keeping my foot on the brake, I put the car in reverse, but found that I’d been boxed in by a white sedan. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. Probably some tourist—the car was too clean to be anything but a rental.
“Come on.” I tapped my horn lightly, but the car didn’t move.
A single drop of fear trickled down the back of my neck. I gripped the Mace on my key chain as my gaze shot around the parking lot. The closest car was half the length of a football field away. I couldn’t tell if there was someone inside, but there was enough traffic on the road that ran between the park and Alec’s apartment building to catch someone’s attention.
I couldn’t see through the windows, but I got the distinct impression someone was watching me.
“Five, four, three, two . . .” I laid on the horn. Five seconds was more than enough after all the time I’d given them.
The car jerked forward, as if it were a live thing and I’d just woken it from a deep slumber. Then, before I could get a read on the license plate, it made a tight loop and peeled out into traffic. A car swerved to avoid getting hit, and I could hear the driver’s angry yells across the street.
The threat was gone, but a wariness remained in its wake. I didn’t know what that was about, but I didn’t have a good feeling about it.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later I was greeted by Amy, standing outside on her landing while I trudged up the stairs.
“You’re late,” she called to me.
“I decided to take that client up on his offer,” I replied when I reached the second floor.
She tried to hide a laugh as she padded back inside, barefoot. “Either he’s really fast, or you’re really good.”
“I can’t believe it’s even a question,” I said. “What do you think they teach us in massage school?”
She spun back so hard her bangs swung over her eyes. “I knew it. Tell me everything.”
“For a price,” I offered.
“Hamburger Helper?”
“Sold.”
“Hi Anna.” Paisley kneeled on a seat at the kitchen table coloring a picture, but as I sat beside her, she met my gaze and smiled. It took a moment for me to respond. Six months ago Amy’s little five-year-old would barely acknowledge my presence; now she was making eye contact and initiating conversation. That therapy Amy and she had started a couple of months ago was really paying off.
She twirled a braid around her finger and passed me a purple crayon.
“Hi,” I said finally. “How was school today?”
“Fine,” she said. “I saw a frog. And then I saw a rabbit. And then I petted them.”
“Wow,” I said. “Way better than what I did at work.”
She smiled and returned to her artwork. She was drawing people, standing outside a purple house. A woman with yellow hair—her mom, I guessed. Two kids, and a man with a huge smile and biceps added onto his stick arms.
“Who’s this?” I asked, pointing to one of the kids.
“That’s me,” Paisley said. “And that’s Chloe. And that’s her daddy, Mike.”
“She’s just drawing people she knows,” Amy said, without turning around from the microwave. But I’d seen her go still, and knew she was surprised.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
Amy had a huge crush on Mike, though from what I understood, neither of them had taken a step forward since the bridge incident two months ago. His mother, Iris, lived upstairs and watched the girls sometimes. Apart from the occasional hello, they rarely spoke.
At least that’s what Amy had told me. I had a hard time believing Paisley would draw family pictures of a guy she only knew as her BFF’s father.
I set the table while Amy served up something that looked a little like high-sodium dog throw up with noodles, along with some microwaved green beans.
“So,” said Amy. “I ran into Alec. How was your CASA thing?”
I dropped my fork.
“You what?”
“Here.” Paisley had picked up my fork off the floor and stuck it back into my hand.
Amy cleared her throat. “Your foster kid, he’s good?”
“When?” I thought of how I’d seen Alec across the street from the Children’s Museum. It had been a mistake, the hostess had confirmed it. But it seemed weird that I’d been imagining him when he was actually with my best friend.
“A while ago.” Her gaze flicked to Paisley. She reached for a green bean with her fingers and began tearing it into pieces.
“How long’s a while ago?”
“A month . . . or . . . or maybe June . . . ish.”
This time I carefully set my fork down. I took a deep breath, but my fists were already clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He, um . . . asked that I not.”
I pushed back in my chair, wishing she’d just stab me with her butter knife rather than keep going. She’d seen Alec. He’d told her not to mention it to me.
She’d done as he asked.
I felt the sting of betrayal, but I wasn’t nearly as mad at her as I was at him. I’d ended things with him because Amy and Paisley had been dragged, unwillingly, into his world. And now he thought he could contact them? That he could continue to endanger them?
“He shouldn’t be talking to you. You need to stay away from him.”
“It’s okay,” said Amy, raising her hands now. I became aware of Paisley’s watchful eyes and lowered my voice.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to know how we were.”
We. Not me. Amy and Paisley. I crossed my arms over my chest.
She fidgeted. “He sent someone over to install a security alarm.”
I remembered when that had happened. It was just a couple of weeks after the bridge incident. I hadn’t even thought to ask Amy whose idea it was to put in the alarm. I’d assumed she was just being more careful on account of what had happened.
“He . . .” She plastered a tight smile on her face. “He offered to pay for our therapy.”
“Why?” I asked. “He doesn’t have any money.” It was a stupid thing to say, but I was grasping at straws. He was trying to take care of my friends, but it wasn’t his place. It was my place. That’s why I’d left him.
She shrugged, looking sheepish.
“I told him I didn’t need help.”
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead in my hands. “He’s the reason all this happened. You wouldn’t need a security system if it wasn’t for him.”
It sounded like I was trying to convince her. I shouldn’t have had to; she was the victim, for God’s sake, and if anyone knew the signs of an unhealthy relationship it should have been her.
“But we’d still need therapy, you said so yourself. We like it, too, don’t we Pais?”
“Yeah,” said Paisley, spitting out a green bean in her napkin.
“He was really sorry,” Amy said quietly. “He just wanted to make sure we were okay.”
There was that we again. I wanted to be glad, but the thought of him looking out for them softened me, and that made me feel weak. It made me wonder if he’d asked about me. If he cared how I was doing. If he missed me like I missed him.
“I’
m sorry I didn’t tell you before.” Amy reached for my forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “It’s been eating me up. I just saw you with that guy today and thought maybe you needed some closure. Before you, you know, got back out there.”
I didn’t recall telling her I was dying to get back in the dating game.
“I don’t need closure,” I said. “It’s over. I’m fine.”
“I said that, too, once,” she said. And it made me feel a hundred times worse because I didn’t like her comparing her abusive ex to Alec, no matter how crazy things had gotten.
“Are you still going to marry him?” asked Paisley.
Now it was Amy’s turn to drop a fork.
It took a second to figure out why she would ask this, but when she did, I slumped. At the beginning of summer Amy had thrown a picnic. It was the first time she and Mike had formally met, and sometime between tag and cheeseburgers, Alec had told Paisley and Chloe he was going to marry me.
It had been a joke, of course.
“That wasn’t for real,” I told Paisley. I looked up at Amy. “It was just something he said.”
She chewed on her lip, looking worried.
The knock at the door came with perfect timing.
“I’ll get it!” Paisley slid off her chair and bounded around the corner.
“Peephole!” Amy reminded her. There was a step stool beside the entryway so that Paisley could see out. Even before Trevor Marshall had kidnapped Amy, she’d been tough on safety, but now she was even more vigilant. She left early every morning now to walk Paisley all the way to her classroom, and had even sprung for a children’s cell phone to be added on her account.
Maybe that was Alec’s idea, too.
“It’s Chloe’s daddy!” Paisley squealed.
Amy jolted out of her seat. A second later she combed her fingers through her hair, looking worried.
“You look good,” I said.
She flashed her teeth at me.
“All clear.”
With a grateful nod, she smoothed down the front of her T-shirt and went to open the door.
“She make it?” I heard Mike ask.
“Yes. Yeah, she’s here right now,” Amy whispered.
“You aren’t talking about me, are you?” I called.
A second later, Mike popped his head around the corner. He grinned broadly, a flash of white teeth against his beautiful dark skin.
“Anna!”
I waved. “And yet you still look surprised to see me sitting here.”
He crossed the kitchen and kissed me on the cheek. Amy frowned slightly behind him. She’d never say so, but it bothered her that he was so easygoing with me. He never even gave her a hug to say hello.
I imagined he thought he wouldn’t be able to stop if he started things out that way, but of course Amy saw it as a lack of interest.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“All right,” I said, and then sighed. “Amy was just telling me she ran into Alec the other day.”
I only stumbled a little over his name. Smooth.
“A while ago,” Amy corrected. “Several months ago.”
I wasn’t sure why she needed to make such a clear distinction, but she did.
Mike glanced at her, then back to me. His light brown eyes narrowed with concern.
“Yes,” I said. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t turn rabid at the first mention of his name.”
“My bad,” he said. “I’m not sure he could say the same about you.”
“Did you want something to eat?” Amy interrupted.
My gaze had lifted to Mike. “Did he ask about me?” I pretended to laugh. “Jesus, is this high school?”
Mike chewed his top lip, as if thinking of what to say.
“He’s always going to care about you.”
My breath came out in a huff. “Why does that sound like there should be a but . . . attached?” My heart felt like it was strung on a wire, waiting for him to fill me in. Had Alec gotten over me? Moved on? As sick as the thought made me, I couldn’t believe it was true. Not after what Mike had said about not being able to mention my name.
Mike turned back to Amy. “He’s just got a lot going on.”
Right. With the trial. Of course.
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.
“So how’s the trial going?”
Mike made a sound of disgust. “He hasn’t even testified yet and he’s taking a beating. Max Stein’s attorneys are using every opportunity to tear him up. Making him look like just another thug.” He shook his head. “They’ll bring out the pitchforks next.”
My chest ached. I couldn’t help the feeling that I should have been with him through this, standing beside him, offering what little comfort or distraction I could. The only reason he was there in court now was because he’d thought he’d needed to be a better man for me. I’d supported his decision to step into the fire, and then I’d left him there alone to burn.
“Hasn’t Stein run out of money yet? Last I heard, all his fancy lawyers were making him broke.”
One of his fancy lawyers—the same woman who’d covertly let Alec in on the little secret that he might just take control of the company if Maxim was convicted of fraud—had dropped that information on us.
“Not yet,” said Mike. “Alec said that he’s been chartering one of his private jets out to old oil company clients for money. It’s a plane he gifted his wife years ago, so she’s the one getting paid.”
“And in turn paying his legal bills.”
“Right,” said Mike. “She needs him to win so she doesn’t get screwed when she divorces him.”
Frankly, I was surprised Maxim’s wife, whoever she was, hadn’t already kicked him to the curb.
“Wish I had some friends who would rent my private plane for a little spending money,” said Amy.
“Can Chloe come over?” Paisley asked. She’d been quiet until now, and I’d almost forgotten she was here. I looked at her, big round eyes pointed up at Mike, and I remembered why Alec and I were apart.
I would never hurt her. And I would never hurt Amy.
I stood, and turned to my best friend. “Tomorrow night’s the fund-raiser. I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Tomorrow? No.” She shook her head. “Tomorrow’s Friday.”
“Right.” My stomach was starting to pitch. I needed to go outside, get some air.
She looked at Mike. “Tomorrow night’s the girls’ play at school. Shit. Shoot,” she corrected. “I thought . . . I honestly thought it was Saturday.” She raced to the refrigerator and snatched the invitation I’d given her.
“No,” she said. “No, no, no. I have an amazing dress.”
“Let’s hear about it,” said Mike.
She turned bright red from her scalp down.
“It’s all right,” I said. Air. Anytime now. I went for my purse, leaving my dinner barely touched on the kitchen table.
“Come to the play,” said Mike. “Ditch the fund-raiser. Hang out with us. Amy’s going to wear an amazing dress.”
“Can’t,” I told him. “I already told my client I’d be there. They’re bringing out all the kids the program has helped to give puppy dog eyes to the rich donors.”
Mike snorted. “You shouldn’t go by yourself.”
I snatched my purse, my chest constricting more by the second. “I’ll bring my dad. Thanks for dinner, Amy.”
“Let me walk you . . .”
“See you tomorrow,” I told Amy, cutting Mike off.
With that, I was out the door, swallowing huge gasps of humid night air as I jogged down the steps.
Yeah, I was fine talking about Alec. Totally and completely fine.
Four
I’d already gotten three texts from Amy asking if I was all right by the
time I got back to my apartment. I stood in the threshold and texted that I was fine, and good luck with Mike, hoping that she saw my sudden exit as a setup and not a meltdown.
My place was small, and still sparsely decorated. I hadn’t bothered to put much up on the walls, and the boxes Alec had sent over from his place were still full, shoved into the corner of my bedroom.
Not much point in unpacking if I was just going to repack in a few weeks anyway. I didn’t know where I was going yet, but something would come to me. It always did. The only difference now was that the idea of moving was exhausting, where before it had always calmed me down.
It was probably a sign I’d stayed here too long.
A groaning came from the little couch against the wall, and I stepped into the living room to face my father, lying flat on his back, his socked feet dangling over the couch arm. He had a wet towel over his eyes, and a panting Great Dane under one hand on the floor.
“You all right?” I asked.
“I’m sick as a dog,” he said. “No offense, Mug.”
Mug lifted his big black head, as if just noticing for the first time that I was there, and then lay back down with a heavy sigh.
“You should have called me,” I said. “I thought you were on some big stakeout tonight.”
“Taking pictures of men cheating on their wives doesn’t exactly qualify as big stakeout material.”
“So says the hotshot detective.” I reached for the washcloth on this face, and, finding it warm, went to rinse it out in the kitchen sink.
“Retired detective,” he corrected. Slowly he sat up, and began to cough. I went stone still, hating the sound of it. My dad was quite literally my hero—he’d saved me after my birth mother had overdosed—and ever since my real mom had died of cancer, I’d become more and more aware of his mortality.
He was a thorn in my side sometimes, but he was steady, and I didn’t know what I’d do without him.
I filled up a glass of water, and brought both that and the washcloth back to him. Then I kneeled on the floor and began to unroll the air mattress he meticulously put away each morning to leave some walking space in this closet-sized living room.
The Confession Page 3