“I didn’t see Lance Wilson when I went to get my car.”
“What do I have to do to get you to understand you have to stay away from there?”
“Shaun’s working to figure out who he is too. You know he has all kinds of connections.”
Before putting the plate in front of her, Gabriel returns the yogurt and cheese to the fridge and washes the cutting board. “Shaun’s a smart guy.”
Out of habit, she’s sitting on the stool she always used to sit on, and he takes his usual place at the end of the island. It’s awkward, at best.
When his phone, which lies on the counter between them, lights up with a call, her eyes are automatically drawn to it. The caller’s ID is “HEL.” He quickly presses IGNORE. “Sorry. I know that’s rude. Helena.” Moving a little on the stool, he puts the phone in his pocket.
“How is she?” All she really knows about his sister is that she’s an actor and lives most of the time in New York. When they were dating, she seemed to call him almost daily, and Gabriel would often excuse himself to talk to her. It’s interesting that today he ignores the call.
“Living up to her nickname, as usual. Always the drama with her. She’s doing an off-Broadway play right now.”
The salad is delicious, and she’s hungry. It’s always been a disappointment to her that she’s not one of those women who get pale and wan and thin when she’s upset.
“Was Jenny any help?” he asks. A curl shot with strands of gray hangs loose above one eyebrow, and Kimber resists the urge to tuck it back in place. Her desire for him has never gone away completely.
“She described the locksmith’s truck, so I found the company online. When I met with the guy, he confirmed he saw a license with my name and address.”
“Your license?” He looks puzzled. “How’s that possible? Somebody must have faked it. That’s ballsy.”
Kimber stares down at her plate, a little embarrassed. “I think it was my real license. My wallet got ripped off out of my car when I was at the gym back in June. I had to get new credit cards, license. Everything. I filed a copy of the police report, but I feel like a moron that I didn’t connect it right away to what’s going on.”
“Someone knew exactly how to pretend to be you. Nobody pays much attention to license pictures. As long as the locksmith got paid, I doubt it was an issue.”
“So whoever Jenny saw really is pretending to be me.”
“It’s a possibility.”
She gives him a weak smile. “Is this the part where you ask me if I have any enemies?”
His brow creases as he considers. “Someone at work? Someone’s wife?”
“Very funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be funny. Maybe someone you went out with was married and you didn’t know it?” He pauses. “Or you did.”
There it is. So many things I should never have told him.
“What about an unhappy client?” he asks, quickly dropping the married-date suggestion.
Or just an ambitious blackmailer. If she has to tell anyone about the photograph, it will be Gabriel. He’s her lawyer, and he can’t tell anybody about it if she asks him not to. But how much of the truth will she have to confess?
The connection to Michelle and the photograph aside, it’s ridiculous to think that her clients might be unhappy. She busts her ass researching their businesses, making sure to take plenty of notes on their meetings so she can keep up with their kids’ names and, if they don’t have kids, stories about their spouses and pets. People like to believe the people they’re paying care about that stuff. Relationships. Isn’t that why her commissions are among the highest at the station?
“Seriously. What am I supposed to do? I mean the guy is living in my house. He’s touching my stuff. He’s probably sniffing my underwear. I don’t have control over any of this. Why won’t you understand?” Her voice breaks on the “you,” but she keeps herself together. “Okay. Maybe not the underwear part.”
She tells him about Diana replacing some of her clothes.
His face softens. “She’s a really good friend. Listen. Be honest with me. Are you sure you don’t know that guy? Didn’t meet him once at one of your events or maybe in a bar?”
“What? I saw him the same time you saw him. You think I’d keep it some kind of secret if I knew the guy who was squatting in my house? Jesus.”
If I know him, I can’t remember. And I couldn’t tell you anyway.
So many lies. Again.
Gabriel’s gray eyes are intent, sincere.
One night they’d fallen into bed around midnight, starved for each other, fueled by a half gram of coke that a marketing director for a chain of nail spas had given her. She woke up early in the morning in full sunlight, because they’d forgotten to close the blackout curtains. Asleep, he looked younger, more vulnerable. At that moment she was warm and happy. Dangerously happy. When he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, there was no self-consciousness in his gaze, no hesitation or embarrassment because she’d been watching him. There was only pleasure and, after a few seconds, a kind of melting adoration that pricked her deep inside. It was like he was confronting her with some kind of superior weapon, against which she had no defense. Her instinct was to look away because his intensity freaked her out. She made herself hold his gaze, even though she realized in that moment she couldn’t stay with him.
“You asked me before if I knew him,” she says. “I don’t lie to you. Remember?”
“One could say you’ve maybe been too honest in the past.” He flashes a wry smile.
“Listen.” She rests her hand on the counter only an inch or so from his. “I’m really grateful that you’re helping me. You could have let me rot in that stupid jail or told me to call my mother. But you didn’t. I love you for that.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do. That won’t change.”
“Don’t misunderstand, Kimber. I’m not helping you because I want us back together. I’m helping you because that’s what I do. You called me because you knew I could help you legally, right? That’s my job. I help people in bad places, and you’re in a really bad place, and I don’t want to see you suffer. But there’s nothing I want more than to help you, and have you walk out that door and never see you again.”
Kimber flushes, pulling her hand away so quickly that it knocks her fork to the floor with a tinny clatter. “I don’t think that!” It’s as though he read all of her half-formed thoughts before she could even recognize them herself. Now, on top of the spreading feeling of embarrassment, there’s another feeling: disappointment. “I’m just grateful. And I’ll pay you. Please don’t think I want you to do this for nothing.”
He nods matter-of-factly and picks up the fork to put it in the dishwasher before handing her another. They finish lunch in fraught silence.
Finally he says, “Could be an elaborate joke.”
“Who’s laughing, then? Kyle? You?” She watches him.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of imagination. Or the time.” He takes their plates and rinses them before putting them in the dishwasher, then wipes down the counter. “Let me know if the cops contact you. I’m staying on them, but it makes sense that if they do make some progress, they’ll reach out to you first.”
From both the living room and his bedroom there’s a view of treetops and green spaces in Forest Park. When they’d walked into the apartment, she automatically took off her shoes, just as he did. It felt intimate and strange at the same time. Now, standing at the living room picture window, feeling the sun on her face and the softness of the thick white carpet beneath her bare feet, she’s glad she did. Closing her eyes, she remembers Gabriel standing close behind her, his hands flat against the front of her jeans, moving slowly, touching her, his hips pressing against her back, his breath on her neck. His end-of-day beard on her skin, his lips and tongue tickling her ear.
“Kimber.”
Startled, she laughs nervously. Gabriel is
by the door, framed by the blank gray wall like some gorgeous ancient Italian statue.
“Are you ready?” he asks. The rhythmic jangling of his keys spoils the statue image, but he still looks amazing.
“Let me hit the bathroom. Just a second.” Making her way down the short hall to the guest bathroom, she passes Gabriel’s bedroom. It looks exactly the same as she remembers it, except for the bright pink something draped over the red leather bench at the foot of the bed. A woman’s shirt or perhaps a hoodie? Something that definitely doesn’t belong to Gabriel.
Does the sudden lump in her throat mean she’s hurt because he’s moved on or because he didn’t bother to tell her?
Chapter Sixteen
The radio group’s parking lot is sparsely populated, and Kimber eases the car into a staff parking space. Leeza Meyers’s silver Lexus is nowhere that she can see. If her luck holds up, she’ll be what Brianna calls “totally Zen.”
Except she couldn’t feel less Zen if she tried.
Something pink. Someone younger. Someone who marked Gabriel’s bedroom like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant.
No. I won’t think about it.
It has nothing to do with her. Gabriel has a new life, and she doesn’t want him anyway. They had been a disaster. That he’d lost his shit and become suicidal wasn’t her fault. I was the catalyst, not the cause. The mantra she’d taught herself. Except she never quite believed it. And now here they were again. She’d invited him back inside her life, but he’d moved on, and now she isn’t sure what to think about it.
Focus. I have to focus.
Inside the building, Brianna’s at the front desk, covering for Dixon, the usual receptionist. She hops off her stool and comes to give Kimber a quick hug, a sympathetic look on her pert, heart-shaped face. Today Brianna’s heels make her tower over Kimber, so she has to lean down for the hug. Her skirt is a decade shorter than Kimber would ever wear.
“What color are we today?” Kimber steps back to look at Brianna’s eyes. Violet. A great contrast to her short, spiky black hair. “Pretty.”
“Thanks.” Brianna touches her hair self-consciously and adjusts her phone headset. Kimber wants to tell her to have confidence, that she’ll only be so young once.
“Hey, who’s here? Is it safe?”
Brianna knows she means the general manager and Leeza.
“Totally. At least for another hour.” Brianna grimaces as though she has something difficult to say. “Can you hang around? Dixon’s going to be back in five minutes. I’ll come back to your office then, if it’s okay.”
Her curiosity piqued, Kimber says, “Of course.” She’s often wondered why Brianna didn’t decide to pursue a profession, because she’s detail oriented, smart, and would make a good insurance agent or lawyer. It makes her wonder about her own life choices.
She rarely brings clients to the station because, despite it being home to the most listened-to soft rock, oldies, and country stations in the market, the offices are crap. The conglomerate that threw all the stations into one space five years ago went cheap and bought an existing metal building and slapped a stone facade onto its front. Beyond the starkly modern reception area, with its giant screen playing music videos, is a single cavernous room with the studios built against one wall, the management and sales offices opposite. The producers and admin staff are in between, their work spaces separated by chest-high, smoky glass partitions. Only the GM’s office has a door, and it’s always closed. The overall effect is cheesy and underwhelming.
Kimber’s office is the next to last one along the wall, so she has to walk by the half-dozen people sitting in their work spaces. The on-air personnel have their backs to the big room, so they miss her hurried wave and stiff smile. She doesn’t want to answer any more questions than she has to. Fortunately the sales and management offices are all empty.
When she decided that morning to stop by the station, she had some vague idea that she would fill out her call sheet plan for the next week and leave. But she feels awkward being there. Once in her office, she sits down at her desk and looks out at her coworkers, wondering what they know. Could any of them be involved? Accidentally making eye contact with the special events coordinator, she quickly looks down at her desk. The sloppy pile of mail in front of her is mostly junk and invitations to events she doesn’t want to attend. Many of her clients automatically put her on their mailing lists, assuming she’ll be thrilled to spend hours looking at plumbing supply and pet-toy catalogs.
Brianna appears with a serious look on her face that belies her quirky outfit. She collapses into the chair beside Kimber’s desk and glances over her shoulder.
“Okay. So tell me. What’s up?” Kimber gives her all her attention.
“The comptroller has been coming in every day since last Friday, going through absolutely everything. I mean”—she ticks off her fingers—“files, computers, interviewing people. They even asked me questions. A lot of questions.”
“They do an annual audit. You weren’t here for the last one. I pay zero attention to those things.”
Brianna shakes her head. “It’s not like any audit I’ve ever seen. Leeza was a complete wreck. She and Bill are out together now.”
Kimber still doesn’t understand why this is information she needs. The internecine politics and day-to-day business of the station bore the hell out of her. She sells, and that’s all she likes to do. The reports, the quotas (which she always exceeds), the office romances, are all background noise. It’s one of the reasons Leeza isn’t more threatened by her—well, no more than she’s threatened by everyone she meets. Kimber genuinely doesn’t want Leeza’s job.
“They had me in the conference room for two hours. It was about some other stuff too, but…” Brianna hesitates, biting her lower lip.
“What?”
“They asked me a lot of questions about your expense reports. Particularly. I’m sorry.” There’s apprehension in her eyes, as though she’s afraid Kimber will be angry at her.
Kimber knows her expense reports are haphazard, at best. But she’s been doing them for years and has never had a problem. Plus, since Brianna arrived, she’s taken the sales staff’s reports in hand, helping get them in on time, keeping Leeza and the GM happy. Kimber mentally flies through the last few biweekly reports she turned in. Surely they weren’t much different from the previous ones. She doesn’t cheat on them any more than her colleagues do. “Listen. They do this from time to time to dot their i’s and cross their t’s. Let Leeza worry about it. That’s her job. But what a drag they’re making your life hard.”
“Really? You don’t think it’s a big deal? They asked a lot of questions.”
“They get paid to scare people.” She glances past Brianna to the enormous digital clock on the wall above the studios. There are identical clocks on each of the other three walls. “What time did Leeza and Bill leave? I don’t want to be here when they get back.”
Brianna grins. “You’ve got plenty of time. I’m pretty sure this is going to be another long one. The comptroller said he isn’t coming back until three-thirty.”
Kimber tells her she’ll be back for good on Monday or Tuesday, and Brianna promises to keep her up on any big developments.
Leaning forward, Brianna whispers, “You better come back soon. You don’t want Leeza sucking up all your clients.”
Out of the mouths of babes, Kimber thinks.
As she leaves the building by the side entrance, she runs into one of the afternoon DJs finishing up a cigarette. After nodding hello, she breathes deeply of the ashy fug that’s a constant around the doorway, missing the habit she gave up when she started working out regularly. Now she craves one in a way she hasn’t in almost two years. Bad breath and lung disease be damned. But she keeps walking. Maybe later. A cigarette feels like some kind of last resort, almost like giving up. She’s not ready for that. Not yet.
Chapter Seventeen
September 199_
Michelle turned on the blow-
dryer and rested it on the bathroom counter, where it blew uselessly at a tissue box. Her hair was already dry, but the sound of the dryer almost drowned out the sound of Kimber pounding on the door. Every morning Kimber complained that Michelle hogged the bathroom, even though Kimber was always the one to get in there first. Michelle knew that ignoring her sister was a shitty thing to do, but Kimber was being a pain, so why not? She took her time finishing up her makeup, adding an extra layer of concealer below her reddened eyes and perfecting her lipstick with lip gloss.
“If you don’t hurry up, we’ll have to take the bus,” Kimber shouted. Kimber hated to take the bus. This morning their father was home, and if they were ready in time, he’d drive them to school, stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way. If they ran late, he’d leave without them. “You better not be pooping, Michelle! I still have to brush my teeth.”
The truth was that Michelle didn’t want to go to school. She never knew when one of those stupid notes would show up. Someone was watching her, stalking her like she was an animal.
Now when her father was around, she found herself staring at him, wondering what he did when he was away. Who was he with? Her suspicions made her feel awkward around him. At least he wasn’t home most weekday mornings, so she didn’t have to worry much about being in the car with him. On the bus, she could ignore Kimber and sit in the back with her friends. (At least she thought they were her friends. She worried that one of them could be the stalker.) Kimber always sat somewhere in the middle seats with her droopy friend Elizabeth, who followed her around like she was God’s gift.
The Stranger Inside Page 8
