Escaping Reality

by Lisa Renee Jones

  elderly lady sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, and I approach her.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m the property owner’s assistant and he just wanted

  me to make sure everything is fine with the property.”

  “Howard!” the woman calls.

  An elderly man appears at the door. “What, Bella?” He smiles at me.

  “Well hello, young lady.”

  “Did you hire a management company or something?” Bella asks.

  He frowns. “No. Why would I do that? Been owning this place for ten

  years and done just fine by myself.”

  My heart sinks. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong address. I’ll correct

  my records.”

  It’s official in my book. Everything is not as it should be. I walk away

  and make a beeline to the realtor’s office, or rather, the law office, and

  even that is weird. It really is past due I find answers. My steps quicken and

  it hits me that there is a positive note to today. I don’t have that “being

  followed” sensation. Answers, however do not seem to be in my immediate

  future. When I arrive at the Evernight office location, I find a sign that says

  “out to lunch.” I glance at the time on my phone. How has it gotten to be

  3:00? And how is 3:00 lunchtime?

  I dial Meg again and leave a message and exchange another text with

  Liam before I decide I’m heading to the library. In the time I worked at the

  Central Branch in New York, I’d never used its resources beyond looking

  through some books. I’d been paranoid about bringing attention to myself.

  But then I took the job at the museum. I think I’m an extremist. I sure have

  been with my willingness to let Liam in my life and no one else.

  I start walking toward a library I spotted a few blocks away when

  Meg calls back. “Sorry I missed you. Luke being out of town is killing me. I

  have to keep running out to deal with tenants.”

  I prepare to turn around and go back to Evernight. “Are you heading

  back to the office?”

  “I have another customer to deal with. You want to do happy hour?

  There’s a restaurant/bar joint called Earl’s right around the corner from

  your apartment. One of our customers took me there once. Looks like a

  great happy-hour spot.”

  I’ll do whatever I have to in order to find the answers I need. “I’ll find

  it. What time?”

  “5:30?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  We end the call and I continue on to the library, still remarkably

  without the sensation of being followed. I’m not sure if that means I’m

  without prying eyes or if I’m calmer now, and not conjuring demons where

  they might not be. Am I calmer now?

  Once I’m at the library, I sit down at a long wooden table and

  consider where to dig into research, and as always when I’m thinking about

  the past, my mind radiates toward the tattoo on my handler’s wrist. If I find

  a link to him, I find a link to whatever, or whomever, I’m running from. I

  consider what I’ve already considered in the past. I’ve always been certain

  the triangle shape relates to the pyramids, since my father had done much

  of his work in Egypt, but I have nothing that makes the exact image of the

  tattoo connect to anything that confirms this.

  I shut my eyes and picture Liam’s tattoo. The numbers beneath it

  form a triangle. I don’t like where my mind is going, and I pull my computer

  out of the small leather briefcase Liam bought me while shopping, and

  Google the “pi” sign. Nowhere is there a similar image with numbers

  forming an inverted triangle. And the symbol on my handler’s arm was a

  triangle with words inside, words that I’d thought to be another language,

  but had since decided was some sort of coded message. It isn’t like Liam’s

  tattoo at all. Not even close. My stomach knots. Except for the triangle. I

  draw in a heavy breath. Liam’s interest in pyramids is a coincidence that’s

  hard to ignore. But lots of people are intrigued by pyramids, I remind

  myself he’s an architect, looking for an answer as to how they were

  created. Perhaps solving the mystery is a personal challenge.

  It’s a logical interest, especially for someone who mastered his craft

  at such a young age.

  I key “mathematical symbols” into my search bar and scan image

  after image in search of the symbol I’m looking for. I find triangles but

  nothing that is a real match. Same story I always end up with. Finally, I force

  myself to stop putting off what I really came here for. Today I will do what I

  haven’t had the courage to do ever. I walk to one of the tables with

  archived material and search for old newspaper clippings of the night my

  life changed forever. Or I try. There is not one single reference to a fire in

  my hometown the year or month when it occurred. Nothing. That is

  just…odd.

  Back at the table, I Google my father and start listing every name

  ever associated with him I can find. I’m surprised at how few links I find on

  him, considering he was responsible for carving out more than a few pieces

  of history. My heart squeezes when I think of being with him when one of

  his great discoveries had been made. I shove aside the bittersweet memory

  and refocus on research. What would make someone want to kill him, and

  everyone he loved? What would make them hunt me down?

  Maybe it’s not about his archeological finds. He sat on government

  committees and became involved in international relations, and not long

  before he died there was talk of his retirement from field work and a

  political appointment in Washington. I shake my head. I don’t know where

  this is taking me. I was young, and uninvolved in that part of his life. I know

  nothing about it. If I’m still a target, and I am, then someone thinks I know

  something I shouldn’t. It’s only logical. They can’t hurt my father by killing

  me. He’s already dead.

  I decide to make a list of everyone I ever knew or knew my family to

  know, here and overseas, when my brother and I would go on digs with my

  father. Next, I cross-reference it with the Google searches. I stare at the list.

  It’s sixty names long and I don’t even know what I’m looking for. My first

  instinct is to mark everyone off that has nothing to do with my father, but I

  change my mind. I’ve hyper-focused on this being about him and his work.

  It’s not about the money. It was never about the money. My mother’s

  voice flashes through my mind. My mind was trying to tell me something,

  but what? Who was she talking to?

  Who was there that day?

  ***

  Remarkably, I do not have a flashback while doing my research, and I

  wonder if that has something to do with feeling like I’m taking control and

  finding answers. At 5:00 I force myself to pack up and head to my meeting

  with Meg. Finding Earl’s Restaurant and Bar is easier than I expect, and I

  arrive at 5:15. A waitress points me to the left and I enter a bar area with

  huge booths that sit on pedestals above rows of tables, and directly

  opposite the huge wooden bar. I choose the booth at the very back where I

  can see Meg when she enters, and I have
plenty of room to put my

  computer to use while I wait.

  I’ve barely settled into my seat when a waitress appears to take my

  order of a house red wine. I open my computer and look directly in front of

  me and go still. Jared is sitting at the next booth over, facing me, his

  computer open and a beer by his side.

  I swallow the dryness in my throat and he motions to my table,

  asking to join me. I nod, unsure why this makes me guilty. He’s a neighbor,

  not my new lover, but I know Liam wouldn’t approve—and honestly, if I

  found him having drinks with some hot woman, I wouldn’t either.

  He slides into the half-moon-shaped booth, and to my relief, remains

  directly across from me. “Past due we get some quality time together,” he

  says, as the waitress sets my wine down beside me.

  “I wasn’t aware we were trying to get quality time together.”

  “Well, now you are,” he says with a smile, and there is this casual

  sexy thing about him that screams completely relaxed and comfortable in

  his own skin. And I’m sure many women would be comfortable in it too. But

  not me. I prefer the edgy, dark thing Liam wears like a second skin.

  “You really are a smartass, aren’t you?” I ask, but it’s really not a

  question. He is.

  “Most of the time.”

  “Why?”

  “Comes natural, like being arrogant does for your boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend? Is that what Liam is to me? And somehow it seems too

  small a word for him.

  “I’d defend him, but I don’t think it would do me any good.”

  “Good call.” Amusement fills his dark eyes and he is absolutely Mr.

  Bad Boy Sexy in this moment. “What are you working on?”

  “Just playing around while I wait for a friend to join me.” There.

  Avoidance. I’m still good at it with everyone but Liam. “What about you?”

  “I’m doing high-tech work on contract.”

  “High-tech work? You don’t seem like a computer geek.”

  “What do I seem like?”

  “The long hair and ripped jeans and…well, something more…rowdy.”

  He laughs. “Rowdy. I’m not sure how to take that, but basically I’m a

  professional hacker. I’m hired to try to hack a site, and if I can, they then

  pay me to make sure no one else can. I do a lot of defense contractor

  work.”

  Bad-boy hacker. That fits him. “Thus the Boeing shirt?”

  “Thus the Boeing shirt. Normally I’m holed up in a hotel for a month

  or so on a job, but a friend was laid off and had to relocate for a job, which

  stuck him with the apartment. At six grand a month in rent, he was eager to

  have someone supplement the cost.”

  “Six grand? How big is your place? I only pay two.”

  He laughs. “You must have a fan somewhere. There isn’t an

  apartment in the building under six grand. We’re in prime real estate and in

  the center of a high-profile restaurant and shopping area.”

  “Oh, well, I think my boss owns the building.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  I hesitate, not sure why. “Dermit Williams.”

  “Never heard of him. I thought a big holding company owned the

  building.”

  “Hello!” Meg appears by the table, looking every bit the blonde

  bombshell I can never be in a snug black dress and I’m rattled to realize I

  hadn’t even noticed her approach. She hugs me and then glances at Jared.

  “Good grief, woman, you hang out with beautiful people. I’m sitting with

  him.” She scoots Jared over, and next to me. I’m ready to crawl under the

  table.

  “Please,” Jared says approvingly. “Come on in.” He glances down at

  me. “Hope you don’t mind getting up close and personal.”

  Somehow I am captured in his warm brown stare, and I feel the

  connection in the pit of my stomach, more in the form of guilt than

  attraction. Not that I am beyond seeing how hot this man is. He is, and if I

  were any other woman, I suspect I’d be glad to be here, but I’m not. I’m a

  woman who is crazy about another man, and the fact that Jared makes me

  think of Liam speaks of just how intensely drawn to Liam I am. My cell

  phone beeps with a text and Meg and Jared chat with the waitress while I

  pull out my phone.

  Where are you?

  Earl’s. I met Meg for a drink.

  I wait for a reply but don’t get one. Odd. I shut my computer and

  stick it back in my briefcase, preparing for a fast departure if I get any more

  uncomfortable.

  “I will be soooo happy when Luke gets back,” Meg announces, and I

  grab the opening she gives me.

  “Did you ask him for that number I needed from him?”

  The waitress delivers her wine and she thanks her before saying,

  “Yes. And sorry. He won’t give it out.” She turns to Jared. “I haven’t been

  introduced.”

  “Jared,” he says. “And you are?”

  “Meg.” She offers her hand and he turns to her and accepts it. She

  bats her lashes in a flirtatious way I’ve spent too much time staying off the

  radar to ever even attempt. I can’t see Jared’s expression the way he’s

  positioned, but I can’t imagine there is a man on the planet who wouldn’t

  pant over Meg’s ample beauty. They both settle into their seats again and

  Meg asks,

  “And what do you do for a living, Jared? Where are you from? Are

  you single?”

  I just about choke on a swallow of wine. Jared laughs. “Tech guy.

  Texas. And yes”—he glances at me—“I’m single.”

  I officially have cotton in my throat. I grab my wine and take a big

  swig. Jared laughs, clearly amused at my reaction, proof my decision to stay

  away from men while living off the radar had been a good idea. They send

  my composure into the dumpster. Or, at least, men like Jared and Liam,

  who are exceptionally…male.

  “And how do you know Amy?” Meg queries Jared.

  “I’m renting the apartment across from her.”

  I tilt my head and frown, thinking of my extreme rent difference to

  what Jared has stated.

  “He’s staying in a friend’s apartment. That’s probably why you don’t

  know him.”

  “Why would she know me?” Jared asks.

  “She works in the management office,” I supply.

  “New, though.” She seems almost uneasy, but then being new is

  never fun and she adds,

  “I’m just learning the ropes and learning who is where and what is

  what.” She sips her wine.

  “This isn’t what I ordered. I’m going to the bar. Be right back.”

  Great. Alone with Jared again. And why hasn’t Liam texted me back?

  “Where are you from, Amy?” Jared asks.

  On a conflicting note, I’ve been craving a chance to talk to him about

  my hometown and avoided it at the same time. Apparently, I’m going to

  talk to him about Texas. “New York. You’re from Texas, you said?”

  “Yes. Ever been there?”

  “No. Too many pickup trucks and football fans.” Lie. That is a part of

  Texas that makes it Texas, and I miss it.

  “And beer.” He lifts his bottle and takes a drink. “Us Texans like our

  beer.”

  Not t
his one. “You can keep it. I don’t like it.”

  “Ever tried this one?” He shows me the bottle with some sort of

  special import label.

  “Never.”

  “Try it.” He offers me his bottle. “It’s a different taste altogether.”

  He wants me to drink from his bottle? “No. No thank you.”

  Meg returns. “Ohhh, I’d love to try it.”

  He hands her the bottle and she takes a sip. “German?”

  “Yes. German.”

  “Try it, Amy,” Meg encourages. “German beers are completely

  different from the American version.”

  Jared hands me the bottle, a challenge in his eyes. Somehow, I feel as

  if me drinking from his bottle is some sort of ploy to tear down a wall he

  thinks will let him get closer to me, but I feel like a deer in headlights, with

  both him and Meg watching me.

  I grab the bottle and take a drink, the bitter taste filling my mouth,

  and I grimace a moment before awareness prickles down my spine. I glance

  up to find Liam striding toward us, and he is not only the picture of male

  perfection in his gray suit, his dark hair neatly groomed, his goatee finely

  trimmed, his jaw is set solid, his eyes hard. He’s pissed. He saw me drinking

  from Jared’s bottle.

  He stops beside me and takes my hand. “Let’s go, Amy.”

  I’m appalled. Did he really just order me to leave? “Liam—”

  He lowers his head and presses his mouth to my ear. “Let’s go now.”

  My emotions are a rollercoaster ride of anger, embarrassment, and

  more anger. I slip my briefcase and purse on over my shoulder and scoot

  out of my seat, and I don’t look directly at Jared or Meg. “I forgot we had a

  dinner meeting tonight.”

  “Amy—” Jared starts.

  “Don’t,” Liam says sharply.

  I pull away from him and start walking for the door. He’s behind me. I

  don’t have to look to know. I feel the predator in him. Well, he’s going to

  find out that this deer in headlights just grew fangs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I exit the restaurant and I don’t stop walking. I’m going to the

  apartment I swore I wouldn’t go back to anytime soon, not his hotel. I’ve

  spent too much time feeling like I don’t own me, and now he wants to own

  me. No. No, this is not going to happen. I’ve been “insane” over this man.

  Clearly insane.