She wrapped her hands around the wheel. Whoever was in the car hadn’t moved. The car hadn’t pulled away, the driver hadn’t gotten out. He was just sitting there. Waiting. Was she in immediate danger? No. If he approached on foot, she’d drive away. If he tried to pull his car into her driveway, blocking her in, she was close enough to the house she was fairly certain she could make it.
Unless he had a gun.
What if he had a gun?
Choking on a sob, she lowered her forehead to the wheel. She was terrified of a man she’d never met, a man who was over three thousand miles away. And she hated it.
As she sat there, wondering if calling the cops would do any good — after all, he hadn’t threatened her; she didn’t think they’d warn someone off for staring — the car pulled away, and she watched in her rearview as it drove past her driveway.
Good. Great. Fantastic. She wasn’t going to let some goon make her afraid to be in her own home. She continued to breathe deeply, flexing her hands on the wheel. When the car didn’t reappear, she turned on her car and headed for the airport.
The Friday midday traffic was light. She kept her thoughts on her friend and what trouble they could get up to. She’d introduce Krista to Taylor at some point this weekend. Probably tomorrow. Tonight she needed a girl marathon with her oldest friend.
Krista would want to go to Powell’s, and she’d promised a hardware store shopping trip. She needed to pick out a chandelier anyway. More lamps. She hated the drawer pulls on the bathroom drawers and cabinets. And speaking of cabinets, the kitchen cabinets needed to die a slow, fiery death.
She should let Krista pick out the rest of the furniture. She’d always enjoyed that part more anyway. Her mouth flipped down in a scowl. Taylor should not have bought her the console table. Just because she’d secretly been eyeing the distressed wood and iron piece as they’d wandered through the store didn’t mean she had to have it. He had no business buying her anything, really. Loving him didn’t mean she couldn’t be realistic about her expectations. Taylor was a detour on her trip back to herself. A sexy, wonderful, smart detour, but a detour nonetheless. She had to consider the possibility what they had might not be enough, and they’d come to an end.
The thought of Taylor telling some other woman he loved her, instead of telling her, made her scream in frustration. He cared. She could tell. He cared quite a bit. For now it was fine. More than fine. It was more than she’d expected from him.
Who the hell was she kidding? Taylor wasn’t a frickin’ detour. He was the destination. The end. It didn’t matter to her that she’d arrived there a hell of a lot faster than she’d expected. He was that point beyond the no return. She was going to be extremely upset if this ended.
Sometimes she wished for an off switch in her brain. Then she could stop thinking the same swirling thoughts over and over again. She’d worry about Taylor later. Krista was in town, and she was going to enjoy her visit.
Her lips twitched in a grin, spreading to a full-fledged smile as she rolled through Arrivals, searching the sidewalk for Krista’s trademark blond and purple hair. Her job as a designer for one of LA’s most cutting edge marketing firms meant the woman could get away with a hell of a lot more than Sara could. One more strike against her job.
She spotted the familiar ultraviolet color and pulled to the curb, throwing the car into park and climbing out. Krista didn’t waste any time and raced over. She flung her arms around Sara in a fierce hug. “God, girly, I’ve missed you so damn much! When are you moving to Los Angeles so we can stop this nonsense?”
Sara laughed, rocking her friend back and forth as they locked their arms around each other once more. “When are you moving to Portland? We’re way more awesome here, you know.”
“Bah. Too cold. And rainy. And cold. Did you know it’s like, seventy-five degrees today? It’s freezing here!”
“Whatever. Get your stuff in the car.”
The drive home passed much quicker than the drive to the airport, with Krista complaining about the clients she’d been working with lately. “Seriously, I feel like every time I change a frickin’ color, the client decides on a different one. Or a different font. Or the placement of that angle is too steep.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, yikes isn’t the word I’d use. Prick or motherfucker works better. I get a lot of this shit, it’s part of the job, but this guy…he’s winning the award for Worst Client of the Year, and if he keeps going, he’ll be in the running for Worst Client Ever We Don’t Want Your Business.”
Sara snickered, pushing aside the rising niggle of fear as she pulled into the driveway. The house was alarmed. If anything had gone wrong while she was out, she’d have gotten an alert. They’d be safe.
Krista squealed over the house, staring at it rapturously as she climbed out of the car. She followed Sara inside and down the hall. “We’ll start the tour here. Guest room.” Sara pushed open the door.
The red had turned out well. The second coat had darkened the color to a deeper, bloodier shade, the stark white of the ceiling keeping the room from plunging into total despair. She’d pushed the queen size bed into a corner and set a vintage folding tray table by its side, a placeholder until she had time to find a better one.
She walked out of the room and across the hall into her own bedroom. “Master bedroom. I’m going to paint the walls grey, eventually.”
“Nice bed.” Krista slipped past her and circled around the foot to the other side. “You could totally use the head and the foot to tie someone down.” Her brows wiggled suggestively, and heat crept up Sara’s face. Krista’s eyes widened. “You’ve done that already, have you? Bravo, madam. Brah. Voh. I’m meeting him, right? Your Taylor? With a bed like this, your sex life has to be pretty spectacular.”
“Oh. My. God. Krista.” She shook her head. Krista would not give up needling her about it until she’d given her at least a hint. “Yes. It’s the most amazing, toe-curling, breath-stealing, screaming orgasms every time sex.”
“Good.” She followed Sara out into the hall, ducking her head into the office when Sara waved her hand at it. She made a beeline for the couch and flopped onto one end. “You deserve someone who’ll give you everything you need and want.”
Krista’s expression was wistful as Sara curled into the opposite end of the couch. “Why do I have a feeling there’s something wrong?” There were fine lines fanning out from her eyes, the shadows under them not quite covered by concealer. Her cheekbones were a bit more prominent, too, like she’d lost weight.
She waved a hand around, letting it flop uselessly. “No, nothing’s wrong. Work’s been more stressful than usual. Like for the last six months or so I’ve been thinking it’s time to move on, y’know? And all my friends there are getting married or having kids, and my social life is basically nonexistant. Which is totally fine. But, gah, we’re almost thirty, Sara. Thirty frickin’ years old. You’d think I’d have one thing going for me. Noooo, I’m still renting and stuck in a job I’m not so happy with anymore. If one of those could turn around, I’d be happier than a pig in shit. Preferably the whole job thing. Have you tried searching for a job these days? There’s like, five hundred applicants for one spot. Ridiculous.”
“Tell me about it,” Sara said dryly. “I’ve applied for, oh, ten different jobs in the last month? Nothing. I’m not even getting ‘hey, we got your resume, we’re reviewing it’ responses.” She stood. “If we’re going to whine, we’re going to do it properly. I’ll be right back.”
The bottle of Syrah sitting on her counter was her friend’s favorite label, and the cork slid out easily. Grabbing a couple of wine glasses, she carried the bottle and the glasses out into the living room. Red splashed the insides of the bowl as she poured. She handed the glass to Krista. “Thanks for coming up, hon. I can’t tell you how much I need this.”
“No biggie. Although there’s no reason why we shouldn’t do this more often. Flights to and from aren’t all that expensi
ve.” Krista pursed her lips. “So what’s been happening? You’re looking for a new job?”
She nodded. “The market here’s not so great. Or I’m not used to the whole search process anymore. Although I’ve really only been searching for what, a month? A little more? Not long in the grand scheme of things. Still. You’d have thought I’d have at least gotten some stupid automated email saying, hey, we got your application. I’m starting to wonder if they’re getting lost in the ether.”
Sara told her about the heightened tensions at work, the customer complaints, Jeremy’s firing. “And with him gone, it’ll be me and only me, unless they assign someone else as a backup. Which I doubt will happen.”
“Uh huh, uh huh. Enough. Get to the good stuff. I want to hear all about the man who finally got you into bed.”
Her lips parted to start regaling her with Taylor’s awesomeness, and no words came out. She set her wine glass on the table and hugged her knees to her chest. “He’s amazing,” she said softly. “He’s not who I’d have picked for myself, not in the beginning, and now I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
She nodded and made her decision. “I thought maybe we could all get together tomorrow, grab some drinks or something.” She nudged Krista’s ankle with her foot. “Now, what’s up with you? You still seeing that guy you don’t want to talk about?”
Wistfulness turned to guilt, and Krista dropped her gaze to her glass. “Sort of,” she said quietly. “I don’t really know what’s going on with him.” She sighed and placed her wine on the coffee table, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I’ve been seeing Shane Jones,” she admitted.
Sara frowned. “Shane Jones? Should I know who that is? The only Shane Jones I know of is the lead singer of Thieves, and I don’t know him.” Krista’s cheeks flushed, and Sara’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, the Shane Jones?”
Krista nodded. “I met him about six months ago in a bar. It was just after Adrian died. You remember that?”
It took her a minute, but she did. Adrian Stevens had been the lead singer of Antics, and rumor had it he’d been tight with the members of Thieves. He’d fallen off the stage at one of their shows and broken his neck, killing him.
“Shane wasn’t coping well.” Krista laced her fingers together over her shins, her voice soft. “He’s gotten better over the last couple of months, but I think…it might be time to move on.”
“Why?”
Krista’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Being with Shane means dealing with the spotlight, and dealing with all the problems that come with celebrity. He hasn’t said anything, but I’ve heard rumors that Eric might end up back in rehab soon.” Eric was the band’s drummer and Shane’s brother, and his problems with drugs and alcohol weren’t exactly secret. Sara understood why that would make her friend back away rather than offer support — Krista’s younger brother had been dealing with his own addiction issues since he was a teenager. While she loved her brother and had dropped everything to help him at times, she hated anything having to do with drugs. Being in situations where they might be used even just recreationally would be a big step out of her comfort zone, one it sounded like she might not be willing to make.
“What are you going to do?” Sara asked.
She shrugged. “End it, unless something changes soon. I don’t think it will, but I want it to.”
Sara sipped her wine, wishing there was something she could do for her. She’d seen her through various boyfriends over the years, but none of them had gotten to Krista the way it seemed Shane had. “You’ll call me if you do?”
Krista gave her a sad smile. “You know I will.”
Chapter Twenty Two
“That phone call didn’t sound pleasant.” Sara pulled her sweater over her head and fluffed out her hair.
Krista scowled from her perch on the edge of Sara’s bed. “That would be Mister Client of the Year. Seems he didn’t like the latest version and wants some corrections. Hate to say it, but I’m probably going to have to pull out the laptop for a few hours when we get home tonight.”
“No problem. But why did you come up if you couldn’t get away from work?”
“Because you needed me,” she said simply.
And that was why Krista was her best friend. She gave. She gave entirely too much of herself sometimes, and people took advantage. Sara had vowed a long time ago that she’d never be one of those people. Krista rarely asked for her help, so when she did, she gave it. Every time.
The knock at the door thudded down the hallway, and she jumped. “Stay here for a minute. Please?” she begged. Krista smirked and crossed her legs.
She hurried to the door, wondering why she hadn’t given Taylor a key yet. She had his. It would certainly make things easier. She had a spare somewhere. Probably buried in one of the kitchen drawers. She tugged open the door.
Taylor’s mouth was curved in his familiar half-smile. “Hey.”
He stepped inside and she wound her arms around his neck, melting a little as he took his time kissing her, cradling her head with one hand as his other arm held her against him. She sighed as she broke the kiss, swallowing hard as he kissed her forehead. “Hey, yourself.” She eased back, when what she really wanted to do was snuggle in. “I’ll go get Krista.”
“No need.” Krista was grinning as she appeared in the hall. “Hi, I’m Krista.”
Taylor took the hand the hand she held out. “Taylor. Nice to meet you.”
Sara and Krista gathered their coats and followed Taylor out to his car, and Krista chattered the whole way to the bar, peppering Taylor with questions. Sara bit her tongue to hold the giggles inside when he either ignored them or gave vague answers, grinning as Krista grumped in the back seat about how unresponsive he was.
“I did tell you,” Sara said as they walked the few blocks back to the bar where they were meeting Taylor’s friend Paul. “He tends to keep his mouth closed.”
“I have ways of making him talk.” Krista craned her neck around to leer at Taylor. He looked amused.
Sara wanted desperately for this evening to go well, so she’d decided they’d shoot pool at one of Taylor’s favorite bars. Sharky’s was dim and full of scarred wood — the tables, the chairs, the bar, the floor. Pool tables took up the back half of the large room, the bar gleaming dully under the lantern lights hanging over it. The air smelled faintly of stale smoke and beer, voices melding with the blues wailing from the speakers overhead.
Paul was already there, twisting the bottle in front of him in idle circles. His blond hair was shaggy and badly needed a trim, and he lifted a hand in greeting as they wound through the tables toward him.
Krista snagged her elbow and halted her before they were within earshot, letting Taylor continue ahead to greet his friend. “Did you set me up for the evening? You know how I feel about blind dates.”
“Maybe. Consider it an incentive to move out here. There are plenty of attractive men like Paul in Portland, although I’d stay away from the ones whose pants are skinnier than yours.” She snickered and ducked as Krista swatted at her. “No, really. Paul’s a friend of Taylor’s. I’m guessing that with what’s going on back home you might not be interested. You won’t hurt his feelings if you’re not.”
Paul stood as they approached, his wide smile turning to a grin when he was introduced to Krista. The four of them moved to a high table, and Paul and Taylor went over to the bar to collect drinks.
“He’s cute,” Krista admitted.
“But he’s not Shane Jones.”
“But he’s not Shane Jones,” she agreed. Then she straightened her shoulders. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
The men returned bearing drinks, and Paul settled onto the stool next to Krista, handing her the gin and tonic she’d asked for. “So, Paul, tell me about Taylor. Because he won’t.”
“I ran away to join the circus at thirteen and my father is a Colombian gun runner.”
Taylor’s expression was bland, his tone dry as toast, but Sara saw the amusement gleaming in his eyes.
Krista snorted and went back to throwing questions at him. He scooted his stool closer to Sara’s, slipping his arm around her waist, and got Krista talking about herself. Soon she was bringing up all the embarrassing stories from their school years Sara had so far avoided, like the time her father had caught them skinny dipping with their boyfriends. His hold tightened as the minutes slid by, and she was breathless with laughter by the time they left the table to shoot some pool.
Paul racked the balls and Taylor relinquished his hold on Sara to go talk to him. “He’s smitten, Sara. Absolutely smitten,” Krista murmured. “He fits you, you know? You fit together like puzzle pieces.”
Sara smiled and picked up her cue, stepping around to the head of the table. The break sent balls skittering across the green felt. Paul motioned Krista to the table, and she lined up her shot, the cue ball knocking a stripe into a side pocket. She scratched on her next shot, and Taylor stepped up to the table.
Balls cracked as they smacked against one another, sliding one by one into the pockets. Krista spent her time when she wasn’t taking a shot trying to get the others to scratch and chatting with Sara. The flutter of panic she couldn’t quite quash after the man in the car drove off yesterday died down the longer the four of them played and joked around. She’d tell Taylor about it soon, but tonight, she wanted them both to have a good time, away from their worries.
They were setting up for their third game of the evening when Taylor pulled his phone from his back pocket. Frowning at the readout, he threaded his way through the tables, heading for the door. Paul and Sara exchanged glances, the question clear in his eyes. Taylor usually ignored his phone when they were together unless it was family. She had no idea if Taylor had shared the Tony issue with his friend, and she wasn’t about to volunteer any information.
Hidden Scars Page 17
