by Kyra Jacobs
“Good. Learning tons.”
Lauren popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “Awesome,” she said, chewing as she spoke.
I had to look away. That’s when I noticed Nerd A and B in line for the microwave openly staring at me. I threw them both a nasty look and turned back to my lunch. Oh, how I longed for the solitude of my kitchen table.
“You wouldn’t believe the amount of mail that’s come through this week.”
Nor do I really care. “Oh?”
She began rambling about how busy she’d been, and I pretended to listen. Lauren seemed nice enough, but I really didn’t want to get sucked into any Maxwell drama with her. Before her story ended, though, I got a lucky break—my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.
I checked the number. Grace’s mom. “I…need to take this.” I stood and looked around, trying to identify a safe place for the conversation.
“The stairwell,” Lauren whispered, pointing to the door at the back of the room.
Not exactly my favorite place, but what choice did I have? I gave her a thumbs-up and hurried through the door.
“Hello?”
“Jessica? It’s Mrs. Sullivan. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“Oh, hi! Yes, yes you caught me at a perfectly fine time. Is everything okay? Did she…” Please be awake, please be awake, please be awake…
“Yes, everything is fine, dear. And no, she’s not awake.” My heart sank. “But she’s trying, Jessica, she really is!” Mrs. Sullivan explained that Grace had been doing more twitching here and there, and how well her therapy was going. I listened half-heartedly, wondering why she’d called with such non-news. “So I was thinking maybe a visit from you might help push her over the edge.”
And there it was.
“Well, Sharon, I don’t know if that’ll do it or not, but I’d be more than happy to give it a try.” I looked down at my watch, and was surprised to see how late it’d gotten. “I’ll just plan on swinging by this evening.”
“Oh. I was hoping you could come a little sooner. Maybe, this afternoon yet?”
“Um, wow, I’d love to, really I would, but I’m at work.”
Shit.
“Work? Oh, you mean, with a client?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m with a client. Have the next few hours blocked out. Been planning it for a month. So you see, I can’t come until later.”
“Oh. I understand, dear.” Disappointment rang in every word.
I heard a door to the stairwell open below me.
“But I should be able to make it there around five-thirty.”
“Alright, dear. Maybe I’ll run a few errands and head back then. Sorry to interrupt your meeting.”
Footsteps echoed through the stairwell. Someone was coming. My time was up.
“No problem. Thanks for the update. Bye!”
I hung up and hurried back into the kitchenette. The room had cleared out considerably, but Lauren was still at our table keeping watch over my salad. I resumed my seat and smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that. You know how mothers can be.”
She smirked. “Yes, we can be that way.”
“You have kids?”
Lauren nodded, and worked to pack her empty salad container and fork back into her lunch bag. “I’ve got a thirteen-year-old daughter and a ten-year-old son.”
“Cool.” I glanced at her left hand. No ring. I could have prodded her for more information, but didn’t. Her home life wasn’t really any of my business. Good thing she had friends in high places, though—with two kids at home, she surely needed this job.
* * * *
A manila folder was on my office chair when I returned from lunch. Michael’s meticulous handwriting was scrawled across the sticky note affixed to it:
I think you’re ready to drive solo. Create these invoices then bring me a print-out to review when you’re done.
Some guaranteed time alone! My spirits rose in anticipation of knocking out this task, then finally getting a chance to do some of my own investigative work. I didn’t want to end the week empty-handed. So I skimmed over my notes, and then clicked the icon for Orange Financial on my computer.
While I waited for it to load, my mind drifted back to Sharon’s phone call. And to Grace. If she really was starting to fidget more, how long would it be before she came out of her coma? And how long would they keep her at Metzler after she had? The financial program opened, and I tried to push Grace from my mind.
Following the steps I had in my notes for creating invoices, I had the first one done in five minutes. The second took a little longer, but still I managed. The third invoice, however, proved to be an absolute nightmare.
I spent nearly an hour on that file alone, trying to sort everything out. Was relieved when I finally clicked the Submit button. But no sooner had I done that, I realized I’d forgotten a step.
A choice word or two slipped out.
Quietly, of course—wouldn’t want to break office etiquette.
I scanned the screen for a Go Back button, but saw none. Found nothing in my notes on how to correct this kind of error, either. Just as I was about to admit defeat and call Michael, I found a button labeled Edit Transaction.
Truly, if it’d been a snake, it would have bit me.
I clicked the button, and a search menu popped up. Lucky for me there was an option to search by transaction date. So I keyed in my initials and today’s date. The three transactions I’d just created flashed onto the screen. I selected the erroneous monster and made my corrections.
All I had left to do now was print them. So I made my way through that process, and then sat back to wait. As I watched paper inch out of my printer, it hit me—if it was this easy to look up my prior transactions, what was stopping me from looking back at Grace’s?
I backed out of the screen I was on and picked the Edit Transactions button again. Then I clicked the search by transaction date option once more. But this time I keyed in GBS and September 10th. The day of her accident.
My computer beeped at me, and an error message flashed before my eyes.
Invalid option. Transaction has been closed and cannot be edited at this time.
I thumped a fist down onto my desk. Surely there had to be a way to view past transactions. I backed out to the main menu and rummaged around some more. After a moment, I spotted a button marked Transaction History.
Bingo.
A few more clicks, and I had on the screen before me not only Grace’s last transaction, but all of the transactions created and processed this year by both her and the woman prior.
I rubbed my hands together. Time to—
“Jessica?” Michael’s voice rang out from his office. “You have those reports ready?”
I scowled. Sometimes that man had the worst timing. “Just finished, Michael. I’ll be right there!”
The clock on my computer screen said 4:45. Damn, where had the afternoon gone? I scribbled down on the steps I’d taken to get to that screen, then hurried off to Michael’s office. If I was going to make it to Metzler by 5:30, my research time had expired. No worries, I told myself. There would be plenty of time for that on Monday.
* * * *
Sharon took one of Grace’s hands in hers and motioned for me to do the same.
“Grace, honey, we’re here. Mom and Jessica. Won’t you please try to move for us? Just a little?”
I watched her face with zero expectations of a change. The movement I’d witnessed earlier in the week had been a fluke. I was convinced of that. Because I’d begged and begged her to do it again, but nothing ever happened. Why would today be any different?
But this time, at our prompting, something did happen: she twitched.
Grace’s hand I was holding actually twitched.
I tightened my hand on hers. “Grace?”
“No, you didn’t imagine it,” Sharon answered my unspoken question.
I looked up at her. “Is this what you were trying to tell me on the phone today?”
My gaze shifted back to my best friend’s face. Oh, how I wanted to believe it was true! Grace waking up? This nightmare coming to an end? But I’d let my hope rise too many times the past month, only to have it dashed again and again. I just wasn’t sold that this was the real deal.
“Have you called Matt?”
Sharon pulled the chair on her side closer to the bed and took a seat. “Yes, he was in at lunch today. When you were…unavailable.”
Awkward. “Oh. Did he have any luck?”
She shook her head, but optimism remained on her face. “He said he felt her fingers move in his hand. But we don’t know if it’s our voices or words or even just our presence that’s causing it.”
I looked down at Grace and decided to try a new tactic. “Or maybe it’s sheer coincidence.”
Grace’s mother looked at me in surprise.
I shrugged. “Well, it’s true. She’s twitched before. And we all know Grace has always run on her own damned schedule.”
“Jessica!”
I pushed the guilt of speaking those words aside and kept my eyes on Grace. If there was one way to get her to do something she adamantly refused to do, it was to piss her off. If she really was listening, this would be the perfect test.
“Oh, come on. Grace has always been the girl who could do no wrong. And now look at her! Lying there, soaking up all this attention, being waited on hand and foot.”
Sharon’s face turned crimson. “Now that’s quite enou—”
Grace’s eyebrows twitched.
I looked across to Sharon, her eyes as wide as saucers, and winked at her.
“Hear that, Grace? Your mom’s here trying to defend you, but it’s not working. See, you may be the girl who can do no wrong, but I’m the girl who never loses an argument.”
Grace’s hand tightened on mine.
To the point it almost hurt.
I chuckled. “Glad to know I’m not the only one in our house with a functioning temper. So come on, now. Wake up already.”
But after several minutes of no further signs of improvement, I knew the day’s circus act was over. Grace had slipped back into that impenetrable deeper subconscious, and no further amount of heckling on my part produced any sign of movement on hers. I looked up to find tears trickling down Sharon’s face.
“Oh, Sharon, it’s alright. She’ll be back to herself in no time, you’ll see.” I rose from my seat and crossed the room to grab a few tissues for her.
As I turned back to Sharon, I noticed a beautiful new flower arrangement on the small table in the room made up of fall mums and pansies in cheery yellows, deep burgundies and rich purples. A small tag from Cozy Flowers, skewered by a thin, plastic stake, was tucked into the greenery.
I handed Sharon the tissues and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Who’re the flowers from?”
She dabbed at her eyes and smiled at the bouquet in question. “Maxwell Office Solutions.”
* * * *
“What do you mean, I’m overreacting?” I was wearing a path in the kitchen’s linoleum floor, cell phone pressed to one ear and Brutus on my heels.
“It’s just an arrangement from the company, Jess. And the note was typed, correct?”
I made another about-face. Brutus’ slobbery chin grazed my legs. I scowled down at the new wet spot he’d made on my jeans. “Well, yes.”
“Then someone probably just called it in and had it delivered. No big deal.”
“But it is a big deal, Nate! It means someone there knows where she is!”
“They could have gotten that from Grace’s parents weeks ago. Did you ask Sharon?”
“No. But what if someone sees me there?”
“Well, unless someone at Maxwell is moonlighting as a floral delivery person, I think you’ll be safe.” He chuckled.
I stopped pacing and planted a fist on my hip. This time, poor Brutus walked right into me. “Oh yeah, go ahead and laugh. It’s all well and good for you. You’re not the one sneaking around Maxwell forty hours a week.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry for being a smartass. Would you feel better if I skip time with the guys tonight and come over?”
Yes. “No. You’ve been looking forward to your pay-per-view wrestling thingy all week.”
“Heavy-weight kickboxing tournament. And yeah, I have. But if you’re freaking out—”
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I am not freaking out. And I don’t need you to come and babysit me, either. You go do your guy…stuff. I’ll be fine.”
Brutus looked up at me and whimpered.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Absolutely.”
“Um…are we still on for doing something tomorrow after I get off work?”
“Unless something else comes up.” Like me still being pissed at you for making fun of me. Or me getting kidnapped by some Maxwell Office Solutions floral delivery double-agents.
Chapter 24
“So,” Nate said, in between kisses, “what did you want to do tonight?”
We were on the couch, indulging in a much-needed late afternoon lip therapy session. It was helping to wash away any last bit of irritation I felt toward him for making light of my concerns the day before.
I pulled back. Opened my mouth to speak, but my stomach answered for me. With a loud rumble. “I…guess we should start by getting something to eat.”
“Uh,-huh,” Nate murmured, and leaned forward to resume kissing me. Soon his stomach echoed mine, and we both broke out in laughter.
“Alright. Food. Then what?” he asked, that hungry for something other than food look in his eyes. If we kept all this kissing up, I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to resist him. Or if I even wanted to anymore.
“Um…” I tried to think of an activity that was completely non-sexual. Something to keep me out of trouble. “How about bowling?”
He gave me a blank look. “Bowling?”
“Wow, Nate, I’m starting to wonder about the quality of education around here.” I winked.
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve lived in the Midwest my whole life, Jess. I think I know what bowling is.”
“That may be, but are you any good at it?”
He looked away for a split second before answering, a sure poker tell if I’d ever seen one. “Of course I am. Bowled all the time growing up.”
“Uh-huh.”
I started to get up off the couch so I could go and retrieve my ball. Nate’s hand caught my arm.
“How about a friendly wager?”
I cast him a wary glance. “Like what?”
“If I win, you stay at my place tonight.”
That was exactly the kind of trouble I was trying to avoid. “And if I win, then I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. Alone.”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
No. Yes. No. “Yep.”
“So, do we have a deal?”
I studied his face for another moment and considered my odds. “Deal.”
“Oh, and one other thing.”
“Now wait a minute,” I said with a scowl. “You can’t make a deal and then change it on me.”
“Relax. All I was going to say is whoever loses has to buy shots.”
“You’re on.”
* * * *
Nate held the door to the bowling alley open for me, then shook his head as he followed me outside. “You could have warned me.”
“What, and spoil the fun?”
It was just after nine o’clock. I’d kicked his butt—soundly—all three games.
He threw me a half-hearted glare. “You know I hate losing.”
“Oops.” I giggled. The ground seemed to sway beneath my feet. “But why didn’t you do shots with me?”
“I ran out of money buying them for you, Miss Sandbagger.
I’m just a poor cop, trying to make a living, and look at you—drinking it away.” He winked at me.
“Whatever. You have a side business with Charlie. And you’re driving…this.” I waved my hand at the beautiful Camaro we’d just reached.
“Regardless.” He tossed my bag into the virtually non-existent back seat. “You could have clued me in.”
We drove back to our side of town in silence. Me, silently scolding myself for having that last beer. Nate apparently lost in his own thoughts. He finally spoke up when we were nearly to my place.
“Do you mind if we stop by my place first?”
My alcohol-induced buzz was still picking up steam. All I really wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. But then I realized stopping by his home would mean I’d finally get to see where Nate lived. “I guess not.”
A sly grin stretched across his face. He reached over and put a hand on my knee. Its warmth radiated through me. Its location chipped away at my resolve.
The buzzing in my head grew stronger, making it hard to focus on where we were headed. Nate turned his car into the neighborhood next to ours. A right, a left, another right.
Turns out, Nate lived only five blocks from us. I’ll be damned.
He pulled into his driveway, which was off the main street instead of an alley, eased the Camaro past his take-home cruiser, and pulled slowly into the garage. He got out of the car and I settled back into my seat to wait for him to run in and do whatever it was he needed to do. Only, no sooner had I closed my eyes, than my passenger-side door opened.
I squinted as the blinding interior light kicked on.
“Would you like to come inside?” Nate offered me his hand. “It’ll just take me a minute to grab what I need.”
I hesitated. Once I stepped out of the car, there was no guarantee when I’d be getting back into it. But all that thinking was too hard on my semi-drunken brain, so I decided what the hell—we had a deal. I took his hand and allowed him to help me from the car.
Nate led me down the driveway to his side door. He unlocked it, held it open, and waved me in. There were no lights on inside, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. Up ahead I could see the kitchen, awash with moonlight streaming in from a window over the sink.
