“Let’s hope so,” Ann snorted. Then she laughed. “This guy says all he’s looking for is a woman who is, and I quote, ‘not too hard to please.’”
“Yikes.” Rachel grimaced. “Block.”
Lynn lifted her head. “What about this guy? He’s thirty-five, works as a software engineer, likes travel, coffee, fine dining—”
Rachel lifted her head. “I’m listening.”
“Oh, wait.” Lynn shook her head. “He says his favorite book is Sports Illustrated and that his most inspirational person is himself.”
“Himself?” Ew.
“Because he’s—and I quote—‘an overcomer.’”
So close. Rachel flipped to the next dance card and laughed. “This guy lists ‘chapstick’ as the one thing he never hits the dance floor without.”
Ann seemed to approve. “I bet he has soft lips.”
Lynn purred.
Rachel gagged.
Ann raised her hand. “I have one! He’s thirty-one, lists his profession as ‘online poker player,’ and says the most influential person in his life is his ex, who is also the mother of his child.”
Rachel threw up her hands. “Would you please take this seriously?”
“Yes, because this is such serious business.”
Lynn lifted a finger. “This guy is awesome. When asked how he spends his leisure time, he says ‘on recreational activities.’ And the first thing people notice about him is his appearance.”
Ann nodded. “You sort of have to admire a man who would even bother writing responses that pointless.”
Rachel dropped her phone in her lap and laid her head on the table. “This whole thing is pointless.”
“Then why are we doing it?” Ann sounded annoyed.
Not that Rachel blamed her. “Because I already paid for three months of this service, and I don’t plan to waste the investment.”
“Three months of this?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Lynn leaned forward and patted her messy bun. “Cheer up, Rachel. So what if most of these guys seem like psychos and creeps? You only need one.”
~*~
Rachel tapped her red pen against her desktop, staring unseeingly at a pile of essays. She didn’t want to head home until she’d worked through this stack, but she couldn’t keep her mind pinned to the task.
After five straight minutes of reading the same paragraph repeatedly, she set down her pen and pulled the elastic band from the back of her head, sighing as the massed curls dropped down her back. She threaded her fingers through the tangle and massaged her scalp as the tension leeched from her body. She’d head home now, get a good night’s sleep, and come back early in the morning to grade these essays before first period.
She’d be in a much better frame of mind in the morning. Despite how much she still hated early morning workouts or how poorly she performed the flying teep kick, she couldn’t help but admit that the exercise endorphins generally put her in a good mood for the rest of the day.
Rachel scooped her hair back into a messy ball at the base of her neck, slid the essays into a plastic tray, unlocked her lower desk drawer, and pulled out her bag. Slipping her phone from her pocket, she checked her messages and found another string of texts from an unknown number.
Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive.
Was it possible that Lockstep had somehow released her phone number? Was she about to be inundated with text messages from forty-year-old self-styled entrepreneurs whose main passions in life were “fine dining” and “bettering themselves”?
No. She couldn’t panic. She had to think this through.
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and released three slow breaths. She was being ridiculous. She’d never even given Lockstep her phone number.
That wrong number, then. She’d been hoping whoever had been texting her would figure it out and give up. Apparently, that hope had been misplaced. Although she didn’t like responding to strangers, the time had come to end the nonsense.
She opened her messaging app and skimmed the texts.
Like before, they were sent at regular intervals, although this time it was between the hours of noon and two. She flicked her thumb to scroll to the bottom of the text chain to type wrong number, but on the way down, her eye caught something unexpected.
YOU DIDN’T FORGET ME BUT YOU DON’T CARE?
WHY DON’T YOU CARE?
IF YOU IGNORE ME? WHAT THEN?
TELL ME WHY
WHY?
WHY
WHY RACHEL
Wait.
Her chest fluttered on a wave of quick, light breaths.
She placed the phone gently on the desktop and half stood, backing away.
He’d used her name.
He’d used her name.
They weren’t wrong numbers after all.
From the beginning, these texts had been meant for her.
What had the first ones said? She remembered they’d been vaguely creepy and ranty, but beyond that, she couldn’t remember specifics.
She should have written them down. Why hadn’t she written them down?
Oh, yes. The Resolutions. The New Year’s Resolutions that she had felt so sure would change her life forever.
No time to think about that now.
She had to deal with these texts.
Fortunately, she hadn’t deleted them. They were right in front of her, ready and waiting to be analyzed.
Her eyes narrowed. She braced her palms against the desk and leaned forward, peering into the screen.
The phone rang.
12
Rachel jumped. The heel of her right foot caught her wheeled desk chair and sent it spinning.
When she saw the caller ID on the screen, she went limp. She accepted the call and talked directly over Sharon’s greeting as she fought a rising tide of panic. “I have something I have to deal with that can’t wait—”
But Sharon cut in, her own voice riding high and tinged with hysteria. “I’m sorry, but you have to help me, Miss Cooper.”
An odd sound cut through the haze. “Are you panting?”
Sharon let out a half laugh, half sob. “I did something stupid.” Behind the quick, shallow breaths came the sound of car horns and heavy traffic. “Hold on, let me get across the median.”
“The median?”
The sounds became a confused jumble of traffic and fumbling hands. In a moment, Sharon was back. Her breath came in gasps. “Here’s the thing. I’ve lost Mavis.”
“Wait—Mavis Martin?” Rachel surged upright, one hand clamping the phone to her face, the other clutching her hair.
“Lee’s mom,” Sharon confirmed.
“I know who Mavis Martin is.” Rachel’s tone was clipped. “What were you even doing with her?”
“Well, that’s the thing—” A horn blared.
“Never mind.” Rachel snatched up her keys. “Just tell me where you are.”
~*~
Rachel dashed to her car, dodging raindrops—the big, fat kind that actually made a splat as they hit the pavement. It wasn’t often Florida received afternoon rain showers during the dry winter season, but today seemed a day on which anything could happen. She jumped into the car and cranked the engine, hoping to make it to Sharon before the skies really let loose.
Belatedly, a thought occurred. She yanked the car back into park and shot a quick text to Sharon, recommending she call Lee. Then she herself texted Lee for good measure. It was quicker than calling him. Plus, she wasn’t in the mood to be shouted at.
She dropped the phone into her lap, gripped the wheel, and released a long, slow breath. Fighting the adrenaline spike, she eased into drive and lowered her foot to the gas, tamping down the instinct to peel out.
Getting pulled over on the way would do nobody any good. Especially not her.
By the time she pulled off on the side of Ponce de Leon Parkway, fat raindrops had given way to a steady downpour. In the panicked rush to get out
the door, Rachel had forgotten an umbrella. She flipped open her glove compartment and yanked out a plastic bag. She mashed her curls into a clumpy topknot and dragged the bag over the whole mess, knotting the handles at the base of her neck. Her clothes might get soaked, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal with wet-hair tentacles.
She opened the driver’s side door just as a truck whizzed past and sent a spray of slosh straight at her. Rachel lurched from the car and jogged down the side of the road, scanning for Sharon. She spotted her across six lanes, her back to traffic, gesticulating wildly—and, inexplicably, hopping on one foot.
What in the world?
A gust of wind caught Rachel and sent her skipping sideways. Her feet splatted in a puddle. Submerged to the ankles in grey murk, she lifted her arms against a fresh surge of traffic—not quickly enough to avoid being drenched by a second slush of filthy water. Not good. She would need to be very, very careful.
Muttering maledictions against Florida’s climate in general and Lee’s drug-addled mother in particular, she waited for a break in traffic before sprinting to the median. There she paused before looking both ways. Wait—did she really need to do that on a divided highway? She couldn’t seem to help it. Finally, she sprinted the rest of the way.
As soon as she reached the other side, Rachel understood Sharon’s bizarre hopping.
Mavis Martin crouched in a shallow ditch beside Ponce de Leon Parkway, iron hair streaming rain water, arms raised in wild gesticulations, screaming curses at the sky. Rachel panted lightly at Sharon’s side, goggling down at the apparition.
Something small and heavy whizzed by her ear.
Almost of their own accord, Rachel’s arms whipped into guard position. “Is she—throwing rocks at us?”
“Rocks, bottles, garbage—whatever she can find down there.” Sharon clutched Rachel’s elbow as Mavis let fly a fresh barrage. The two women ducked, but whatever Mavis had chucked missed.
Then Mavis’s eyes zeroed in on Rachel. Lee’s mother raised a gnarled finger and pointed it straight at her. Her face turned puce, and the veins in her neck bulged as she screeched curses.
Fortunately, a passing truck drowned out most of it. Unfortunately, it sprayed them liberally with a fresh slosh.
Rachel shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted down at Mavis’s flailing form. “Is she tweaking?”
Sharon twisted her fingers together and swayed against the wind. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how she could be. She didn’t have time to get anything, let alone take it.”
Rachel laughed mirthlessly. “You’d be surprised. She’s sneaky.”
Mavis screamed and hurled a handful of muck that landed halfway up the slope.
“I think she just hates me,” Sharon mourned. All things considered, this should have been the least of her worries at that particular moment. But a future mother-in-law is a future mother-in-law.
“Well, you’re off the hook,” Rachel told Sharon. “No matter how much she hates you, she probably still hates me worse.”
As if reading her mind, Mavis locked eyes with Rachel, mouthing the word You. Even at this distance, the malice in her eyes was unmistakable.
Rachel waved. “Hello, Ms. Martin!” she called into the wind, clutching Sharon’s arm for support. “Long time, no see!” She dodged another rock and slung an arm over Sharon’s shoulders, partially shielding the smaller woman and working to keep herself from sliding into the ditch. “We have to get her out of there. Any ideas?”
“Do we really have to? I mean, she isn’t hurting anyone. But that’s mostly because her aim is so bad.”
Rachel glanced sharply at Sharon. Strangely heartened, she inspected the murky water gathering calf-deep around Mavis Martin’s legs. “There could be snakes in there.”
Sharon tensed. “Alligators, do you think?”
“We would be so lucky.”
“What’s she saying now?”
Rachel gave Sharon a pat. “It’s probably better if you don’t try to understand.”
Shrieking obscenities, Mavis Martin lifted a small waterlogged tree branch to her shoulder and lurched forward, hurling it like a javelin.
Well trained by early-morning sessions with Ann and Coach Donovan, Rachel dropped into fight stance, instinctively crossing her forearms and whipping them to guard her face. This proved fortunate.
Mavis scored a direct hit.
Rachel’s forearms bore the brunt, but a tiny twig slipped between her crossed arms and jabbed directly into her left eye. Reeling, she took two stumbling steps backward, spitting rotten leaves. She lifted a hand to cup her eye socket. Was that a trickle of rainwater—or blood? She heard honking and pried open a squinty eye. She’d stumbled backwards into traffic.
13
Hands grasped Rachel’s sleeves, yanking her toward the side of the road. She barely had time to register that Sharon had saved her life before she slammed into the smaller woman and sent them both pinwheeling into the ditch. Tangled together, they smacked into the muck at Mavis Martin’s feet.
Due to having a waterlogged plastic bag pulled down over her head and partially suffocating her, Rachel missed most of what happened next.
At some point, Mavis stopped clawing at her. Rachel pushed the plastic bag out of her eyes just in time to see Lee skidding down the side of the ditch, barreling into his mother and grabbing her in a hammerlock. Howling for Sharon and Rachel to get out of there, Lee dragged Mavis backward up the slope, heels scrabbling against the slick sides. The two women grappled up the embankment, steering clear of the others lest Mavis kick them in the face.
Their caution proved warranted. Seconds later, Lee’s mother gave a mighty twist that jerked them both from their feet, sending them back into the ditch where they landed with a splash. Figuring Lee could handle Mavis better than anybody, Rachel turned her face forward and struggled upward.
Close to the top, hands reached down. Rachel grabbed blindly at the pair nearest her, gasping thanks to the kind soul who had stopped to haul women out of a ditch during a rainstorm. She tried to release the hands after she gained her balance, but they grasped tight and pulled upward. Hard calluses pressed warm against her clammy palms.
Rachel lifted her eyes, met a gaze of cool gray, and almost fell backward into the ditch.
Ian Smith tightened his grip, stabilizing them both. Rachel summited the embankment, her feet sliding in an awkward cartoon run as she scrabbled for purchase against the wet grass. Once stable, she snatched her hands from Ian. Her chest tightened.
There was nothing for it but to pull the bag directly over her face.
Ian stood sideways in a vain attempt to block her from the rain. “Are you all right?” He spoke loudly to be heard over the wind and traffic.
She inched closer, palms flattening the flapping ends of the plastic bag. “What are you doing here?”
“Lee called.”
Oh—of course. He’d come for Lee, not her.
Dressed in a faded athletic shirt, basketball shorts, and sneakers, he was more casual than she’d ever seen him. He must have been off duty.
She tried not to twitch as Ian’s eyes traveled from the top of her bagged head to the soles of her water-logged shoes. He pulled the plastic bag from her head, releasing a rush of scummy water.
Rachel’s topknot listed slowly to the side, sending a heavy stream of cold water down her neck. She pushed her bun toward the top of her head. A clump of rotten leaves dislodged from her hair and plopped onto her chest.
Ian’s gaze followed the leaves, then jerked upward. He turned and stared studiously down the Palmetto Parkway.
Rachel envisioned inching backward, spreading her arms, and freefalling into the drainage ditch.
Another tractor trailer barreled down the highway toward them. Ian grasped her upper arms and turned them both, shielding her from the foamy road spray—a gesture Rachel found both noble and idiotic, considering she couldn’t possibly get any wetter.
Ian didn’t
release her immediately. He leaned forward and spoke directly into her ear. “Hang tight.” Once the truck had passed, he stepped back and looked her in the eye.
She stared back solemnly.
Ian nodded once, released her arms, and skimmed down the slope toward Lee and Mavis.
Suddenly remembering Sharon, Rachel turned to search for her.
Sharon squatted amid a huddle of onlookers, head hanging between her knees. Rachel walked over and leaned down to rest a hand on her back. “Are you hurt?”
“He’s going to hate me,” Sharon told the pavement.
“Lee won't hate you. This isn’t your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to see her without him. It’s just that he’s been dreading introducing me to her, and I thought I could just get it over with without him having to be there to witness it—”
“You really don’t have to explain—”
“I know she’s on the outpatient program, so I asked if she wanted to go for tea, and she said yes, but then as soon as we got to the first stoplight, she grabbed my cell phone and tried to jump out of the car, only I’d started accelerating because the light had changed, but she jumped out of the car while it was still moving—”
Rachel hunched over Sharon. Dirt and gravel peppered Rachel’s back as she crouched there, arms around Sharon’s shoulders as the trucks whizzed by. “Quiet. Quiet now.”
The time for explanations would come later.
~*~
Rachel and Sharon sat on opposite sides of the booth, clutching hot drinks as the gray skies leeched to black. They’d chosen this particular restaurant for its proximity to Mavis’s halfway house rather than for the quality of the coffee, a fact Rachel now had time to regret. She grimaced as she took another acid sip, feeling the burn all the way down. The coffee, though truly terrible, helped push back the chill that had settled in her bones. She squirmed in her damp clothes. She must smell like a lake, although it was hard to tell over the lingering aroma of fried food. Feeling an itch at the back of her neck, she reached up and peeled away a half-dried leaf.
Across the booth, Sharon breathed a sound that was half-sigh, half-moan.
Rachel pushed a hank of stiff hair behind her ear. It bounced out immediately. She smiled wryly at Sharon. “When I said we should hang out more, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Unbreakable Page 9
