Past the narrow opening to the galley-styled kitchen, Ryan waited for Amanda’s response. She rolled her eyes as she scanned the black freezer’s contents.
He sought Rebecca’s level-headed appearance only to see the spot where she once stood. A door clicked in answer to her whereabouts. Was there anyone around here who actually wanted to talk to him?
He dropped his pack into the plastic lawn chair, heard the beeps of a microwave. A single step brought him to the kitchen’s entrance where he leaned against the doorframe. Amanda dug a fork out of a drawer. She slid the drawer back into place with her hip. “Help yourself to whatever you can find in here. Mostly frozen stuff.”
She strode past him. Her sectional black plastic tray released the smell of potatoes and processed meat. He turned and followed as she dropped down onto the couch and kicked up her feet. She proceeded to keep her mouth full. Finally, the silence got to her. She paused, peered up at him. “What?”
“I thought I didn’t need to ask how your day was.”
She shrugged. “Not much to talk about. No new developments.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly positive.”
He joined her on the couch, collapsing in the other corner. “Yeah right.”
“Huh?”
“Oh please, Amanda. Out with it. No, not your dinner. What’s got you all bugged up? Did you . . . stumble onto something lately?”
She glared at him out of the corner of her eye as she took in another bite. All right, time to quit walking on eggshells. He had to drop a line capable of demolishing her nonchalant facade. “How do you feel about high heels these days?”
She stopped chewing. Her fork remained between mouth and plate. Her defenses recovered in record time. “Why would you bring up something like that? Geez, Ryan.” She set her tray down and yanked out her ponytail, effectively hiding her face as she finger-combed the dirty blond strands. “That was high school stuff. Let it go.”
“Why? Have you?” He steadied his tone, built a dam around his anxiety.
“Huh.” She grabbed her plate and headed for the kitchen. “I am too tired for your guessing game.”
He kept to her heels, blocked her only exit. “Amanda, enough. For someone who claims nothing is on her mind, you sure are trying your damndest to hide. You ran away from me at work and now you’re fleeing to the kitchen. I’m here to help. I can help. Tell me what you know.”
She threw up her hands, met his eyes with an un-blinking gaze, blue heat defiantly charged. “What am I supposed to know, Ryan?”
He sighed. She looked so fragile; her dad wanted her safe. “I don’t know.”
“Right.” She squeezed past him. He turned around and crossed his arms only to watch her walk away.
Over her shoulder, she added, “Well, this was fun. We should try it again sometime, like the next time you drop in unexpected after five years of silence!”
I had no choice.
Another door closed him out for the night.
After a visit to the kitchen where he microwaved two burritos and consumed them with a day-long hunger, he went to the sofa and struggled with the pivots of the pull-out. Considering the other inhabitants of the apartment, he chose to leave clothes on and fell into a layer of coils separated from him by a thin, wool-like barrier. Draping a blanket across his chest, he stared at the ceiling.
Shadows waved back and forth as the wind directed a tree’s dance in front of the city streetlight.
Had things gone wrong from the start? Should he have stayed out of it all those years ago? Who’d blame him if he had? He’d been a restless sixteen-year-old. But he knew. Ryan understood what it was like, what they’d forced Amanda to face when she was pushing twelve. He dropped his head back into the pillow and thought back to the day Amanda officially lost her mom. The details had branded into him hotter than the moment his father left.
“How’d it go?” he asked when Jim entered the shop in his best pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, gray-checkered shirt. Ryan sat in front of a steel table, a disassembled lawnmower engine scattered across its surface.
“She gave me full custody.” The shoulders of his boss, his mentor, slumped under a new burden.
“Well, that’s good. No trading off all the time, right?”
Jim moved silently to his office. Before the door closed, he said, “She deserves a father and a mother.”
Yeah, right. I’m sure that’s what my Dad thought when he walked out on Mom and me.
A kid’s shadow came around the corner of the garage door. In walked a trembling, blond girl wearing a frilly, pink dress, tears ready to fall from her huge, blue eyes.
The dejected posture appeared even worse on her. She followed her father’s path toward the back of the shop. When she reached Ryan, he said, “Catch.”
She looked up. He tossed a one-quarter inch wrench. She dropped her pack, caught it with her arms.
“I could use your help with this.”
After a quick glance down at her princess pack, she stepped over it then joined him at the bench.
They huddled over the engine. When her little hands grappled with a piston, it slipped through and splashed into the oil pan sending a spray of oil across Ryan’s face.
A giggle spurted from her lips and a few lights returned to her wide, blue eyes.
He retaliated, smudging her nose with grease. She scrunched her face but did so with a smile.
Going back to work, fingers clasping a bolt, her tongue stuck out as she concentrated on screwing it in without cross-threading. Following his instructions, she then took the ratchet from him.
Ryan spotted Jim looking through the office glass, with a small smile of his own. His daughter looked like a little less of the world rested on her shoulders.
From his too-small mattress, Ryan sighed. The skills he’d offered, the ones she’d gobbled up, had seemed to focus her and let her know the pride of accomplishment.
The fix of the past might’ve broken her future. The wavering girl he knew had changed into the face he’d seen in the kitchen. The darkened rings under her eyes and the set jaw line had said it all. He wasn’t helping.
He rubbed his eyes.
The vision of Amanda blurred. It took on a new face with full, parted lips that curved upward. He fell into the teasing gray eyes. Releasing a breath, his mind forwent the unhealthy practice of trying to imagine how he could’ve done the past differently.
Rebecca cooled his turmoil. In the end, did Amanda have to know the rest of it?
Was what he had to offer enough to fully fix everything? Danielle’s car had suffered from a bad power steering pump which could’ve caused her death. Would Amanda accept his simple answer? What if he was making things harder for her?
Not having a memory of the event didn’t seem to help her today. He seemed incapable of forgetting himself that she could remember at any time. Then what? What if he wasn’t there?
He shifted and the blanket slipped. As he grabbed at it, he breathed in, recognized wild raspberry on the air, thought of oak-colored hair. It’d brushed his shoulder when Rebecca almost tripped over him on their walk.
He breathed deep and exhaled the day, all except gray eyes and a fleeting smile. Tomorrow. He’d fix it tomorrow.
~ ~ ~
Amanda dropped her back against the wall. This was going to take a while.
Another flirty laugh had her rolling her eyes. With arms crossed, a repair order in one hand, she waited for anonymous, High-heel Girl—some sales receptionist—to end her chatter and drop the one high heel she’d tipped up attached to her tanned and toned legs. She leaned against the parts counter absorbing the full attention of both parts countermen.
They looked very enthusiastic. Amanda sighed.
After a deep brea
th, she gagged. Whatever flower that perfume was meant to smell like came off stronger than aerosol brake cleaner. At least, brake cleaner kept her feeling clean.
Her eyes wandered the department that catered to technicians, retail, and wholesale customers all at once; quite an ambitious move for the parts manager. Did they ever rearrange in here? Blind-spot mirrors, headlight-polishing kits, and storage boxes kept to their permanent parking spaces.
Her eyes returned to the mirrors that reflected her a dozen times.
Which of the reflections revealed the Amanda she had shown to Adam last night? She glanced up at the security camera in the corner. Based on his behavior last night, he saw someone he thought deserved his help.
He’d tried with the little information she had given him. His shift had just started when she walked in . . .
“Thank you,” she smiled warmly at him.
“Of course.” He held the door open and she passed to one of the two office chairs positioned in front of three monitors.
He already had the video set to the time she needed. She’d asked for the footage from the day of her kidnapping. Moving a dog-eared woodworking book from the other chair, he sat to her right.
He commanded the mouse and keyboard, and she focused on the screens.
When the playback started, she crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back into the chair as an average day in the life of a dealership played out before her, until they neared the end.
“Wait a minute,” said Adam as he leaned forward. “What’s that?”
She sat up, nearer the screen, and his heat whispered across her cheek.
“That looks like . . .” She paused. He wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. But she determinedly kept her gaze riveted forward. Even so, her heart lifted and its rate accelerated.
“Amanda—”
“It looks like an elderly woman hunched over,” she talked right over him. She shook her head and sighed.
“Amanda.”
“I have to figure this out.” She allowed herself one look at him. "I need your help." So stop distracting me! She turned back to the screen. Someone knows something about me. And until I found out who and what, nothing else matters . . . nothing else can happen.
“All right,” he said softly.
She released a breath that she forgot she held. “I think we need some of that stuff that our bosses tell us is coffee.”
He smiled, and her heart forgot what she’d told it. “Sounds good.”
With the sound of the door latch announcing his absence, she went for the fast-forward button.
Yesterday morning . . . that had to be when the guy slipped the card through the slot? She resumed play and caught a couple women making a stop at the early bird drop-off box. She figured one for a soccer mom based on the sports equipment in her minivan and the other was an elderly, heavyset woman made for computer work.
No, he wasn’t there. She tried further back in the night.
Wait.
She changed to the play button then followed up with the pause icon. Her eyes drank in every detail. She clicked forward one frame at a time.
Look up, already! She willed the image on the screen. All she saw was the top of a man’s head and one shoulder that he used to hold a cell phone to his ear. She needed more! Holding her breath, she clicked forward.
He ended the call, pocketed the phone, his head turned . . . Yes. Up! She’d know her stalker; she’d know the man who had her secret—
The office door clicked. She hit the rewind button then turned to smile at him.
“Find anything yet?” he asked.
“No,” she sighed. “Nothing.”
He offered her a cup.
“What’s this?” she asked the clouded coffee.
“Don’t you take cream?”
Not tonight, I don’t. Not when I need one more second alone! She crinkled her nose. “Not a good idea. It’s like warm milk.”
“Oh. You want mine?”
“No thanks. You probably need it as much as I do. I’ll just go grab one real quick.” She grasped the armrests and pushed herself out of the chair but winced. She looked at her sliced-up hand from her great trunk escape. “Guess I’m not a hundred percent, yet.” She tried on a weak smile.
Adam stared at her for a moment.
Her heart raced.
“I’ll be back,” said Adam.
“Thanks.” Her eyes went to the screen, but she watched him in the periphery.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take my time. Maybe sometime you’ll show me what you’ve found.”
She tensed.
He turned and stepped out.
Her brow crinkled as she stared at the closed door. She shook her head, wasting no more time, and returned to the scene.
She sat on the edge of the seat, her hand tensed around buttons. The man looked up.
She groaned and slumped back in the chair. Of course the man would look familiar, because he’s on the housekeeping staff! And, to top it off, his English vocabulary was about as vast as her Spanish vocabulary; it could fill a whole two pages. Maybe. He wasn’t the one who forced her into a trunk and drilled her for information.
The footage continued to roll forward. An umbrella? She sat up. Shouldn’t it be raining or maybe even extra sunny for that? From underneath the shield, an arm extended and dropped an envelope through the slot. That’s him. She dropped a laugh. Umbrella Man.
At the sound of Adam’s step, she hit rewind. With elbows on the table, she dropped her head into her hands. What good is this? Nothing. I’m at this psycho’s mercy.
“What happened?”
Face hidden in her hands, she shook her head. “I can’t. He can’t. How could he—?”
Adam set the cup on the table and dragged her up out of the chair. His arms wrapped around her. She let her head drop to his broad, hard chest where his breathing eased her, distanced her from it all. He wanted to help. She should just stay here in this image he had of her.
Instead, her eyes regained their focus on the blind-spot mirrors as she waited in the parts department. Had Adam known he was hugging a shield? It wasn’t as obvious as an umbrella.
She flinched. High Heel’s laugh sounded like a squeal.
If only she’d lower the high heel and let real workers get something done!
Amanda couldn’t name the girl. They were all the same anyway. Except Amanda knew this one drove a red Toyota, two-door.
“Hey!” A voice broke through. “Whatcha need?” Mike asked, giving her a peculiar look.
Amanda uncrossed her arms, pushed off the wall, and brought up the repair order. “Just an air filter and some wiper blades.” She slid the paperwork across the steel counter.
While he typed and clicked his mouse, he still had time to chuckle at the girl’s remarks. He smiled as he added to the unproductive chitchat.
Amanda sighed, utterly impatient with the situation.
Finally!
The sound of clicks faded into the distance. Each tap stabbed memories, scratched at wounds in her heart. Five years ago, Ryan would’ve put a wrench in her hand and pointed her toward a car. She’d get there if she’d ever get some parts in her hand.
Today, she had left him behind.
She’d learned from the best.
Besides, he couldn’t help anymore. She glared. It was what it was. Or what she had made it to be with one stupid lapse on Danielle’s Clip.
It’d been horrible. Amanda had never wanted pain, injury, or . . . death. Never! How could anyone think she had done it intentionally? But she knew someone had. He carried an umbrella, or sometimes a knife which he’d held close to her skin.
A flighty remark in a woman’s voice came around the corner.
; Umbrella man thought he could intimidate her, convince her to give up. She knew what she was capable of, what she’d done. Turning herself over wouldn’t bring Danielle back. She’d do what she could to make up for it without hurting the man who loved her, was devoted to her. Amanda wouldn’t leave her father. She wouldn’t be her mother.
“Hello?” Mike waved parts in front of her.
“Oh, right.” She offered a brief smile. “Thanks.”
She dumped the parts by her toolbox and headed to the back of the building. Pushing at the heavy shop door and blinking to adjust from the dim shop to cloudless daylight, she found the small group of co-workers congregated near the oil drums, cigarettes in hand.
She impressed Scott by bumming a smoke. Not the best habit to keep in practice but a necessary evil for this industry. One parts counterperson, a couple technicians, and a service advisor were taking refuge from the onslaught of customers who had noise complaints and needed their cars fixed as fast as possible.
Whereas some sat on a weathered picnic table, she stood. She took a deep drag, allowed its release and then finally settled on top of the plastic table, its surface warm under the sun.
The shop door swung out. Another tech came out, Tyler. He took in the sight of her then aped an exaggerated shocked face. “You smoke?”
Amanda shrugged and smiled. “How else could I put up with you? You look better behind a cloud. Smell better, too.”
The others laughed.
“Yeah, well,” he started as he settled on a bench near her and opened his own box. “At least I don’t throw off the fuel leak detector, like Jason with all his gas.” He nodded toward the hefty technician.
Jason grinned. “It’s what I do.”
They shook their heads.
Then another laugh, a flighty tune, cut Amanda off from the tobacco’s winning effects. With slumped shoulders, she groaned. Enter the high heels. She rubbed out her stub and shoved her hands in her pockets. Tyler looked up as High Heels lighted one out of her box of slims.
A Running Heart Page 8
