A small license plate—one of the little aluminum souvenirs they sold at gift shops. It said ANNA in turquoise letters. Stuck to the back was a note that said “Happy Birthday,” in Alec’s handwriting.
And suddenly I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I called him immediately, sliding my thumb over the flimsy metal.
“Hey,” he answered, a smile in his voice.
“You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I love it.” I love you. “It’s just what I always wanted.”
“Only the best for you, baby.”
He was teasing me, but I liked the tenderness in his voice.
“This almost guarantees that you’re going to get laid tonight,” I told him.
“Damn,” he said. “If I’d known that, I would’ve stopped there.”
I felt my brows pull inward and automatically looked down to the center console where I’d picked up the license plate. I hadn’t noticed beneath it was another sticky note. This one said, “Open Me.”
I squeezed the plastic handle behind the cupholders and the armrest between the two seats popped open. Where my collection of pens, scissors, and pepper spray had been was a sealed metal box about the size of a bag of an ice cream sandwich. On one side was a green button, currently lit. On the other was a dim red button.
“Alec?” I said. “Why does it look like there’s a bomb in my car?”
He adjusted the phone against his cheek. It sounded like he was walking into another room.
“It’s a kill switch,” he said.
“That doesn’t sound much better.”
“Start your car.”
I turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life. It didn’t sound much different than it normally did—like a high-powered sewing machine.
“Now reach below the cupholder. There’s a switch, do you feel it?”
I tucked the phone on my shoulder and inched my fingers along the rigid plastic, finally finding the small raised metal knob, hidden to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. Curiosity took ahold of me. Sometimes I forgot that Alec had a degree in engineering.
“Yes.”
“Hit it.”
I did what he said, and the internal lights died, right along with the engine. In the center console, the green light switched to red.
“The car shut off,” I told him.
“It stops the flow of electricity to the battery,” he said. “If you leave the switch in the off position, you can’t turn on the car. If you’re already in motion, you can shut it down.”
I closed my eyes, leaned forward until my forehead pressed against the steering wheel. If this had been in place before when I’d been taken, things would have turned out differently. It might not have stopped Bobby, but it would have slowed him down, given Alec and the cops a chance to get to me faster.
He cleared his throat. “There’s a way to wire it to automatically dial the police but I’ll need to order those parts.”
Amy had been wrong. This was no honeymoon phase. This was a good man protecting a woman he cared about.
“Anna?”
“Yeah,” I said, voice thick. “I’m here.”
“My middle name’s Thomas,” he said. “After my dad.”
I took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t mention it.”
He adjusted the phone again, and I longed to touch my fingers to his jaw, and to see the look in his eyes right now.
“I’m at my dad’s,” he said. “I might be a while longer.”
“Okay.”
We sat on the phone a minute longer, not saying anything, just being together. There was no way I could tell him how much his work on my car meant to me, but I think he knew. I could hear it in his voice when he finally said good-bye.
Nine
Mike had Thursday nights off, something I’d forgotten until I walked into the lobby juggling two armfuls of groceries and squeezed by his half-asleep backup, a middle-aged Irishman who mostly worked the graveyard shift. I missed Mike immediately—in Alec’s absence I’d always felt safer with him standing by the front door. I’d wanted to ask him to join us for dinner sometime. If he was single he would have been a great date for Amy.
Not that that was going to happen anytime soon.
I focused my thoughts away from my best friend and onto Alec. I hoped things were going well with his father. Part of me wondered if I should have volunteered to stop by and help. Thomas and I had formed kind of a friendship while Alec had been away—mostly centered around how much we missed him. But I didn’t want to intrude if Alec and he were working things out.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped out into the hallway, searching for my keys in my purse. There were only four apartments on this floor, and as I passed the first two, I saw a woman standing in front of Alec’s door.
Her suit was the first thing to catch my eye—it was cream colored, with a knee-length skirt and matching pumps. Not many people could pull off a suit like that, but she had a kick-ass body—the kind that came with good genes not a gym membership. Her dirty blond hair that was swept back in a twist and her makeup was impeccable. She was probably a few years older than me, and looked a hell of a lot more professional than I did in my workout top and dirty skirt ensemble.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
Her head snapped in my direction as if I’d startled her, and the color rose in her cheeks.
“No, thanks,” she said. “Sorry. Wrong floor.”
With that, she adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder, and hurried past me toward the elevator.
I stared after her, perplexed, and watched her jab the lobby button repeatedly, as if that would somehow get her out of here faster. As the doors closed, our eyes met, and I was gripped by a hot, prickling jealousy. Strange, unwelcome images rose in my mind of her body and Alec’s, tangling in the dark. Her slim legs wrapped around his hips. Her nails dragging down his chest. Her blond hair splayed across his pillow.
It seemed entirely likely that this wasn’t the wrong floor at all. She’d come here purposefully, and had changed her mind when she’d seen me.
She’d come here to see Alec.
I unlocked the apartment door, shaking off the wave of insecurity. I was just being paranoid. He’d told me before he’d never brought another girl to his home and I believed him. In all my time staying here, no strange women had randomly shown up looking for him.
I locked the dead bolt behind me, set down the grocery bags in the kitchen, and kicked off my shoes, remembering afterward that I wasn’t here alone anymore and should probably line them up neatly against the wall. Tossing my purse on the dining room table, I made for the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes but was stopped by a knock at the front door.
Had the woman changed her mind and come back?
I returned to the entryway and cracked the door, just enough that the chain on the second lock I’d installed caught.
A man wearing a black leather jacket and dark slacks stood in the hallway. He had a perfectly trimmed goatee and short raven-colored hair, clipped so close to the skull that you could see the white scalp peeking through. His eyes were hidden from view by designer sunglasses, and I bit off a sigh of annoyance because only assholes and blind people wore shades indoors. This guy clearly was not blind.
“Can I help you?” I asked for the second time that night.
“I’m looking for Alec Flynn.”
“And you are?”
He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. Inside was an ID badge with his picture that stated he worked for the state in corrections.
“Reznik,” he pronounced clearly. “Jack Reznik. Parole officer.”
> I’d thought that Alec had an appointment to see his parole officer earlier today. It surprised me that he had come to the house, but of course that wasn’t unreasonable. When I’d worked in social services, parole and probation officers had dropped in unannounced all the time on my clients’ parents to see if they were ditching work or using drugs.
I unhooked the chain and opened the door a little farther, checking the baseball bat out of habit. It was still against the wall, handle side up.
“He’s not in right now,” I said. “If you leave your number, I’ll have him call you.”
He removed his sunglasses, and the puckered scar that ran over his right eyelid gave me a little start. On second thought, the shades were a good call.
“You’re his girlfriend?” he asked. He squinted a little as his eyes trailed down my body. I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I am.”
He took out a notepad. “Name?”
“Is that necessary?”
He smiled.
“Mind if I take a look around?” It wasn’t a question. “Need to see his living space.”
He stepped through the threshold, bumping into me as he walked by.
“I do mind, actually,” I said, my pulse rising.
He stuck his head into the kitchen, then walked to the dining room. When he replaced the notepad in his back pocket I caught a glimpse of the gun in the back of his waistband. This didn’t sit right; he should have had a holster, like a police officer.
Unless he had a concealed carry permit. But why would he need that if he worked for the department of corrections? He wouldn’t be undercover.
“Nice place,” he commented.
“He’s not here, I told you.” Subtly, I reached for my keys on the dining room table, and held the Mace tight in my fist.
Reznik turned toward me, brows lifted. “You’re uncomfortable.”
“You’re goddamn right, I’m uncomfortable.”
He smiled, a smooth twist of his mouth that made me take a step back.
“That was not my intent,” he said.
He retreated to the door.
“You’ll tell him I stopped by?”
“Do you have a card?”
Reznik gave me the once-over one more time, then reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. I took the card he handed over without looking at it. I wasn’t willing to take my eyes off of him for a second.
With that he stalked toward the elevators, leaving me staring at his back. He was definitely the creepiest parole officer I’d ever met, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t legit. For the last three months I’d admittedly been more suspicious than before. Trusting, which had always come hard for me, was proving even more difficult, something that I hoped would settle down in time.
Only then did I look down at the business card. It wasn’t a parole officer’s card; there was no state seal or professional emblem. It gave the information for a sushi restaurant called Raw that was north of the 275. I knew the place—I’d passed it on my way to Alec’s father’s apartment, but had never stopped there because it looked so shady.
It could have been a mistake, but I doubted it. Something about him was off, given Alec’s past history, I wasn’t sure my suspicions were entirely out of the question.
Back in the dining room, my cell phone buzzed. Still rattled and now decently annoyed, I went to find it, searching through my purse until I found the glowing screen. The caller ID said THIS IS YOUR FATHER—PICK UP, something he’d proudly programmed in himself a few visits ago.
“Hi Dad,” I said, catching him on the last buzz.
“Answer faster,” he said. “I was just getting ready to catch the next flight to Tampa.”
He was only kind of kidding. Always protective, he’d become a flat-out worrywart since the whole kidnapping thing. I supposed that was his right, seeing as I was his only daughter.
“Geez,” I said. “Give me at least seven seconds to answer next time.”
“Don’t push it,” he said. “I’ll give you what I give you.”
I smirked, dropped the card in the basket I’d brought for mail, and went to change into my comfy clothes.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to even my voice so as not to concern him any more than he already was.
“I don’t know, you tell me.” Those words, in that tone, were enough to send me back to age sixteen, when Amy and I were two hours late for curfew, reeking of booze and the orange tic tacs we’d binged on to try to cover it up.
“Should I sit down?” I asked. “This sounds serious.”
“I got a call this afternoon,” he said. “From Alec Flynn.”
My chest clenched at the way he chewed on Alec’s name. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, and I could practically see him giving me that withering detective look.
“What did he say?”
“What you should have,” he said with a huff. “That he’s back in town, and he’s . . .” He trailed off.
“And he’s what, Dad?” My heart leapt, and before I could catch myself, I had a glimpse of white dresses and rings. My knees buckled and I sat down hard on the bed. The image vacated a moment later, and in its place was uncertainty. When I was little I’d dreamed about getting married, but then I’d grown up, and dated people, and realized how totally dysfunctional I was when it came to relationships. Marriage wasn’t exactly in the cards for people like me.
“He’s going to take care of you,” my dad said a little too articulately. “He apologized for what happened and said I shouldn’t worry because he’s not going to let you get hurt again.”
My whole body warmed. That was more like it. Why would Alec have called my dad for any other reason? Me and my crazy imagination.
“That’s . . . nice,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And yet something tells me it didn’t go over too well.”
“Anna,” he sighed. “Your mom and me only ever wanted you happy.”
It hurt to hear him say that like she was still alive. Like she hadn’t been ripped from him—from both of us—when the cancer had taken her.
“Alec makes me happy,” I said.
“Alec Flynn almost got you killed.”
I groaned. “Did Amy call you, too? Because I just got the same speech from her about an hour ago.”
“She didn’t, but you should listen to her. I always liked Amy. She’s a smart one.”
“Because she agrees with you.”
“Well, you know what they say about great minds.”
I slumped. “I’m tired of defending him to the people who should be happy for me.”
“There’s a reason you’re defending him,” he said sternly. “It’s because he did something wrong. It’s because he just got out of prison. It’s because his friend busted your face up . . .”
“Not his friend,” I said. “Bobby was not his friend.” The anger was just under the surface, ready to rip through. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times since it happened. Every time you’ve come down to visit.”
“And I’m still waiting for it to sink in.”
“You know, I realize you and Mom did everything perfectly, but it’s not that way for everyone.”
“Anna . . .”
“I have to go,” I said, hating that I was now fighting with two of the most important people in my life. I hung up the phone and shoved it across the table. It slid to the end, and then hit the floor with a clunk.
I wasn’t being stupid. Being with Alec was the most important thing I’d ever done. This was my life, and my choice, and if my dad and Amy really loved me, they’d support me.
I just had to keep telling myself that until I believed it.
Ten
I dreamed of water. A slow drip in the darkness that turned to a trickle, and then, like a pipe u
nder pressure, a more persistent spray. My eyes adjusted slowly to the gray-green haze, then to the car’s dashboard in front of me. The passenger-side window cracked, and my panic broke loose. I fought, but to no avail; I was bound to the seat, unable to break free. The car was underwater, and sinking fast. The light was fading again. I looked left, but the woman in the driver seat—the woman with red hair—stared at me with dead eyes.
I jolted awake, the scream caught in my throat. Sitting up, I gasped for air, shoving off the bindings on my arms and legs that still lingered in my imagination. My hearing was sharp, my eyes already focused. I was lying on the couch in the living room—the leather stuck to my damp skin as I moved.
I wasn’t alone.
Someone was moving through the hallway toward the living room, deliberately taking soft steps to keep quiet. I gripped the wooden spoon I’d fallen asleep holding. Not the ideal weapon for defense, but I was too far away from the door to grab the bat.
It’s Alec, I told myself.
But Alec would have turned on the lights. This was his home.
Fingers tightening around the wooden handle, I rose as quietly as I could, keeping to the shadows. My heart was pounding, memories of Bobby too close to the surface.
He was closer than I’d anticipated, and when my arm rose automatically to strike, he took a quick step back.
“Whoa,” said Alec. “I surrender.”
I dropped my arm as he maneuvered the large cardboard box he’d been holding to one arm and flipped on the living room light. My eyes blinked as they adjusted to the sudden brightness. He was still wearing the same jeans and white T-shirt I’d seen him in earlier, but he looked exhausted.
“What is that? A spoon?” he asked.
“Why are you sneaking around?” I snapped.
Stupid question. He lived here. He could army crawl from room to room if he wanted.
He tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
My breath came out in a hard huff. He carried the box into the living room and set it on the dining room table. I glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. It was after ten. Whatever he’d been doing, it had taken a long time.
The Distraction Page 8
