by A. K. Morgen
I think I liked him better when he didn’t emote.
I stepped on his foot, making sure to grind my heel into the top of his boot, before marching past him, a fake smile plastered on my face.
He grunted from behind me.
The door swung shut.
I took a deep breath, looking around.
The inside of the building was more imposing than the outside. The receptionists’ work area took up half of the room, the built-in desk standing waist high, with an elevator to each side. Hallways extended beyond the desk to the left and right before ending abruptly at two banks of tall windows at the far end. A few plush sofas and chairs sat in groupings near the windows, all empty. Bronze sculptures sat on tables, with massive pieces of artwork hanging above. Flowers and plants were scattered everywhere, lending the waiting area a spicy, floral scent. I’m sure the strange combination smelled lovely to most people, but it made me want to vomit.
Two receptionists sat behind the desk, one manning the phones, while the other typed away at her computer. They were both older―one middle aged and the other well into her seventies―and both wore black slacks and white company polo tops. Neither looked particularly friendly.
Ronan nudged me from behind.
I tripped forward two steps before I caught my balance.
“Jerk,” I muttered again, and then marched toward the desk, my steps confident even if the rest of me wasn’t.
“Can I help you?” the elderly receptionist asked, barely sparing me a glance. She didn’t stop typing either.
“Erm, yeah, I need to speak with Annette Saunders.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
I contemplated lying to her. “No,” I said, figuring lying wouldn’t get me very far. Besides, if we did have to break in later, I preferred not being the first person they remembered.
The elderly receptionist stopped typing, flicking her gaze up to meet mine. Her eyelids were tinted with light blue eye shadow. “What’s the nature of your visit?” she asked.
“I―” I had no clue how to answer that question.
“We’re doing research and were told that she could answer a few questions for us,” Ronan interjected smoothly, stepping up beside me.
Well, at least one of us was an accomplished liar.
The receptionist looked at him, her lips pursed.
I crossed my fingers, hoping and praying she decided we looked honest enough.
“Who referred you?” she asked.
Ronan nudged me again.
“Oh, uh, Jameson from customer service,” I said. My heart thumped unevenly.
I held my breath, waiting for her to demand his last name or some other tidbit of information I didn’t have.
“Sign in, and have a seat,” she said, pointing to the guest ledger on the far side of the desk. “I’ll see if Ms. Saunders can see you.”
“Thank you!” I hurried around the desk, relief and nervousness crashing through me in tandem.
“Relax,” Ronan said, leaning close so his voice didn’t carry.
“I’m trying,” I huffed, reaching for the pen.
Ronan plucked it from between my fingers, and scrawled two names across the page. He moved away from the desk, the picture of relaxation. He settled into a chair, stretching his legs out before him. I peeked at the guest ledger before following after him, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Jack Dawson and Rose Bukater?” I hissed, sinking into an armchair beside him.
“I liked the movie,” Ronan said, shrugging.
I clutched my head in my hands.
We were going to get caught, and end up in jail, living on bologna sandwiches and the dubious generosity of a prison guard named Percy until we were fifty or Sköll and Hati destroyed the world. I’d never see Dace again, or my dad, or―
“Will you try to relax? They never even check the visitor logs.”
I scowled at him.
He grunted again, and then leaned in to whisper again. “We’ve done this before, you know.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Yes, you have. In Iceland.”
I arched a brow, and then frowned. A brief flicker danced through my mind, not brought out by Freki, but by Ronan.
Iron bars, chains. Dace covered in blood and bruises.
“Get out of my head,” I snapped through gritted teeth, hating the way Ronan prowling through my mind made me feel. His presence was invasive and unwelcome. It felt like some foreign body literally forced its way inside and plopped down in the middle of my brain. One that had no business being there.
A faint tremor ran through me, unease and irritation rolled into one. Freki stirred faintly, sending a snarl rippling through me. I imagined myself slamming a door in Ronan’s face, and then padlocking it closed.
Ronan vanished from my head.
He grunted, surprised.
My eyes widened.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, rubbing his chest as if I’d punched him.
I shook my head silently, not sure how I kicked him out. I’d just wanted him out before he roused Freki like he had the first time he tried that little party trick on me. Putting him on the other side of a locked door seemed like the best way to prevent having a major meltdown in the middle of the waiting room.
“When I first met Dace, I used to imagine a door connecting us,” I murmured, remembering, and then shook my head. “We broke into a prison?”
Ronan eyed me for a minute, and then nodded. “Yeah, to break Dace out.”
“Wow.” I wracked my brain for something more than the brief flashes Ronan had pulled to the surface, but found nothing. I didn’t remember that particular scene… which was probably for the best. My hands still trembled at even the brief reminder of Dace’s swollen, bloody face.
Had any of our past lives been easy or painless?
Ha! Did I even need to ask?
Fifteen minutes later, the elderly receptionist waved us over and held out two temporary visitor passes. I stuck the standard pass to my shirt, relieved my fake name wasn’t plastered across it. Call me crazy, but I doubted we’d make it all the way to Annette Saunders’ office without someone noticing we weren’t exactly Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.
A smug smile spread across Ronan’s face. The way his eyes gleamed all but screamed “I told you so.” I opted to ignore it.
“Take the elevator on the right to the second floor, and then turn right,” the receptionist said after Ronan donned his badge. “At the split, turn left, and then left again at the next hallway. You’ll see Ms. Saunders’ name on the door.”
“Erm, thanks,” I said, taken off guard that we weren’t being accompanied. I scurried around the desk to push the elevator button before she changed her mind and sent a security guard to deliver us to the head of their billing department.
Ronan stepped up beside me, still relaxed.
If I lived another thousand lifetimes, I’d never understand how he and Dace could seem so outwardly calm and in control. No matter the situation, they didn’t sweat or fidget. They stood still. Why hadn’t I been gifted with that ability?
The elevator chimed and then the doors slid open. Ronan and I stepped inside. I held my breath, waiting for the receptionist to call us back or come after us. When the doors closed again without her saying a word, I exhaled, my shoulders sagging.
Ronan stood calmly, his hands at his sides. His reflection stared out of the chrome paneling of the elevator until I felt surrounded by his somber-faced carbon copies.
Seconds ticked by.
The elevator jerked into motion, the whir sounding over the light strains of muzak piped into the elevator via a speaker system.
I jumped. My face flushed with embarrassment.
Jeez, get a grip, Ari, I told my reflection.
The elevator pulled to a stop. That odd sinking sensation, like we were free-falling for a split second, rolled through me. When the doors opened onto the second floor, Ron
an strolled out, turning right. I followed behind him, more confident in his memory of the receptionist’s directions than my own.
The few people we ran into spared us only the most cursory of glances before continuing on their way, too caught up in their work to worry about us. Like the lobby below, the second floor was impressively decorated. Fine art lined the walls, and vases of exotic flowers sat on tables tucked into niches and natural curves in the walls.
Annette Saunders’ office looked no different than any of the twenty others we passed along the way. A solid, oak door, flanked by shuttered windows on each side, led to her office. A black and white plate, settled into a bracket on the window to the right, announced her name and title. A small mail slot sat below it.
“Ready?” Ronan asked, shooting me another of his looks.
No.
“Ready,” I said, untangling my hands from my pockets to smooth my hair down.
He tapped on the door.
“Come on in!”
Ronan looked at me again, and then pushed the door open.
Annette Saunders sat at a massive desk on the far side of the room, her head bowed over a calculator and a stack of papers. She didn’t look much older than me―late twenties, perhaps. She had her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Like the receptionists, she was dressed in a company polo. Unlike the women a floor below though, she actually looked up from her work and smiled at us when we walked in the door.
“You must be the two Alice called up about,” she said, rising to her feet to greet us. She held her hand out, a friendly smile still plastered on her face. “I’m Annette Saunders.”
“I’m Arionna,” I said, quickly supplying my real name before Ronan attempted to continue the farce of Jack and Rose. I reached out to shake Annette’s hand, feeling a whole lot better about this than I did two seconds ago. She wasn’t anything close to what I expected. I’d imagined three piece suits and a wall of degrees behind her desk. Not someone so… young.
“Nice to meet you, Arionna,” she said, letting go of my hand to shake Ronan’s.
I couldn’t help but notice the way she raked her gaze up and down his body, a purely appreciative gleam in her eye. Her smile widened a little.
She liked him.
Ronan seemed to notice, too. He shook her hand briefly, his expression devoid of warmth. “Ronan,” he said, the pause before he gave his name full of reluctance. He took a step away from her.
Annette’s smile fell, her gaze darting back to me and then to Ronan, assessing.
I briefly considered lying to her and saying Ronan was my brother, if only to see him squirm under her attention. It would have served him right for getting on my nerves, but I wasn’t that person. Annette didn’t stand a chance with Ronan, and even if he did annoy me, giving her the impression he was available would be cruel. No one could compete with Dani’s memory for him.
I gave Annette a small, distracted smile instead, letting her draw whatever conclusions she wanted about my relationship with Ronan.
She apparently decided he was off limits, and eased herself back down into her high-backed chair without complaint. “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning toward the posh chairs situated across from her desk. “Would you like water? Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” I said, perching on the edge of a chair.
“No,” Ronan said, refusing a chair. For someone who could look so relaxed, he was as uptight and rigid as Dace. He never sat in mixed company, like ever.
Annette didn’t seem offended by his decision to remain standing though. She merely set the calculator to the side and leaned back to look at us. “I have to admit I’m not real sure I’m the right person to help you, but I’ll try. What sort of information is it you’re looking for?” she asked.
I waited for Ronan to say something, but he didn’t speak up. Figures. Guess I had to talk our way out of this one.
“Well, here’s the thing…” I said.
“What is your company’s policy on unwelcome gifts?” Ronan asked while I wracked my brain for a way to start this conversation.
“Erm, excuse me?” Annette blinked rapidly, caught off guard by the question.
“Say someone is being stalked and the offender uses your company to send unwelcome gifts or threatening messages. How would someone go about requesting your company cease and desist?”
Annette’s expression clouded with confusion. “I’m not sure―”
“Would the victim require police intervention or could they simply call your offices and request deliveries be halted?” Ronan continued.
“Um―”
“Surely your company has some sort of policy covering this sort of situation. I understand sending flowers is a common form of harassment.”
“Exactly what kind of research are you doing?” Annette asked, her posture stiffening. Our window of opportunity began to close, Ronan’s bullish attitude putting her on guard. She floundered, either unable or unwilling to answer his ruthless questions.
Crap.
I dove into the conversation head first, trying to salvage the situation before she kicked us out without telling us anything. “Please excuse him,” I murmured to her, all apologies. “He has a tendency to get carried away ever since the incident.”
“The incident?” Annette’s attention shifted to me, her expression still steely. Ronan might have thrown her off, but not by much. Her gaze was sharp, intelligent. She definitely didn’t lack a backbone.
I sent up a quick prayer that Ronan not kill me for what I was about to do and leaned forward like I was letting Annette in on a big secret. “His girlfriend was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Annette’s mouth gaped open in an “o” of surprise.
I could feel Ronan’s eyes on me.
He was furious.
I ignored him. I didn’t have a choice.
“A few months ago,” I said, lowering my voice. I didn’t have to fake the way the words trembled on my lips. Every time I talked about Dani, I remembered how she died, and I wondered if she saw it coming. Did she know she was going to die when she saw Sköll and Hati? Did she try to run or cry for help? Did she die quickly, or did she suffer through everything they did to her? I hated those questions. I hated not being able to convince myself her death was quick and painless like my mom’s. And I hated that Ronan, and Dace, Chelle, and Beth battled those same questions every day.
Irritation morphed to sympathy on Annette’s face. The stubborn tilt to her chin relaxed.
Thank god.
“I’m so sorry,” she mouthed, looking between me and Ronan.
“That’s why we’re here,” I said, plowing ahead while I still had the nerve to do it. If I stopped to think about what I was saying, I wouldn’t finish, and we needed the information she had…. Information I really did not want to go to jail trying to obtain. “We could really use your help.”
“Um, of course.”
“See, not long after his girlfriend died, someone attacked me.” I stood and lifted the hem of my shirt, allowing Annette to see the mass of scars crisscrossing my side. My heart hammered.
Aside from the small army of doctors and nurses who treated me, no one else really looked at my scars. I didn’t want everyone to gawk at them, but if showing them to Annette and letting her see even a portion of what we were up against convinced her to help us… I could deal with the uncomfortable roiling of my stomach. Besides, the physical damage was a lot better than it was when I woke in the hospital.
She stared hard, her face paling.
I dropped my shirt, covering the jagged, healed wounds again. I settled back down into my seat, avoiding Ronan’s gaze. I didn’t have the nerve to look at him and finish this whole thing, too.
“While I was in the hospital, someone started sending me flowers,” I continued. “I left town, but the flowers kept coming. The police think I’m overreacting, but I know they came from whoever killed Dani and attacked me. We can’t prove it though.” I hunched my shoulders,
not so much feigning dejection as playing it up. If I never had to put on this performance again, it would be too soon.
Waves of anger and revulsion rolled from Ronan, searing into my back as if branding me with his fury at my one woman show. I couldn’t stop now though. We had to find out who sent the flowers, and I didn’t know how else to do it but tell the truth, as much of it as I tell could anyway.
“What―” Annette licked her lips. “What do you want from me?”
“Your help,” I said as simply as I could. “We need a name. Just one name, Annette, and we can tell the police who to look for. They can put a stop to this, and I can sleep at night.” My breath shuddered from my lungs. I met Annette’s gaze, pleading with her to break whatever rules her company had and give us that name.
She licked her lips again, and looked at Ronan. “Just a name?” she asked.
“Just a name,” I said, nodding.
Annette took a deep breath, and shifted in her seat. “Okay,” she said.
My entire body went numb with relief.
’m not sure what I’m looking for,” Annette confessed a few minutes later, looking up from her computer screen. “We take thousands of orders a day. I need search parameters.”
“Can you search destination history?” Ronan asked, the first words he said since I took over trying to convince Annette to help us.
“We can review delivery history,” Annette said.
“Is there a difference?”
Annette nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “Destination location will pull up any florists within our network in the specified area, and which florists deliver to which areas, but that won’t tell us where a specific delivery ultimately went.”
“Okay. Cross-check deliveries to Beebe, Arkansas with deliveries in Smyrna, Tennessee,” Ronan said, stepping closer to her desk. He didn’t try to peek at the screen though.
Annette’s fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in the information he requested.
I held my breath, afraid if I so much as breathed, she’d decide helping us wasn’t worth the risk. I dug my fingers into the leather arms of my chair, anxious and nervous and a thousand other things. We were so close. So close.
