by Ella James
He sighed in apparent relief. "That's the address of her apartment."
I’d thought it sounded familiar. I should have remembered since I’d been there a few months ago helping Ali move her things out.
I heard Ali's voice in the background for a moment before she came on the line. "Spencer?"
"Yeah. Hey, Ali."
Her voice was strained and afraid. "She's at the apartment? You're sure?"
"Yep. I'm looking at the signal right now. If she has the phone with her, she's at the apartment."
"I know you have all these cool tech skills... can you activate the camera on the phone or something? Anything to verify that she's all right?"
I blinked stupidly for a second, not understanding the desperation in her voice. "I'm not quite that skilled, I'm sorry to say." She sniffed. Shit, was she crying? "Ali, I'm sure she's okay. If you're that worried, can you have a neighbor go and check on her? Or maybe a friend from work?"
Another sniff. "There's no one I trust to check on her. The only neighbors we're close with are the elderly couple who share our floor, and they vacation in Florida from November through April. Anyone else would have to be buzzed in and I doubt she would do that if she won't even answer her phone." She paused for a second. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"I could call the front desk and have them let someone in. They all know me, and I could convince them that whoever I send is there to water the plants or something. I don't live there anymore, but my name is still on the lease. Plus, the doormen love me because I bring them presents and snacks, especially during winter."
Clay's voice filtered through the line, and although I didn't catch it all, I could have sworn he said... "Wait. Did Clay just say Stony the Sloth? What the hell is he talking about?"
She clicked her tongue and told Clay to shush. "It's nothing. He doesn't like one of the doormen. Swears the guy is high every time he sees him, but that's beside the point." The line went silent for so long I had to check my phone to see that we were still connected. When she finally spoke, it was with quiet pleading in her voice. "If I call ahead and get you cleared, will you go check on her for me? I know it's a long drive, but you're the only one I trust to do it. I'd do it myself but I can't leave here. We won't be able to grab a day away for at least a couple of weeks."
Me?
She wanted me to go check on Talia? I barely knew the woman. I mean, sure, we spent some time together at the hospital and again when we helped with Clay's proposal to Ali at the lake, but that didn't mean it was okay for me to just show up on her doorstep. The doorstep. Aha! I just found my way out. "Let's assume I go. Getting me into the building won't get me in the door. What if she refuses to answer? I can't very well kick the door in."
"Damn." She sounded deflated momentarily but suddenly sucked in a big breath. "Wait, they have a spare key to each apartment in the office. I can just tell them that I forgot to give you my key and ask that they let you have the spare." The hope in her voice was hard to ignore. "Please, Spencer. She never ignores my calls. Ever. The longer I go without hearing from her, the more afraid I get. If you don't go, I'm coming home to check on her myself, my contract be damned."
Clay started protesting loudly in the background, not wanting her to lose her dream job.
Shit.
Looked like I was headed to D.C.
Somewhere between Richmond and D.C.
How did I let myself get talked into this?
Yeah, Ali said she'd cleared the way and that Talia would be too polite to kick me out of the apartment, but I still wasn't convinced my going there was a good idea. Although, given that Clay and Ali were stuck over four hours away, my nearly two hour drive wasn't such a big deal. Growing up in a moderately rural area — forty-five minutes from everywhere — I'd grown accustomed to long drives to get to a decent-sized city. Besides, I make the trip to D.C. all the time. It was fairly routine to meet with prospective clients there, actually, so the distance wasn't a problem.
The issue was that I had no clue what I would be walking in on when I got there.
Despite Ali's assurances to the contrary, I was half-convinced that Talia was holed up at the apartment with a man, maybe enjoying having the place to herself now that Ali had moved in with Clay.
My luck, I'd walk in on something I'd have to spend the next twenty years trying to erase from my memory.
Images of whips and ropes flashed like lightning through my mind, making me cringe as my grip tightened on the steering wheel. Not that I had any reason to think she was into that, but one never knew. Just because she looked sweet and innocent…
I wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the thought of walking in on something illicit or the idea of having to live with the image for the rest of my life.
I forcibly shook the train of thought from my mind, rolling my shoulders to break the tension and sinking into the plush leather seat of my methodically-restored 1971 Chevelle. It was my most prized possession these days, my favorite place to spend time. Just me and the road, the roar of the engine chasing away everything else. It had an impressive sound system — accurate retro styling with updated technology — but I rarely switched it on. The deep rumble emitted by the exhaust was better than any music I'd ever heard and I respected the hell out of it.
Once I shifted my focus from worrying about what I'd find at my destination, I was able to enjoy the ride. The Chevelle was the main reason I never balked at having to travel for meetings. That car was my sanctuary. My escape.
And, unfortunately, it usually got me from A to B much faster than I wanted.
Before I had time to revisit my earlier misgivings, I was sitting in front of Talia's apartment building and hoping like hell that I wasn't making a mistake by getting involved.
I stepped out of the car and pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I approached the entrance. The chill in the air was a reminder that, although spring was nearly upon us, winter still lingered.
My breath came out in thick plumes as I hurried into the lobby. The place was somewhere between middle and upper class. Expensive flooring polished to a high shine, a reception desk made out of deep cherry, and beautiful artwork tastefully placed throughout. It was impressive, in a cold way.
I stepped over to the desk, catching the eye of the young man seated behind it as he absently set aside his phone. His reddish hair was long and stringy, tucked behind his ears and in need of a good wash. His light eyes were red-rimmed.
I flashed a smile and tipped my head toward him. "Hey. How's it going?"
His expression was tired and a bit distracted. He cast a longing glance at his phone before answering, "Not too bad. How can I help you?"
"My name is Spencer Erickson. I believe Alison Walker called ahead about me."
It was interesting watching the guy scouring his memory for the conversation with Ali. His brow crinkled and he was midway through shaking his head “no” when the fog lifted and he snapped his fingers, seeming momentarily startled by the sound.
He wore no name tag, but I was betting this was Stony the Sloth.
"Oh, yeah. You're the dog walker or plant waterer or something, right?"
Close enough. I smiled to hide my snicker. "Yep. That's me. Ali said you'd have the spare key for me when I got here."
He rummaged around on the desk, twice grazing a hand over his phone to check for messages before finally pulling the key marked 7B and handing it over. "Here you go. You can't take it when you leave but I have it written down that you're authorized to use it so you don't have to get Ali to call each time you come to..." he stumbled to remember for a moment before adding, "do whatever you do. She told me it was okay."
I accepted the key, knowing full well that I wouldn't be needing to come back but not sharing that information with Stony. "Thanks, man. I'll drop it off on the way out."
He nodded, turning his attention back to his phone without further comment as I waited for the elevator.
Yep, I could see
why Clay liked him so much.
I stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor and just stood there for a minute. It was nearing eight o'clock. The relative silence in the hallway was broken by my growling stomach loudly reminding me that I'd skipped lunch, and dinner was long overdue. It would have to wait. Hopefully, I could make quick work of this little mission and grab something on my way back home.
The door to apartment 7B sounded hollow beneath my knuckles when I knocked.
It was a disconcerting sound, one that instantly brought forth images of an injured or ill Talia lying just on the other side of the door, unable to obtain help all this time.
Shit, I was turning into Ali.
My heart was beating a little faster as I raised my hand to knock again, ears acutely attuned to any hint of sound. If there was no answer after a reasonable amount of time, I would go in uninvited.
I may have had a key, but I preferred not to use it unless I had to.
Three more sharp raps followed by silence.
I was midway through an internal debate about my next move when I heard a rustling on the other side of the door. A few seconds later, it came again. I reached out and tapped the door, calling out to her. "Talia?" No response. "Talia? It's Spencer. Ali sent me to check on you, and I'm not supposed to leave until I see you. Open the door, okay? I just need to know that you're all right and then I can go. I promise."
The rustling sound came again, this time directly on the other side of the door. Talia didn't speak, but the door clicked open a moment later. Just an inch. Then the rustling sound began moving away.
I tentatively reached out and pushed the door open, not sure what to make of her lack of response. Her retreating form moved across the living room, her back to me as she sniffed quietly.
Shit. She was crying.
From the looks of the wadded-up Kleenex covering every flat surface, she had been crying for quite a while.
The floorplan was open, expansive even, with high ceilings and large windows. The living room was directly in front of me, spacious and comfortably furnished. There was a large couch against the wall to the left and a matching loveseat facing the windows. The long coffee table was dotted with wadded Kleenex, as was the small end table next to the love seat.
The kitchen lay to my far left, with its shiny stainless appliances and overhanging countertop that served as a bar, complete with cushioned chairs. Past the kitchen was a wide archway leading to the hallway and the bedrooms and bathrooms beyond.
It was a really nice place in a town where square-footage came at a premium. As a homebuilder, I would know.
I stepped fully into the apartment and closed the door, turning back just as she sank gracelessly into the plush love seat, still facing away from me.
Graceless was something Talia just didn't do. Not the few times I had been around her. It was one of the things I remembered most. She was flawless. Absolutely flawless in every movement, like a dancer. Tall and willowy, she seemed to float on air. It was mesmerizing.
But not tonight.
Tonight she moved like the weight of the world was on her shoulders and it was odd to see her trudge across the room that way. Wrong.
With slow measured steps, I approached the living room. I'd only been in the apartment once before to help Ali move. Talia hadn't been there at the time but the place had felt like her just the same. Warm and inviting, like the woman herself. Tonight, though, the place felt different as I made my way over to her. Empty. Hollow.
Just like her.
I tried not to let the tension I was feeling creep into my voice, not wanting to further upset her, but needing to know what was going on. "I hope you're not angry that Ali sent me. She's been worried about you. She said she's been trying to get in touch with you for days and when you didn't answer, she panicked."
Another sniff but nothing else.
I edged my way over to the couch, not wanting to crowd her, and took a seat. Her head was down, long blond locks obscuring my view of her face. She was hiding. Something about the gesture scared me. I needed to see her face; it was suddenly very important though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I knew a little about the abuse Ali had once suffered at the hands of her ex. Was Talia hiding bruises? The thought sent a shot of rage through my system. If someone hurt her…
"Can you look at me, please?" My voice was soft, disarming.
She didn't move, just fidgeted with a scrap of paper that she'd plucked from the cushion beside her. I took a second to look around and realized that there were tiny pieces of paper all over the floor at her feet, scattered across the coffee table and end table, some of what I’d thought was tissue wasn’t tissue at all.
"Talia, I came here as a favor to Ali, but frankly, you're starting to scare me, too. I need you to say something. Please look at me."
If she didn't say or do something soon, I was going to go over there and move that curtain of hair myself.
"I'm sorry."
The words were so soft I wasn't sure I heard anything at all. I leaned forward, forearms on my knees as I studied her, waiting for something more.
"I didn't mean to scare anyone."
She spoke louder that time but her voice was off, her words slurred slightly. I looked around the apartment and spied a bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter, originally hidden from view by the raised bar. I was familiar with the brand. It was expensive and strong, a favorite of mine. From where I sat, it looked to be nearly empty. I turned back to her with a frown, poised to ask her about the bottle when I locked eyes with her for the first time.
Son of a bitch.
She'd swept her hair aside, finally revealing her face, and her expression was like a kick to the gut. Jesus. It was like looking at a stranger, none of Talia’s usual spark was there. Her eyes were empty, devoid of any signs of life, flat. Thankfully, a quick scan of her features showed no bruising or obvious injury but that look...
If pain were to take the form of a person, she would be it.
It actually hurt to look at the expression on her face, stole my breath and made my pulse roar in my ears.
I moved without thought, instantly sinking into the cushion beside her and reaching for her hand. She didn't shy away, didn't seem to react at all. Her flesh was cold to the touch and I barely resisted the urge to rub her hand between both of mine, something my mother used to do when I was a boy and had been outside playing in the snow. "Talia, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you get bad news? What is it?"
She just shook her head, blinking with slow deliberation. Her light brown eyes remained shuttered long after her lids ascended. She looked right through me.
I had to try a different approach. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me but can you tell Ali? Where's your phone?"
She gestured absently toward the kitchen, unblinking.
It was all I could do to force myself to go retrieve it. I didn't want to leave her sitting there like that, but she needed to talk to someone and Ali was probably the best bet.
I scoured the countertop but didn't see the phone. I checked the entire kitchen without luck, and was just about to turn back to ask her if she was sure it was in the kitchen when a large bowl of dry rice caught my attention. On a hunch, I walked over and stuck a hand in the bowl, swirling it through the rice until I found what I was looking for. Talia's phone.
I tapped the home button as I made my way back to the love seat and found that the ringer was off, the little icon on the lock screen announcing the setting. I flipped the tiny switch on the side of the phone to turn it back on and looked over at Talia. "You got this wet?"
She didn't look at me. "Dropped it in the sink at the restaurant. It wouldn't work after that. Gina said to put it in rice." Her voice was flat and disinterested; monotone. Scary.
I had no idea who Gina was but she was right. The rice had worked. This also explained why she hadn't been answering anyone's calls. Although, one look at her told me that she probably wouldn't have anyway. "Y
ou have a bunch of texts and voicemails here, most of them are probably from Ali. Do you want to call her back now?"
She shook her head and reached for the phone. I handed it to her and watched as she flipped the switch on the side to put the phone back on silent, dropping it unceremoniously onto the end table at her side, a few torn bits of paper stirring from the motion and resettling on the floor.
Well, shit. Now what do I do?
"Okay, so you're not feeling chatty. That's fine. You can call Ali later." I cast a glance at the Scotch bottle on the kitchen counter. "How about something to eat? I can have something delivered. Maybe that would make you feel better." With no way of knowing how much she'd had to drink, the best course of action was to get some food into her, maybe some coffee if she was receptive.
"Not hungry," she said on a slow exhale, sounding exhausted. "You can fix us a drink, if you want. I'm not much company, though."
I considered for a minute, wheels turning in my mind. "Tell you what, I'll go make us a drink but you have to sip slow and talk in between. Doesn't have to be anything specific, just talk about whatever pops into your head because, if you're going to sit there in silence, I'll feel like I'm drinking alone and I hate to drink alone."
She looked at me then, her eyes showing their first signs of life since my arrival. "I don't like to drink alone, either." Her gaze traveled over my face, looking for something I couldn't fathom. She nodded absently, apparently finding whatever she sought. "I'll talk but only if it's a two-way street. No putting me on the spot. And no bullshitting me just to keep me talking. I can spot a con from a mile away." She turned away muttering. "Usually."
I was in no position to argue, so I simply nodded and got to my feet, angling toward the kitchen. "Okay, how about we start by you telling me who Gina is. You said she knew what to do to fix your phone. She a friend? Family?" While I verbally tap-danced around the questions I really wanted to ask, I checked the various cabinets looking for glasses.
