Countdown: Ethan

by Boniface, Allie

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Gunnar added, and he sounded so solemn that Dakota couldn’t help but look up and smile.

  Sarah wrapped her hand around Dakota’s. “Tonight we go out and have fun. No strings, no plans—”

  “No men,” Dakota finished.

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Well, no married men, anyway.”

  They raised their empty glasses and toasted the possibilities.

  4:00 p.m.

  “C’mon,” Sarah said. “Let’s head over to the park. Gunnar usually meets some friends for a pick-up basketball game. It’s a good place to hang out.”

  “I’m up for anything,” Dakota said. “Long as we can stop for some greasy fast food on the way. I’m starved.” She grabbed her pack and headed for the bathroom. “Just let me change.” She washed her face, fixed her hair, and brushed on some mascara. She studied her reflection and, at the last minute, changed into a tight red top with spaghetti straps and denim shorts with flowers she’d embroidered along the pockets.

  Sarah knocked. “We’re going to the park, not the opera. You ready?”

  “Yes.” She stuck some hoop earrings in the bottom holes of her lobes. The other three holes on each ear glittered with silver and cubic zirconia studs, as always.

  “Cute outfit,” Sarah said as she emerged. “Very vogue.”

  “I wasn’t going for vogue.”

  “Sure you weren’t. When are you going back to fashion school, anyway?”

  Dakota didn’t answer.

  “Come on.” Sarah headed for the door. “There’s usually some hot guys playing on the courts, so...”

  “I’m not looking.”

  “Sure you aren’t.”

  They skipped down the stairs and out into the sun.

  DAKOTA LOOKED AROUND the grassy town park dotted with basketball courts. Five pick-up games were going on. Lots of long legs and lanky arms and sweat-soaked t-shirts stuck to muscular backs. Lots of trash talking, too. Sarah linked one arm through Dakota’s. In her other hand, she carried a huge paper bag with fries and burgers inside. Dakota’s mouth watered.

  They took the long way around, past the courts and a stone fountain, past cheering families and bikini-clad women. Past a set of swings and some slides. Past smooth cement ramps where kids skateboarded. Over it all, the sun beat down. A lot different than New Hampshire, Dakota thought for the third time that day. She loved it already. She wanted to stay longer. Heck, she wanted to ask Sarah about finding a job down here, because—

  Someone whistled behind her, long and loud. Dakota turned. Ten feet away stood a stocky, redheaded guy with a basketball propped on one hip. Thick freckles covered both arms like tattoos. He winked and gave her a once-over. “Hey, good-lookin’.”

  Sarah tugged at her wrist. “Ignore him. He’s an ass. He’s here every weekend, hits on anything that walks by with boobs and a pulse.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We got room for two more in the game,” the guy called after them. “Or we’ll be at Doc’s later. You should come by.”

  Dakota cocked her head as she tried to think of a clever comeback. The guy jerked his chin in her direction and looked as though he was about to say something else when one of his friends jabbed a hand at the ball from behind. It spurted from his grasp and rolled away.

  Dakota giggled.

  “Hey!” The guy spun around, hands fisting.

  She was about to follow Sarah when a basketball bounced near her feet. His? She wasn’t sure. It slowed as it hit the grass, but she kept on walking just in case.

  “Can you get that?”

  Dakota stopped at the voice. Still masculine, though different. Not the obnoxious rasp of the redhead. Soft-spoken. Polite. Kind. She squinted into the sun to see who it belonged to, and in that moment, the world tilted under her feet.

  A guy she hadn’t noticed before stood at the edge of the pavement. Medium height, dark reddish-brown hair, flushed cheeks. His chest heaved as he panted with the effort of the game. He smiled, sort of a crooked grin that didn‘t make it to his eyes. Still, it worked its way under her skin until she felt her cheeks burn. For God’s sake, stop staring at him. He’s just an ordinary guy. She reached down and picked up the ball.

  “Thanks.”

  Dakota took a few steps in his direction. Now she could see the color of his eyes, a greenish shade that reminded her of the lake back home in early evening. They would make a girl stop and stare, she thought, a second before she saw the sadness darkening his pupils. Sadness and distance and—what else was that? She tried to read the other emotion and failed. Maybe he wasn’t completely ordinary after all.

  “No problem.” She bounced the ball over and he caught it on the second hop. Strong hands, she thought, even as she told herself not to look or care.

  He smiled again, wider this time, and something inside her lit up. “You visiting?”

  “You can tell?”

  “It’s your voice.”

  “Oh.” She felt herself redden. “No accent?”

  “A northern accent.”

  “Yeah, well, I flew in today. Just staying with a friend for the weekend.” She put one hand on a hip, liking the sound of his voice. Wanting it to continue. Wanting him to come closer.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “That I’m staying with a friend?”

  “That you’re only in town for the weekend. Memphis deserves a week or two, at least.” He studied her a moment longer. Then one of his buddies yelled something and he glanced back at the court. “Well, have a good time while you’re here.”

  “I’ll try.” Dakota dug her toes into the grass and watched the way his back flexed as he jogged away. She wondered if he would turn around. She waited. She willed him to.

  He didn’t.

  “D!” Sarah called. “Come on!”

  She backed away, one slow step at a time. Okay, this guy wasn’t completely ordinary. He was good-looking in a different sort of way. He had that whole brooding thing going on, a shadow around his eyes that warned her away even as something in his smile made her want to stick around. She shook her head. No, he wasn’t the type she usually went for. He wasn’t tall or outgoing or charming. He wasn’t willing to walk away from his friends or the game he was playing.

  But something about him flipped her heart over, all the same.

  “WERE YOU TALKING TO a woman?” Mike flashed a grin.

  “Just getting the ball back.” But Ethan looked over his shoulder to the spot where he’d seen her. To the spot where she’d stood with her skinny legs and crazy hair and a smile that did something to him.

  He squinted and thought he made out a red blur that might have been her. She’s at the far court, where the guys from the Med Center play. He wondered if she was there with one of them. She was cute, he mused, in a different sort of way. Not blonde. Not tall or curvy. But cute all the same. He shook his head. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to pull a Howie and make a fool of himself chasing some woman across the park.

  “C’mon!” Howie jogged in place under the basket at the far end of the court, tongue hanging from his mouth. Paul bent over, hands on knees, and watched as Mike dribbled the ball from one hand to the other.

  Ethan glanced at his watch. Aching calves and thigh muscles reminded him they’d been out there a while. “Let’s wrap this up,” he said to Mike, and his friend nodded.

  Down the court they went, dodging Paul’s half-hearted slaps as Mike angled toward the basket and Ethan fell away to his right. Once Ethan got his head in the game, they made the perfect team. They’d beaten the other duo most of the afternoon, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on Howie’s face when Mike scored above his outstretched arms one last time. For a split second, he wondered if she was watching, the curly-haired woman from across the park. Something inside him hoped she was. A burst of energy pushed him down the pavement.

  “Ow! Howie! What the—” A string of curse words
let loose from Mike’s mouth.

  Ethan turned. The ball fell from his hands, the game forgotten as his best friend writhed in pain on the cement.

  “I thought you were going left.” Howie kneeled over Mike. “You okay?”

  Ethan walked over. “What happened?”

  “Idiot here thought he could block me by tripping me up.” Mike grabbed his right ankle with both hands. “Shit. It’s my bad one, too. Jackass.”

  “Listen, man, I’m sorry.”

  Ethan bent over and pulled down Mike’s sock. Already, the ankle had swelled up to twice its normal size and resembled a golf ball protruding above the lip of Mike’s sneaker. Broken or sprained, either way it didn’t look good. “Should get that x-rayed.”

  “Forget it.” Mike struggled to sit up. “It’s not that bad. I’ll go home and ice it.”

  Paul leaned over. “Looks pretty swollen.”

  “He’s right.” Ethan pulled Mike to one foot. “One of us will take you to the hospital.” But he hoped someone else would offer. Mike tried to put weight on his right foot and nearly fell over.

  A few feet away, Howie stood with the basketball under one arm. “Can you take him, E?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Sorry,” Mike said under his breath as he hobbled to the parking lot.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ethan helped Mike into the passenger seat of his car, then reached in and turned the key. He flipped the air conditioning to high and left his door open until fresh air cooled the oppressive interior. Against his will, he looked across the grass again, in the direction of the court where he’d last seen her.

  “You get her name?” Mike asked.

  Ethan shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “She’s here with someone.”

  Mike slapped a hand on the dashboard. “So is everyone. She’s probably hanging out with a girlfriend, the way most of ‘em do. She’s cute. Go talk to her. Worst she can do is tell you to get lost.”

  But that was enough risk for Ethan. He slid behind the wheel. “Forget it.”

  Howie leaned over and offered a hand through Mike’s open window. “No hard feelings?”

  “Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

  Ethan eased his car toward the street. He deliberately took the park exit that led away from her, away from the court where, if he looked, he could see that red shirt hugging her curves. Stupid. You‘re being stupid. Just another woman, that was all. And nothing he was ready to pursue.

  So why did his gut twist as they left the park? Why did something inside him want to turn around, walk over to her, and run a finger along the curve of her arm? Run his fingers through her curls and taste the skin of her collarbone? He shook his head. He hadn’t felt the tugging of desire in months. Where the hell had this come from?

  Ethan turned the radio all the way up and forced her smile from his mind. Straight through the first stoplight and left at the second. All the way down, until the nondescript facade of the hospital rose in front of him. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He knew how long it took him to get to the front door of the hospital from almost every place in the city.

  His stomach churned. Yet for all the hours he’d spent there, he’d never gotten used to walking inside those sliding doors. Inhaling the cloying smell of antiseptic. Avoiding the eyes of nurses and doctors and teenage volunteers with their well-meaning smiles. The woman from the park disappeared, for good this time.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Listen, just drop me off,” Mike said. “I’ll get a cab home. No big deal.”

  Ethan ground his teeth together at the pity in his friend’s voice. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  Willing away the tension that squeezed his neck into knots, he swung into the first parking spot he found and forced the memories down so deep that he hoped the blackness in his heart would swallow them up forever.

  5:00 p.m.

  Sean pushed a handful of bills across the counter of the rental car company. The blonde on the other side handed him the rental agreement and a set of keys, and he backpedaled away from the counter and her friendly questions about why he was town. He carried a small black bag with one change of clothes and a few toiletries. Picking up his pace, he strode through the concourse. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he looked at the screen. Mollie.

  He let voicemail pick up. On his way to the airport, he’d left a vague message with his wife’s secretary at the travel agency. He knew she’d be furious that he was canceling their appointment with the therapist. He knew she’d probably tell him that was it, his last chance, the final straw, whatever cliché she could pull out of her pocket and throw at him. Still, what choice did he have? He had to find Dakota and that flash drive. He had to make absolutely sure the file was destroyed. If that meant marriage counseling had to wait, then so be it.

  The phone buzzed again, indicating a message. He didn’t listen to it. He turned the corner and headed for the exit. I’ll find Dakota soon enough. I’ll apologize, do whatever I have to, to get the file back. And then it would all be over with.

  He’d located Sarah Wiggins’ address easily enough, thanks to Dakota’s Christmas card list, still taped to her desk six months after the holidays. He’d brought along the names of two motels in the downtown area, just in case, but he didn’t plan on staying that long. All he had to do was play it cool, knock on Sarah’s door and pretend he’d flown all the way to Tennessee because he missed Dakota. She’d fall for it. She was a sucker for romance. Stupid bitch.

  When she saw him standing there, heart on his sleeve, she’d give him anything he wanted. Help him in any way she could. Fly back to New Hampshire ready to testify on his behalf, if it came down to that. Sean was certain of it.

  Out in the parking lot, he slid behind the wheel and adjusted his mirrors. He pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes and took his time studying the city map.

  “We’re right here,” the blonde had said in her syrupy accent as she pointed a bright pink fingernail at the map. “So if you jump on the highway and head west...”

  He peered closer. It took only another few seconds for him to locate the street where Sarah lived. Looked to be less than ten miles away. Perfect. He put the address into his GPS and chose the fastest route there. With a twist of his wrist, the key turned. The AC came on full blast while the dashboard clock told him it was past five and closing in on evening.

  He gave a two-fingered salute to the guy standing in the booth by the lot’s exit. Then, following the signs, Sean swung the rental car in a tight circle and headed for the interstate. For Sarah Wiggins’ apartment. And for the computer files that he hoped lay at the bottom of his ex-girlfriend’s purse. His glance slipped only once to the carry-on that sat on the passenger seat with the gun inside. As per regulations, the airline had made him stow his weapon with the checked baggage, but he’d retrieved it quickly enough upon landing. He’d thought about leaving it behind, since he wasn’t really supposed to carry it through other states unless on official business. But this was official personal business, he reasoned. And he’d never heard of a local agency giving anyone a hard time about it.

  His fingers twitched around the steering wheel as he merged into rush hour traffic. He was definitely better off having the gun with him. Just in case.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Sean pulled into the parking lot of the Country Gardens Apartment Complex. Six buildings were situated in a rough square around a central courtyard with benches and flowerbeds. He surveyed the layout, noting the windows that looked out onto the courtyard and the path that split it down the middle. He’d have to keep an eye on the courtyard; it looked like the kind of place where nosy old women might sit and eavesdrop. The fewer people who overheard his conversation with Dakota, the better.

  He looked again at the scrap of paper on his lap. 2-26 was Sarah’s apartment number. He circled the narrow parking lot, passing several numbered slots be
fore he found one marked “visitor” at the end. He inched the car into place and cut the engine. He needed a few minutes to review his strategy. You’re upset, he reminded himself. You made a mistake by leaving her this morning. And you’ll do anything to get her back.

  Even if anything meant using his gun to let her know he meant business.

  He pulled off the baseball cap and ran a hand over his dark blond hair. Tucked his shirt into his jeans. Checked his breath and popped a mint. He took another long look around the parking lot and the paths leading to the first cluster of apartments. He hoped he wouldn’t have to look too hard to find building number two.

  A middle-aged couple emerged from one door, and he waited until they climbed into their bumper sticker-covered minivan and pulled away. Then he climbed out and headed across the pavement. A large wrought-iron number two in the peak of the closest building greeted him as he headed up the walk. He smiled. Easier and easier.

  He strolled along, whistling and trying to look as if he wasn’t checking out every door he passed. 2-4. 2-8. 2-10. He slowed his stride. Only three more doors on this level. He turned a corner and looked up a staircase. Second floor. His smile widened. Even better. Harder for people to listen in up there. He took the steps two at a time, still whistling.

  Apartment 2-20 greeted him at the top of the steps. 22, 24... He stopped outside the door at the very end of the row. Matching containers of purple and white flowers framed the mat that read “Home Sweet Home.” He glanced over his shoulder. No one around. He raised his hand and knocked.

  For a minute he thought he heard music coming from inside the apartment, but when no one answered the door, he knocked again. Still no response. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered through the front window. Nothing but frilly curtains he couldn’t quite see through. He dropped his hands in disgust and stepped back. He’d come all this way, and now she wasn’t here? One fist tightened against his thigh.

  Okay, Murphy. Time for Plan B.