Six o’clock!
Scrambling from the bed, I rushed to change and brush my teeth, pulling my hair haphazardly into a ponytail. Just as I grabbed my keys, my stomach growled. Going off campus alone immediately seemed like a bad idea, and hoping for something edible at the hospital was being overly optimistic. Dinner at the Gate meant a long walk in the bitter cold outside, which would keep my mind off more troubling circumstances. I zipped up my coat and locked the door behind me.
Soon I was within a dozen yards of my destination. I was right; shivering with every step had been the perfect diversion from the night before. I puffed out a steamy breath of relief as my mind concentrated on the warmth and subsequent thaw the doors of The Gate assured me.
Before my hand reached the door handle, a man stepped from the shadows.
I jerked to a stop. “Mr. Dawson?”
“Do you have the file?” he asked, his eyes intent.
Still on edge from the attack, my hands balled into fists and I shoved them in my pockets. I glanced at the door handle, seeing that it was just a foot or two from me.
I forced my body to relax. “Mr. Rosen isn’t familiar with your transaction, but I could give you his number, if you’d like.”
“So you’ll help me, then?” his eyes narrowed.
“I’m not sure why you would think this incessant harassment would encourage me to be of assistance to you at all.” I was lying, of course. I knew how the intimidation game worked. I’d seen my father win it many times.
“Nina, I’ve told you what I’m looking for. Your father and I—,”
“Were involved in a property deal. You’ve said that,” I interrupted. “I’m his daughter, not his business partner. Please call Mr. Rosen.”
I reached for the door, but Mr. Dawson grabbed my arm. With a quick jerk, he yanked me toward him. I gasped as he whispered in my ear with his guttural, growling voice. “I’m not playing games with you, little girl. Your father has documents and photos that I want. The last time I saw them, they were in a file in his office marked Port of Providence. I want that entire file, do you understand me? Unless you want mommy to have to deal with me later, I suggest you do as I ask.”
Threatening my mother sent a courageous voice emanating from my throat, “Stay away from her!”
Mr. Dawson snorted. “Just like Jack…never know when to back down.”
“My father didn’t back down!”
“And that’s what got him killed!” Mr. Dawson snarled, jerking my arm again.
I felt my eyes widen in stunned disbelief. His reply didn’t make sense. My father died after his car accident.
Mr. Dawson sighed and loosened his grip. “I’m doin’ you a favor, Peach. You don’t want caught within a hundred yards of that package. There are more dangerous things than me out there wantin’ it worse than I do. Bring it to me, and you and your mother will have a lot less to worry about.”
His fingers slipped away from my arm, and he disappeared into the shadows of the neighboring building. I leaned my head against the frosty glass door, trying to gain the courage to move. Once the adrenaline absorbed into my body, I sucked in a gasp of air and slid to the ground.
He didn’t come. I was in danger, and Jared didn’t come. I was surprised when the correlation hit me, and I wondered if I had just realized it or if I had known all along. The last time Mr. Dawson approached me, Jared was a no-show as well, but I reasoned that Ryan had been there. Ryan had controlled the situation enough so that Jared wasn’t needed. But this time I was alone. This time I needed him.
Someone pushed the door open against me. “Are you all right?” A short, dark haired boy with glasses came into view, poking his head through the semi-open door.
“Did you want to come in?” the boy asked, confused at his discovery.
I pushed myself off the ground. “No, thank you,” I said, quickly turning toward Andrews.
I didn’t look back to see his inevitable bewildered expression; I was too intent on my mission. I would return to my mother’s house and turn it upside down if I had to. I ran down the hall to the open elevator and tapped the button of my floor several times, leaning back against the rail. As the doors finally closed, my mother squeezed by them, causing them to jolt open once more.
“I trust you’ve slept,” she said.
“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, surprised.
“Do I need a reason?” She was very nearly offended, but dismissed my question to address more important things. “Nina, honestly. You look frightful. How much sleep did you get?”
“Enough,” I stepped out of the elevator and pulled her with me.
“What are you doing?” she asked, reluctant to be dragged along.
“I want to go home. Can I go home with you?”