If he had, he’d apparently just assumed she was too busy to answer. James hadn’t even noticed that she was wearing someone else’s clothes, or that her hair was wrapped up in a T--shirt.
The whir of the garage door closing sounded and she heaved a sigh and leaned against the kitchen counter, wondering when she and James had grown so far apart. He worked nights—-twelve--hour shifts, 7:30 P.M. to 7:30 A.M.—-Monday through Thursday. He left after dinner and arrived home between 8:00 and 8:30 in the morning, usually coming in just as she was leaving either for classes or for work herself. The weekends were the only time they had together, usually going out with friends Friday nights. He slept all day Saturdays and then played hockey with buddies Saturday night. Sundays they spent with their parents, his or hers on alternating weekends, visiting in the afternoons after he got up and then having Sunday dinner with them. Sunday night was the night they usually had sex.
Holly grimaced as she realized how regimented they were. Sex once a week, family once a week, friends once a week, work and school the rest of the time and precious little time alone together without friends or family around. Why was she surprised that he hadn’t noticed she was missing?
She should be glad, Holly supposed. At least she didn’t have to deal with the police and endless questions. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway drew her from her thoughts and she moved to peer out the window, eyes widening when she saw her own car parked there. No one was inside.
Pushing away from the counter, she hurried out of the kitchen and to the front door. There was no one in the driveway or on the sidewalk nearby when she rushed outside. Holly noted that as she rushed to the car; then her attention was taken up with the fact that the driver’s--side window was missing, with just sharp bits of glass sticking out of the door frame. Groaning at how much it would cost to repair that, she opened the door and peered in, gasping when she saw her purse sitting on the passenger’s seat with a folded piece of notepaper on top of it. Reaching in, she grabbed both items and quickly rifled through her purse until she found her wallet. Much to her relief all her credit and debit cards were still there.
Dropping the wallet back in her purse, Holly unfolded the notepaper and read the words scrawled on it.
Holly,
Sorry about the window. Anders didn’t have keys and had to break it to get in. I’ll call and arrange for the repairs.
When you need me, I’ll be here.
Justin
Holly crumpled the note and peered up, then down, the street. There was no sign of Justin. The note said he’d be here, not if she needed him, but when she needed him. And he’d be here? Here where? And who was Anders?
Swallowing, she backed up a -couple feet, then turned and hurried back into the house. Slamming the door closed, Holly locked it, then stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Should she call the police?
And tell them what? That after picking her up when she fell and knocked herself out, and after apparently watching over her for two days and nights until she’d regained consciousness, he’d then had the audacity to return her car and purse?
That last thought made her frown, and Holly moved to the round mirror above a small hall table halfway up the pale yellow hall. She quickly unwound the T--shirt that covered her greasy hair and then leaned in to examine her scalp in search of the head wound that had knocked her out.
There was nothing. Not even a lump let alone a great gaping wound to explain such a long length of unconsciousness. Straightening, she stared at herself for a moment and then turned and walked upstairs. The main overriding emotion she was experiencing was bewilderment and confusion. She was home safe and sound, but had no idea what had happened. How could she have been unconscious for two days and nights and not have any kind of wound to show for it? Had she hit her head at all? And if not, what had happened? Had she been drugged? If so, how? When? For that matter, where?