The officers get back in the patrol car and drive away just as we approach his unmarked vehicle. He puts the box in his back seat then turns to me, a small phone in one hand and my backpack in the other. “Call the number in that phone and do what he says, and you’ll get your stuff back.”
When I don’t take either immediately, he shakes the phone around in the air in front of me. “I wouldn’t pass this offer up. You won’t be getting another one.”
I snatch both and stare at him. “You’re letting me go?”
He moves to the driver’s door without a word. I stand frozen in place until his taillights fade away in the darkness.
Noise from the front door of the club spurs me into action; the crowd is dissipating now that the excitement is over. I run for my car and pull my keys from my bag. The phone is on the passenger seat, but I don’t touch it until I’m pulling up at the garage apartment I’ve been living in.
Racing inside, I throw my backpack on the small kitchen table then take the phone to my bed. There is one contact listed: Mr. Smith.
I press the contact name and hit send. “I was told to call this number,” I say as soon as it connects.
“We’ve been watching you.” The mechanical voice catches me off guard and I almost drop the phone. He’s using one of those voice changer devices. “First in Greensboro, now in Raleigh. Sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
I go cold inside. There’s no way anyone should be able to connect the girl in this apartment to the one from the trailer park in Eden. I’ve made sure of that.
Or so I thought I had.
“Why?”
“You were able to take something you shouldn’t have had access to. It took us some time and resources to find out it was you. I’m hard to impress but somehow you did just that.”
Oh shit.
Even though I am freaking out inside, I take a few breaths to calm myself. It didn’t take long for me to graduate from the simple pieces of jewelry to paintings, silver, antiques . . . anything I could get my hands on as long as it was small enough for me to carry on my own. And when you dig deep enough on the internet, you can find a willing buyer for anything.
“Do you need it back?” I ask.
“We’ve already retrieved the item.”
This is even worse somehow.
“You’ve found yourself in a bit of trouble, though. Bad piece of luck your equipment gave you up like that. I might not have been able to get you out of trouble if you had made it to the station.”
I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. This feels surreal, and I don’t know how to process it. No one has watched out for me since before Mama got sick, but I didn’t think my guardian angel would sound like a machine. “I guess I should thank you. How’d you do it?”
“Called in a favor,” he says. “I have your laptop, which I’m assuming you’d very much like back. I’ve got a job for you, and if you’ll hear me out, I’ll return your property.”
“Even if I pass on the job?” I ask.
“You won’t pass. You’ve been digging for change in the couch. I’m offering you more money than you’ve ever seen and the support behind you not to get caught as you did this evening.”
I don’t respond because we both know I’ll be there.
“I’ll text you the address. Be there Monday morning at nine a.m.”
And then the line goes dead.
* * *
I’d like to say I wasn’t curious about the job and had every intention of turning it down no matter what it was, but that would be a lie.
When Monday rolls around, I’m waiting down the block just out of sight before the sun comes up. The address brought me to a bail bonds place, and by eight a.m., there’s a steady stream of traffic in and out, which I guess would be normal for an establishment like this after the weekend.
I don’t like walking into the unknown, and I’m hoping I’ll see someone who looks familiar before I’m expected. The voice on the phone gave me nothing to go by. I’m not sure an accent would make it past the voice changer, but something tells me that if he ever had one, he did what I did—spent years wiping away any trace of who I was or where I came from. It wasn’t long after I took that first job at the flower shop that I realized my twangy accent created a greater divide between me and the women who came into the store than our bank accounts ever would. The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you move your body screams more about you than anything else ever could.
Mr. Smith and I must have crossed paths in the past if I was able to take something from him. Faces, names, places, events, numbers lock into my memory the moment I hear or see them. But as the clock inches closer to nine, I resign myself to going in blind since the only people on the street are strangers.
The squatty brown brick building sits in the middle of the block with similarly depressing buildings on either side of it. I pull open the door under a blue sign that says AAA INVESTIGATIONS AND BAIL BONDS. And in smaller letters underneath: check cashing and payday loans.
A rush of heat mixed with the smell of sweat washes over me once I step inside. The receptionist points me toward the waiting area after I give her my name, then she picks up the phone to announce my arrival to whoever is on the other end. Mismatched chairs sit against walls covered in those posters that combine wildlife photography and inspirational quotes, as if a bald eagle knows the first thing about leadership. I drop down in an empty seat between two mostly dead plants. The only other people left waiting are a couple quietly arguing in the corner and an old man to my right who is hunched over in his chair, snoring loudly.
Several minutes later, the receptionist calls my name and points down the hall behind her desk. “Last door on the right” is all she says.
I pass three closed doors in the narrow hallway before stopping in front of the one she indicated. I take a second or two to center myself, then knock on the door.
“Come in!” a muffled voice yells.
I push the door open and am surprised by the man sitting behind the desk. In my head, I pictured the stereotypical sleazeball: short balding man, leering grin, cigarette burning in an ashtray nearby. But this man looks the exact opposite of that. He’s blond. And gorgeous. He stands when I enter, reaching across the desk to shake my hand, pumping it enthusiastically. His light-blue button-down matches his eyes perfectly, and the effect is so dazzling that I know his closet is full of shirts in the same color.
“Lucca! Good to see you. I’m Matt Rowen.”
There’s no way to know if this is the same person I spoke with last night, but I’m betting it’s not.
I nod. “Mr. Rowen.”
He throws me a brilliant smile and says, “Call me Matt. Please, have a seat.”
Perching on the edge of the chair, I spy my laptop sitting on the corner of the desk.
He notices me eyeing it. “Go ahead. It’s yours just for showing.”
I pull it off the desk and rest it on my lap, fighting the urge to clutch it to my chest.
Matt flips a pen and catches it, over and over, while he studies me. “I have to say, we’ve been impressed at the places you’ve gotten in and out of.”
“Who’s we? How many creepy guys are in your little gang?” I ask.
He gives me a smirk as if he thinks I’m cute. His phone chimes and he slides it off his desk. Matt’s thumbs move across the screen at an amazing speed, his attention firmly on his phone.
“Is that Mr. Smith?”
He ignores me completely.
That’s fine. I can wait him out.
Matt finally looks up from his phone and says, “We have a job for you. A chance to make some decent money.”
“Doing what?” I ask.