His lips quirk in amusement. “Running away?”
That little quip rings a little too close to the things Adam has said to me, and I don’t like it, not one little bit. A drum beats in my chest, a warrior letting out a battle cry that drives me to disengage, to get the hell out of here. And I do. I step left, intending to round his big body, and rush toward the stairwell leading to my loft. His big, meaty hand comes down on the wall panel, caging me from departure. “You aren’t leaving with a book,” he comments. “Why are you here?”
His breath is warm on my neck, the scent of him, that of a hamburger and french fries as if he just ate, and the smell curls my stomach. “Let me go or I’ll call the police.”
“There are so many ways that could backfire on you, don’t you think?” he challenges.
The words read like Adam’s warning, and now that drumming in my chest is faster, louder. Fight or flight becomes fight, anger bubbling in my belly. “Move. Now.”
His lips twist, amusement in his dark eyes. His hand falls away, and against all logic, I challenge. “Where are your cleaning supplies?”
“I keep them in the store. Would you like to come back inside and I’ll show you?”
“I know this is hard to believe, but I’d rather go upstairs and read a book.”
“The one you didn’t get in the store?”
I could pull the book in my bag out, the one with the letter opener, and feel good about that bookmark, a.k.a. weapon, but I leave well enough alone. I say nothing. I simply step around him and force myself to walk evenly toward the stairs. Once I’m around the corner, I hurry up the steps, unlock my door, and shut myself inside my apartment. I drop my purse, grab the bookmark, a.k.a. letter opener, a.k.a. weapon right about now, and search my apartment.
When I’m done, I’m aware that there is no music coming from downstairs.
I don’t know why Ben is there, but it’s not to clean.
I grab my MacBook and open the lid, pulling up my dating profile. I search for Adam.
His profile is missing, completely vanished.
Chapter Fifty-Six
“Be a good girl and your communication with Kevin will disappear forever, all of it.” He pauses for effect and then adds, “Unless, of course, you cross me.”
I spent most of the night replaying Adam’s words to me, pacing and pacing some more, fingers dragging through my hair, over my hips, wrapped around my body. Randomly I pick up my phone to dial Jess or Jack and then throw the damn thing down. Anyone I tell is a liability. That’s what Adam said, and I believe him. With my resources at zero, I walk up and down the stairs to recheck the locks. At several points I curse myself for not learning to shoot a gun as Jack suggested or at least installing a security system. That changes tomorrow. I’m going to ask him to borrow that extra gun he owns. And I’m going to take firearm lessons.
But then what?
I stare at my phone on the bed, which is the last spot it landed, and I wonder what happens if I call Adam. Will his line be disconnected? What if it’s not? What if it is? What does any of this tell me? Could this be one big joke Kevin pulled on me? No. Of course not. Or—could it? No. No. No. I saw Kevin die. Adam killed him. And how can he make my communication with Kevin disappear? Or reappear? I’m confused. I’m devastated. I’m alone. Kevin is dead. I can’t go to the police. I can’t call family or friends. What can I do? Ultimately, I do all I can do, at least for now. I open a bottle of wine and start drinking. This is followed by more pacing and more drinking. Me in the shower, sitting in the corner, naked, crying, alone.
At some point I throw up. At another point I fall onto the bed, wrapped in a towel, hair wet, and I must black out. This assumption comes to me only when the sound of the buzzer on my front door rings intrusively, over and over and over. I jolt up, queasy and in a panic. The police are here. It’s all over for me. And it should be, right? I didn’t even go to the police when I saw Kevin murdered. I wrap myself in a robe and my cellphone rings. I grab it from the nightstand to find my mother calling. Not now. No. I cannot deal with her right now. I toss my phone on the bed and rush down the stairs to hit the panel buzzer. “Who is it?”
“Your mother. How long are you going to leave me standing out here?”
My forehead drops to the door panel. No. That’s all my mind can manage. Just no. But there is no such answer with my mother. I hit the button again. “Come up.” I unlock the door and roll to lean on the wall.
As expected, she lets herself into the loft and steps in front of me. She’s in jeans and a soft red sweater, as if Adam himself dictated her wardrobe, just for a good laugh. And of course, her dark hair is silky, her makeup perfect, her lips glossy. Whoever this man is in her life who is not my father—he’s doing right by her. Or maybe it’s my father having the affair, and she’s trying to win him back. It’s all a cluttered mess in my mind right now.
“You look like shit,” she announces, glancing at her watch. “Did you forget lunch?”
I blink the memory into my mind. Lunch. I promised to go home for lunch. I did promise. I really did do that. Why now, though? Why today?
“Obviously that’s a yes,” she says, finishing the statement with a weary sigh. “Your father’s excited you’re coming. He’s making a feast.”
In other words, there’s no backing out of this. I won’t let my father down. “Why are you here?” I ask instead. “I’ll be there soon on my own.”
“I thought I’d give you a ride. That way we can game-plan on what we plan to say to your father. I’ll put on coffee. You go shower.”
The buzzer on the door goes off again, and panic jackknifes through me. Who is here? What is here? A box with Kevin’s severed head inside? Would Adam do that? I think he might. Or I’m having a psychotic break and none of this is real.
My mother’s brow dips. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing is wrong.”
I rotate to face the wall and hit the buzzer. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” I hear. “Jack.”
Not a severed head, at least, but oh my God, why is he here? It’s not safe to be near me right now. Still, I breathe out, “Come up.”
I rotate again to face my mother. “Send Jack upstairs when he gets here.”
Her lips purse. “Is that appropriate?”
“Mom, I’m not going to get naked with Jack, at least not with you here in the loft.”
“Seriously, Mia?”
“Mom,” I chide. “We’re just friends. Nothing more.”
“Is he gay?”
“No,” I snap. “But why would it matter if he was?”
“I’m not saying that like an insult. I’m saying that like a mother who, knowing so, would not worry that he wanted to see you naked.”
I press my hand to my forehead. She didn’t just say that, and yet she did. “Just send him up.” I don’t give her time to argue. I hurry toward the stairs, climbing to the top, to my room. Once I’m there, I hit the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet to heave again.
The next thing I know Jack is kneeling next to me. “Oh Jesus.” He hands me a towel. “I take it that wine bottle by the bed didn’t mix well with your mother visiting?”
“Something like that,” I say, flushing the toilet and then leaning against the door.
He sits down, one leg up, the bad leg, I’m sure, which I haven’t even asked him about yet. “Talk to me. You don’t drink alone, not that much. That bottle is mostly gone. Why the wine?”
Words want to spill from my mouth, so many words, but I bite back the ones that really matter. “Bad date. And then that Ben guy downstairs scared me.”
His brow furrows. “The one that cleans and blasts his music all the time?”
“Yes. I went to the bookstore to pick a book—the owners let me do that. It was midnight and he was there. He scared me. He’s creepy.”
“Why was he there?”
“He said to clean, but he didn’t have his supplies. And he never played loud music, which he always does when cleaning. It was weird.”