“I don’t think you were only trying to make the world safe for Lindsay. You were working to make it safe for you, too.”
“Of course I was,” I scoff. “I am,” I stress. The air conditioning clicks on, making me jerk. The sound surprises me, the deep whine of the system hurting my ears. I’m holding my breath and I let it out, my respiration inconsistent, the feeling that I can’t catch my breath becoming overpowering.
“Not as a byproduct, Drew.”
I frown. “Lindsay’s safety is always more important than my own. I’d die for her.”
Salma nods. “And that is admirable, but who would die for you?”
She might as well throw a brick at my face.
Because suddenly, my mother and father’s faces fill my mind. How they looked at the viewing at their funeral.
How their brakes failed.
Oh, God. They victims, too. How far does all of this go?
Did my parents die because of me? Because of some strange fixation Blaine, Stellan and John have on destroying my and Lindsay’s lives?
Bzzz.
The room makes no sense suddenly, as my emergency phone goes off. Salma glares at my jacket, sitting on the couch.
“You know I have a ‘no cell phone’ policy, Drew.”
“I know. It’s turned off. That’s my Code Red phone. It only goes off when there’s a life-or-death emergency.”
Fuck.
I leap up, rifling through the cloth, the pocket edge ripping as I grab the phone and answer.
“Foster,” I bark.
“Drew. This is bad.” It’s Paulson.
“Lindsay?”
“She’s fine,” he says, but his voice sends a cold ribbon of panic down my spine. “It’s you I’m calling about.”
“Me? What about me?”
“That guy who works for Bosworth – Marshall. He’s claiming he has intelligence that proves you’re the one sending the threatening texts to Lindsay.”
“What? What the hell?”
“I know it’s bullshit. But the tracing report got into the hands of Blaine Maisri’s camp. They’re threatening to leak this to the press. It’s one hell of a set-up. We need to do damage control for you.”
Damage control.
My entire life is turning into nothing but damage control.
Bzzz.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Incoming text. Salma gives me a look of studied frustration. I know this is sacred space. I know I’m supposed to work on my issues.
Trust me.
I know.
But this situation just went FUBAR and the ante just got upped to the Nth degree.
I ignore Mark as he tries to get my attention, and I look at the text.
Don’t play if you can’t win, it says.
I go numb.
Another text. It’s a video. The picture has the Play symbol in the middle, a frozen image of me, naked, on my side with a mask over my head.
A video.
There’s a video of me from that night?
“Paulson,” I snap. “Full press.”
Dead air fills the line.
He hasn’t just hung up on me.
Mark’s gone to start a series of procedures that threaten to destroy everything I know.
But all in the service of saving Lindsay.
I stare at the texts. Deep breaths come out of me, involuntary, as tumblers in my mind sync, creating an orderly chain reaction.
I know what to do next.
I don’t like it, but I know what I have to do.
Then it hits me.
They’re sending that video everywhere.
Lindsay. They’ll text it to Lindsay next.
Probably already did.
“Drew!” Salma’s voice fills with a pleading horror as I stand, striding to the door with purpose. I can’t look at her. I am a shell now. Shells hold vulnerable creatures, protecting them from the dangers of the outside world.
I can’t be naked and soft. That’s for a different part of me, one that can’t come out and play right now.
A game, right? We’re playing a most dangerous game.
Which means the man who walked into this room cannot be the one who walks out of it.
“I’m fine. Bill me, Salma.”
Her face turns red with anger. I watch, wholly detached. Like the good soldier that I am, trained in psychological as well as physical warfare, I can separate feelings from flesh. I’ve done it before, so many times that being connected is the exception and not the rule.
It occurs to me that Lindsay does the same.
I can’t think about that right now.
“This has nothing to do with money. I’m concerned about dis-regulation in you. You need to stay.”
I pause, my hand on the doorknob. There’s no turning back now. None. What Paulson is unleashing is the equivalent of starting a nuclear launch sequence. Lindsay isn’t the only person with a revenge plan. Mine has been in the making for four years.
A love plan for Lindsay.
A revenge plan for those pieces of shit.
I didn’t think both would be initiated at the same time.
But there’s only so much I can control in the world, right?
“Salma, what I need to do is find out how to stop the people who are hellbent on destroying my life. I came here to try to sort through everything with Lindsay, but the texts and call I just received show that she’s in even more danger than I ever thought. So am I.”