I flip the manila envelope around until the label is facing me. There’s nothing outstanding about it, nothing that seems out of line. Just a package to Nzou Ltd in care of Fenton.
Shrugging and blowing out a breath of relief, I wander back through the house and take my place again on the chair. The sun is warm against my legs and face, but the wind coming over the water keeps it perfect. I soak up the rays, breathing in the fresh air, but I can’t knock the feeling of something being off.
My mind scrambles, trying to locate the source of the anxiety. No matter how long I think, what I think about, nothing sticks out. Not one thing.
I down the rest of my coffee and make a mental note to call my doctor and get another dose of the anti-anxiety medicine I was on for a while earlier this year. I haven’t needed them in a few months. I always try to not need them, to not depend on them, but sometimes it’s necessary and I don’t want this feeling to spiral out of control and leave me bedridden like it did before.
Heading inside to grab another cup of coffee, I figure I’ll go ahead and call the doctor now. Nip this in the bud. My phone is on the coffee table in the living room, so I grab it as I go through. With one hand, I search for my doctor’s number. With the other, I insert a fresh K-Cup and push the magic button.
I turn around and lean against the counter while I scroll my contacts list. I don’t see the number anywhere. Standing, my elbow snags the corner of Fenton’s delivery. My gaze travels across the package once again.
Nzou Ltd
C/O Fenton Abbott
Wait . . .
I spin the envelope as the Keurig shuts off behind me.
Why does that ring a bell?
No, it can’t be.
My hand trembles as I pick up my phone and proceed to drop it against the counter top. Grabbing it again, I call my mom. She answers on the second ring.
“Mom?”
“What’s wrong, Brynne?”
“Hey, um, I have a question.” My voice shakes like a leaf in an autumnal windstorm. I keep looking at the letters. “Why is the name N-Z-O-U familiar to me?”
“That’s the company Brady was working for. Well, not technically. He was working for Mandla, but the parent company is Nzou. Why?”
The phone slips right out of my hands and smacks against the marble. I make no effort to pick it up. I can hear my mother’s voice, asking me if I’m okay.
I’m not sure, Mom . . .
“Brynne! Answer me!” she shouts from a few feet away.
I choke back the bile in my throat and try to stay calm. “I’m here,” I say as collectedly as possible.
“What’s going on with you? Why did you call to ask me that?”
“No reason,” I laugh and even I don’t believe it. “The name just popped in my head randomly and I couldn’t figure out where I’d heard it before.”
“I mentioned it to you the other day, I think. But why did you think of it? It’s a rather odd name.”
Nzou. Mandla. Ruma. Pano.
My shoulders lift and fall dramatically, but I don’t speak. I can’t. My mind is spinning so fast, tumbling out of control, that I can’t put together a response.
“Brynne Meghan Calloway. Answer me. Something is wrong with you and I know it.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I lie. “I have to go. I need to get a hold of Presley—”
“Brynne . . .”
“No, I’m really all right. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“If you don’t call me back tonight, I’m coming to see you. Do you understand?”
“I do. Love you.” I click off the phone before she can push any father.
Dragging the envelope back in front of me, I do a triple check of the words.
Could it be a coincidence? Why would Fenton have business with Brady’s business? Did he know Brady? Is he just checking on things, like he did Grant?
Filling my strangled lungs with precious oxygen, I try not to jump to conclusions. I know Fenton. There’s nothing to . . .
I startle at the sound of the door opening and shoes on the entryway floor. My breathing still, my heart pounding wildly. I wait with a sense of overwhelming dread as the footsteps grow closer.
And there he stands all composed in his suit. He assesses me with a swift eye, placing his briefcase down on the floor. The snap of the metal against the wood makes me jostle, my hand moving to my throat.
Guardedly, he moves his eyes to the counter and rests them against the envelope. His lips form a thin line before he meets my gaze.
I feel it. I feel his desire to bolt from the room, the same one I’m fighting. I want to know what this means, but, then again, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be crushed, humiliated . . . I don’t want to hate the man standing in front of me. The one I’ve started to fall in love with.
“How’s your day?” His tone is clinical, like he’s walked into the office and asked his secretary is she’s having an all right afternoon.
He makes no movement towards me, not the typical reaction for him when he sees me. He usually is touching me in some way within a minute and now he seems like he’s encountered a wild badger.
“You okay, Brynne?”
Hauling in a breath, I nod. “Yeah.”