Page 121 of Reckless Vow

I check my watch. It’s only noon. Argh. I press the button, but the toy remains off. I fish the cord from the package and go to the bedroom to plug it in.

The outlet is behind the nightstand, and as I move it, the drawer slides open.

I put the toy on the charger and am about to close the drawer when I notice a small USB key. Bingo.

I go to my computer. I’m sure Baldo wouldn’t mind. I won’t erase anything, just back up my file until I can find my own USB or buy a new one.

Pushing it into the slot on my laptop, I wait for the new window to open. When it does, I pause.

I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but I can’t unsee it anymore. Nor can I keep my curiosity contained.

Why does Baldo have files calledProject Tokyo? They are numbered with six digits, looking like a date stamp.

I click on one of them, killing any thoughts about invading privacy or breaking trust. I’mTokyoafter all.

What I find is a report by the Mathison Corp summing up my life that month, along with a few pics. Me with my ex, Dylan. Me on the street, leaving a nightclub. Me entering the building of my agent’s offices.

The written summary gives notes about my whereabouts, my routine, and even about a new deal with my publisher.

No wonder he never asked what exactly I do. He knew.

Like a woman possessed, I keep opening other files. It’s like reading a very clinical personal diary. It’s my life condensed into one USB key. No emotions, just pure facts.

Hours pass as I read and review the visual depiction of my last seven years.

Some of it is strangely comforting. Like the one time when Dylan really got out of control and the police showed up.

I always assumed it was my neighbor who called them. Turns out it was the shadow hired by my guardian angel. Or the man who obsessively invaded my privacy.

The files end shortly before Paris came to visit. Maybe they didn’t fit on this flash drive anymore. I rush to the nightstand and rummage through it, but I find nothing.

Returning to my laptop, I stare at all the Project Tokyo files.

Numbness and an odd elation course through me, and I’m utterly confused about my discovery.

What was he thinking? I knew he didn’t just forget about me. He had Tokyo tattooed near his heart, after all.

His tattoos!

I scroll through my pictures and find the one I snapped that morning when I admired his artwork.

It doesn’t take long to find out they truly are Japanese characters, spelling one word only.

Tokyo.

It wasn’t just one map outline with a heart. He inked his body with the name he used to tease me and please me with.

I open a few more files, weirdly obsessed with the details of my life as if I didn’t live through them.

Diving into my story is easier than thinking about what all this means. The man has been obsessed with me. He invaded my privacy.

But he—or rather his people—intervened on a few occasions when I would have gotten into trouble, or could have been hurt.

I groan when I read how my shadow got me into a cab when I was plastered at a club one night. Jesus. How embarrassing. What did Baldo think about my lifestyle?

The elevator dings and I jerk my head up. God, I didn’t realize it’s a little past eight already.

Baldo steps inside and frowns. His expression darkens as he rakes his eyes up and down my body. My heartbeat drums in my temples.

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