Page 12 of My Dream

The shorts were a little on the short side, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to see me in them. They’d do just fine for lounging around. I smoothed my hands over the fabric, studying the fit in the mirror, when a voice froze me mid-motion.

“Fallon.”

I stiffened, and my head snapped toward the door.

“Don’t scream.”

My eyes darted wildly around the room. The voice was low, urgent, and familiar.

“It’s me. Russ.”

“What?” I whispered. My heart pounded against my ribs. “Where are you?” It felt like the voice was coming from above, or maybe… the wall?

“I’m in the stall next to you,” he replied, so quietly it was almost drowned out by the hum of fluorescent lights.

I moved toward the thin wall that separated the dressing rooms. I pressed my hand against it and leaned in. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.” His tone was flat but steady.

Relief swept through me, followed immediately by confusion. “Let me get Compass,” I said quickly and stepped toward the door.

“No!” Russ hissed. His voice was sharp and almost panicked. “I don’t want the Iron Fiends finding me yet.”

I frowned. “What? Why? They’ve been looking for you—theywantto help you.”

“If they find me now, I can’t do what I need to do.” His voice was hard and determined. “They’ll find me when I’m ready.”

What in the actual hell was going on? My mind spun as I tried to make sense of it.

“Then why are you talking to mehere, in a Walmart fitting room of all places?” I demanded, keeping my voice low but sharp.

“Because I need you to do something for me,” he replied.

My instincts told me to go straight to Compass. Russ was my boss—or at least hehad beenbefore all this—but that didn’t mean I could trust him now. “Why don’t I just get Compass? He can help you with whatever it is.”

“No, Fallon,” Russ growled through the crack in the wall. “I don’t want them involved in this. Not yet. If you tell them, they are just going to mess everything up that I have planned.”

Not involved? Boone and Gibbs were trying to wipe out the club, and Russ thought the Iron Fiends couldn’t be more involved?

I sighed heavily. “What do you want?”

A slip of paper slid through the gap at the bottom of the stall. I crouched to pick it up, unfolding it with hesitant fingers.

“Call this number,” he instructed. “In seven days. At seven-twenty.”

I stared at the scrap of paper in my hand. “Who am I calling?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “And is that seven-twenty in the morning or at night?”

“Night,” he said. “Don’t worry about who it is—just call.”

“Jesus, Russ,” I muttered, my stomach knotting with unease. “What the hell is going on?”

But there was no reply.

“Russ?” I called softly, pressing my ear to the wall. Silence.

I cracked the door open and peeked into the hallway. The fitting room next to mine was empty.

How? The only exit was past Compass, who hadn’t moved from his spot. It didn’t make any sense.

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