Page 91 of Deliverance

“Not him.” I shake my head, my tongue thick and uncooperative in my mouth. “Rhys. I think he’s here.”

The air freezes and the world stands still for a long moment. The three of us exchange stares.

“Let me call security,” Tina says, concern creeping into her voice. “We should check the event footage before jumping to any conclusions.”

Ten minutes later, Jethro, the head of building security escorts us to the basement.

Zander is a few paces behind and although it’s my preference that he doesn’t find out the truth about Rhys, I don’t have the heart to ask him to give me privacy.

As a matter of fact, I don’t want privacy. Privacy is like a double-edged sword. And my ex knows how to yield it well. He did it for years.

The only puzzling thing about all this is my willingness to jump into a man’s arms the second my world is lit on fire.

You're a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone, I tell myself as we step into a small windowless room that smells like street food and dirty laundry. Dozens of monitors line two of the four walls. A tall metal locker covered with Dodgers stickers stands against another one.

As soon as Jethro closes the door behind us, my stomach turns.

I feel claustrophobic.

So much for being strong and independent.

A uniformed guard who’s folded into a chair that seems too small for his burly frame is watching the live feed of the event. He spins to greet us and I realize I’ve seen him around the gallery before. My gaze darts to his nametag that readsMark.

“Do you remember what time you saw him, Ms. Kadence?” Jethro asks, crossing over to the control panel. A walkie-talkie clipped to his belt crackles and he lowers the volume to hear me better.

I follow him with my heart in my throat. “Ummm… Maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago.”

“Could you describe the man?”

“Six foot one, brown hair, average build. He wore a gray shirt. The sleeves were rolled up.” A wave of nausea washes through me as old memories force their way into my head. “He…he had…a beard.”

“Do you remember where you first spotted him?” Jethro continues to shoot questions at me like a tennis ball machine and I continue to answer the best I can while Mark is looking through the footage, but the more they grill me, the mushier my brain becomes.

At some point, it simply refuses to cooperate. Then soon, the words leaving my mouth turn to a jumble of incoherent sounds.

“It’s probably just a false alarm.” Tina gently squeezes my shoulder.

She doesn’t comment on Zander, who’s smart enough to stand back and keep to himself. I’m still not sure what compelled me to let him see this.Let him see me all fallen apart.

“Check this fella out.” Jethro jabs his finger at the image moving across an upper row monitor. The feed is from inside the Basalt Room shortly after the doors opened, when Hazel and I were hiding out in the restroom. I catch a few familiar faces as the crowd on screen begins to disperse. Reagan. Mac. Santiago. The steak creep.

Mark zooms in on the footage of a man that matches my description and freezes the picture, then glances in my direction. “Fits the bill.”

Acid coats the back of my throat. “I’m not positive.” My voice is hoarse and shaky. “Is there another angle?” The recording is too grainy and Rhys used to be shaved clean. Without the beard, I’d recognize him in a heartbeat.

“I’m sure we do.” Mark fast-forwards the footage until he finds a better view and offers to let me see the shots frame by frame.

Suddenly, all eyes are on me, waiting. I can almost feel everyone in the room holding their collective breath, which only feeds my own anxiety.

You and I belong together, Andrea. I’m your husband until the day you die.

My throat closes up and I have to force the words out. “It’s him,” I confirm everyone’s—and most importantly, my—fear.

Tina’s the first one to break the silence. “Do you want to call the police?”

Trying to keep my panic at bay, I mull over her suggestion for a minute. Involving the authorities will be messy and it’s not something I want right now. Not until I speak to Miranda. Besides, making decisions after several glasses of champagne doesn’t seem wise. “No. I just want him found and kicked out of the gallery.”

“You got it, Ms. Kadence.” Jethro sounds excited. Poor guy probably doesn’t get much action working here.

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