Page 19 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
“My flowers,” Grace said. “They’re gone.”
Her words drew me from my surveillance. She stood frozen by the door, staring at a small table nestled in the L-shaped kitchen.
“Flowers?” I asked for clarification.
“I always keep fresh-cut flowers in a vase on the table. Always. Since the day I moved in here, I’ve had fresh flowers in the apartment. On that table.” She moved to the table in question, as if there were another one and I might be confused. “I walk to the market just up the road and get them for myself every week. Yesterday, I bought green and purple mums and pink carnations. I liked the colors together and put a little purplebow around the edge of the vase to match.” She stared at the table like it would bite her as she reached out to pick up a paper in the middle, presumably where the flowers would have been.
I left my perch by the window and moved to her to get a good look at the paper. It was exactly what I’d hoped we would find. Another note. My blood chilled at the implication as Grace looked from the paper to me. Her green eyes were wide and her brow drawn in confusion and maybe a little fear. They didn’t just slide a new note under the door. They let themselves in, took her precious flowers, and left her with a clear warning of what was really coming if she didn’t pay up. It wasn’t just her boss they threatened. It was her.
“Pack a bag,” I said immediately upon seeing the note. “You can’t stay here.” Whoever this was let themselves into her apartment and locked the door behind them on the way out, without leaving any trace of a break-in.
“But,” she protested. “I — how?”
I double checked the door, making sure she locked it behind her before noticing the missing flowers. It wouldn’t stop someone truly determined, but it would buy us a little time. Time to do what I’ve been wanting to do again since those first moment she showed up at my house.
I pulled her into my arms.
She trembled slightly and took a moment before she returned the embrace. I didn’t hold her for long. Just long enough to let her know she wasn’t alone and didn’t need to be scared. I could protect her. I would protect her. I didn’t linger like I wanted. The white car is in the back of my mind. The threat was still nearby, and we needed to move.
When I let her go, her eyes were bright, but she looked determined.
“You can’t come back here, including work, until we get this sorted. They are escalating their threats with each encounter andwho knows what they will do next. You’ll come stay with me. I have a safe house in the city.” I moved to what I assumed was a closet to help her pack while I talked. She was slow to follow me, but eventually got moving.
“I have vacation and sick time. I’ve never called out. Mr. Jones likes me. I think he doesn’t even actually need me. He just took pity on me. I don’t have to come back for work.” She seemed so defeated by those words and I remembered this place was supposed to be her safe place,herplace, somewhere free from fear and intimidation. My heart broke for her as I grabbed every piece of clothing I touched and shoved them into a bag I found on the floor of the closet.
She moved to the small dresser by the bed and did the same.
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” I said when I had filled the bag and set it by the door. She didn’t respond as she moved to the bathroom and collected up her toiletries.
I moved back to the table and picked up the letter and realized we hadn’t even bothered to read it. I didn’t bother now, either. We could worry about that when she was safe. I folded the note and slid it into the pocket of my coat for safekeeping. She was packed and ready to go faster than some men I worked with and I couldn’t help the well of pride that fact built in me. She wasn’t mine to be proud of, but my body didn’t seem to get the message.
I looked out the window one last time before we made our way downstairs and back to the car to make sure the way was clear. The white car was nowhere in sight.
Chapter Nine
Paper crinkled in my hand as I stared down at the note the intruders left.
“This is my paper.” I don’t think many people had custom stationary anymore, but this was part of my card-making kit. I would know it anywhere.
“Fuck. Didn’t you send me a letter with that once?” I jolted, surprised that he recognized the paper. Warmth spread through me at the thought that he read the letters enough to know what the paper looked like.
“Yeah.” I blushed and looked back down at the note.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?” Anders asked as he moved to my side, looking over my shoulder at the paper clutched in my hand. I hadn’t even begun to process what was written on the page.
“No,” I finally said, when I could think past the fact that this wasmypaper. That I store inmyapartment. The apartment we were just in.
“So not Bill. That means whoever wrote it likely got the paper from inside the apartment while they were there.” Anders moved closer to me when he said that, his arm brushing mine.
“That means they didn’t come with a note prepared.” My brain had finally worked through the implications. An icy chill worked its way down my spine despite the heat of Anders’s body next to mine.
“Yes,” Anders said. The grave tone of his voice unnerved me. That one word, confirmation of what I already knew, rang in the air like a gunshot. I needed to sit down. I moved to the small couch and collapsed on it, the note still in my hand.
“Ok, so they showed up, broke in, found me gone, took my flowers, and left this note,” I summarized the apparent events to help me wrap my brain around what happened today.
“It seems so,” Anders said. I figured he would be more talkative right now. Wouldn’t a marine have something more to say about something like this? Some plan of action?
I’d never been more helpless. If I hadn’t gone to see him, they would have found me home. I shuttered to think what they would have done to me.
