Page 34 of His Gift
"I don't know."
If he found me, the mob can find me. They made a half-assed attempt the first time, and I'm still paying the price. The second time they won't miss. Just a nice thought on top of everything else.
"You can't come back here. I left. It's over."
He steps closer and sits beside me. "I can. Maybe I shouldn't, but I can. And if you're thinking about moving again, think twice. I'll keep finding you. Why Ithaca?"
I'm so bewildered by his answer that I speak, even though I have no reason to. "The lawyer I'm working for—he's collaborated with the FBI in the past, and when the agent assigned to my case explained the situation and asked him to hire me, he agreed immediately. I can't show my facearound, go to court, or even move heavy folders. I needed someone who'd be sympathetic to my circumstances."
"Will they make you testify at trial?"
"Agent Vance is doing her best to avoid it. Probably not."
A long silence stretches between us. We're both staring at the wall in front of us, our breathing shallow, as if we're waiting for something to break the tension.
Then he stands up, pulls me into his arms and brings me to bed, tucking me under the covers. And for a second I relish he's here. That he's not given up.
"Do you need your meds?" I shake my head.
"Why don't you want to take them?"
"Because I have enough problems without adding an addiction. One more problem from tonight onward."
"Just forget you saw me," he mumbles, then picks up my laptop and phone and studies them. "You're lucky, the laptop is okay, and the phone has a crack on the screen but is still working. You shouldn't throw your things around."
"You're right. But you're too heavy to throw around."
Conrad spins on his heels and stares me down. Pissed? His fucking problem.
"Sleep."
"I'll do whatever the hell I want. Fuck you very much. Now go!"
He shrugs, places both phone and laptop on my nightstand, and then he's gone. And contrary to my boasting, I close my eyes and go back to sleep. No one has the power to drain me emotionally as he does.
Just forget you saw me.
No way. Been there, done that. I'm not ignoring my problems anymore. Well, I'm working hard to avoid it.
I stretch, trying to infuse some life into my patched-up limbs. Damnit. I've never been athletic, but I feel like an old crooner now. I have to get my ass in gear and get going if I don't want to be late—at least today I don't have rehab or an appointment with my shrink—but I'm not enthusiastic about my new job. It's an endless stream of divorce cases, DUIs, misdemeanors, and so on. But Mr. Holt, Jasper, has been a real blessing, and even though it's not my dream job, I still do my best. On the bright side, I know that I won't trip into something illicit and fuck up my life. Again.
First things first. I scrunch up my nose at the broken screen and then type a message.
I still remember you were here. And we still need to talk. I'll let you know when I'm available.
There.
I get ready and I'm outside my door before I give him the satisfaction of looking at his reply.
If you do as you're told, we can talk.
What the hell does that mean?
Well. Later.
"Harper, I'm going to lunch with my wife. Are you holding down the fort?" I show Jasper a thumbs-up because I just took a bite of my sandwich. I'm not really hungry, but the pain is slowly going up and at some point I'll have to take a pill. Doing so with an empty stomach is not a good idea, even though the churning in my guts after my encounter with Conrad has not settled down. It won't until we get to talk.
I thought I'd never see him again. Well, unless I broke down and called him. But I wasn't going to do that. I wasn't, no matter how many times I stared at my phone, thinking about doing it. I'm staring now too, but for a different reason. I want to send him a sassy comeback to his stupid message, but I can't think of one. I know he won't hurt me. Even if he's capable of murder, he'd never raise a hand in anger against me. But after this morning's message, I want to kill him.
