Page 13 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
His gun was sweaty in his grip. Terry’s voice was in his head.Remind her that actions have consequences.
Right now, though, the only thing he could remember was how she’d felt in his arms as he’d lifted her onto his bed. How her hair had fanned over his shoulder. How the skin on the back of her thighs had felt impossibly soft against his forearm.
“Fuck,” he muttered, tossing the gun onto the passenger floorboard. He started the car, reversed in a wide arc, then slipped away into the night.
* * *
Julia dried her cheeks with the back of her hand, took a big sniff, then glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed her crying alone in her car. But, as usual, she was the only one at home. Her mom and stepdad’s cars were both parked in the garage, but she knew neither of them were here. Her mom was in Rome with her sister for a dress fitting, and her stepfather was in Japan for a charity golf event.
It wasn’t unusual for her to find herself rattling around in this big house on her own. Her family spent more time apart than together. It was rare for them all to find themselves in the same city, let alone the same house.
She slung her dance bag over her shoulder, still dabbing at her eyes. She tried to blame her sudden bout of tears on exhaustion from eight hours of rehearsal and two more of performing. But, deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.
It had been four days since the night of the party. The bruises on her neck were buried under a thick layer of stage makeup. And she thought she’d done a pretty good job of burying the memories of it, too. She’d shoved the whole incident into a box in the back of her mind and nailed the lid shut. If there was one thing that she was good at, it was compartmentalizing. It was her superpower. She ran her life with the rigidity of a barre routine. Trauma was put in boxes. Smiles were painted on. And the show went on.
She shut the car door and headed toward the house. When she reached the front door, she paused on the threshold and cast another glance behind her. While she’d been sitting in the car, she’d had the strangest feeling she was being watched.
But there was no one out there. Her drive was empty. Nothing disturbed the still night air, save for the distant sound of a retreating car.
SIX
Today’s the day.
Daniel gripped the steering wheel with both hands and tried not to think about how he’d made the same pact with himself yesterday.
And the day before.
In the backseat, Tequila let out a restless whine. She’d been cooped up too long, just like him.
He looked through the car window at the Mikkelsen mansion, as if he hadn’t memorized its facade many hours ago. Despite Terry’s order, he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car and carry it out.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to justify his reasons for stalling. One came easily: he had to wait for her to leave the house. The plan was to follow her in his car, then make her pull over on a secluded stretch of road and do it. He’d missed her yesterday and had seen no sign of her BMW today.
There’d been plenty of other vehicles coming and going. Contractors’ trucks, several vans emblazoned with a florist’s logo. One belonged to a caterer who specialized in weddings.
He leaned back in his seat, shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out her gold chain. He had taken to carrying it everywhere with him. For reasons that baffled him as much as the ones that had him sitting in front of her house for hours on end.
Maybe it was because she’d begun to occupy parts of his mind that didn’t listen to reason. Parts that liked to replay how good she’d looked in his sweatshirt. In his bed.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he reached over and opened the glove box. Took out his Beretta. Bent forward in his seat and stuffed it down the back of his waistband.
He wanted to be ready.
An uncomfortable fullness in his bladder made him think he should take a piss before doing anything else. He opened the car door, went round to the back, and unzipped his jeans. He was mid-leak when he realized he was being watched.
A huge black cat was sitting on the stone wall that bordered the Mikkelsen property. It had yellow eyes, and a mushed face, and was staring at him with a look of pure disgust. With a flick of its eyes, it switched the target of its loathing to the dog in his backseat.
Tequila had her head all the way out the window. She grinned at the cat, then gave a high-pitched squeal.
Daniel saw it all unfold a millisecond before it happened.
“Tequila, no?—”
Too late. The dog leaped from the car in a single bound. She dashed across the road and galloped through the open gate after the cat.
Fuck’s sake.
He zipped up and jogged across the road. “¡Tequila!¡Vuelve aquí!”
