Page 12 of Savage Vows
Bella:Always.
I curl up on the couch with the phone in my hand, the city humming quietly outside the window. There’s no sleep in me tonight. But at least I’m not alone in the dark.
My head aches when I wake. I never really slept, just drifted in and out on the couch with my phone clutched in my palm. The sun creeps through the blinds, painting thin yellow lines across the floor. For a few minutes, I lie still, unmoving, hoping the world will stay quiet.
No such luck.
My phone vibrates—Miriam’s name flashes across the screen.
I answer, voice rough. “Yeah?”
She doesn’t bother with hello. “What the heck did you send me last night?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s what you asked for. Every detail. Tied up with a bow.”
“I told you I’m not running this, Adriana. I meant it. I can’t print this, and I won’t stick my neck out for you if you get yourself in trouble.”
I close my eyes, exhale. “So delete it.”
She’s silent for a second, then her tone shifts. Less editor, more friend. “If you’re so set on chasing this, I have a number. Someone you can call. He’s with the precinct downtown. Quiet. Discreet. He’s helped us before.”
I sit up straighter. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know you. And you’re not going to drop it, no matter what I say.” She rattles off a number, tells me the name—Captain Murphy, the one who busted that drug ring last month and somehow got a commendation instead of a pink slip.
I scribble it down on a napkin. “Thanks, Miriam.”
“Don’t thank me,” she says, voice weary. “Just…don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to write your obituary.” She hangs up before I can promise her anything.
I call the number, and it goes to voicemail. “This is for Captain Murphy. There’s a shipment—Pier 19, Thursday at midnight. Check the manifest. It’s not what it looks like. You’ll want to move fast.”
I hang up. My hand shakes a little. I stare at the phone, willing it to be enough.
Sometimes the best you can do is make sure someone’s listening. Even if they never know your name.
I set the phone down, letting the silence settle. The apartment feels too quiet, the city muffled by heavy morning air. For amoment, I close my eyes and breathe, trying to convince myself I’ve done all I can.
Then my phone rings again.
Julianne’s name flashes on the screen.
My heart leaps, hope and dread tangled so tight I can barely move. I answer on the second ring. “Jules?” My voice is thin, shaky.
On the other end, I hear breathing—fast, uneven. Then her voice, high and raw, rushes out. “Adriana? Adriana, listen—I don’t—he—there’s no time, I?—”
She’s crying, or maybe she’s running. I can hear wind in the background, traffic, someone shouting. Her words trip over each other, tumbling out in pieces.
“Julianne, slow down,” I beg. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
But she keeps talking, the panic rising. “You have to—he said—don’t trust—Adriana, please, I need—” The line crackles. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but I have to go. I don’t have any other choice.”
My own voice cracks. “Jules, talk to me. Where are you?”
A loud noise crashes through the phone—metal against metal, a car horn, a jumble of voices.
Then, silence.
I stare at the phone, Julianne’s name still glowing on the screen, the call still technically connected. But she’s gone. All I hear is static.
