Page 7 of Hush Money
“Who were you with?” he asks. I swallow.
“A lot of people. My coworkers, the regular night shifters.” He nods.
“Anyone else?”
Fuck. Why is he asking this?
Something doesn’t feel right.
Something feels…dangerous. The way he’s looking at me. The way everything feels too quiet, like the calm before a storm. Something inside of me is screaming to do something.Anything.
I take in a breath and pull my purse off over my head. I walk it around the corner and slide my phone out of the pocket. I don’t know what pushes me to do it, but I open up a text to the only other person I know who is awake at this hour. And the only person who may read more into it—and act.
I open a text to Keaton and send him my location, praying it’s still his number. Then I turn around to walk back into the living room, but I let out a little scream when I almost crash into Tanner. He’s hovering over me, his shirt disheveled, and the alcohol oozing out of his pores. I take a small step back.
“I asked you a question,” he growls, gritting his teeth. I swallow.
“An old friend stopped by the diner,” I say. “Remember, uh…my friend Keaton?”
He takes a step toward me, and I back up.
“Yeah. I remember you talking about him. But what I don’t remember is you telling me you two were still chummy. And I don’t remember you telling me why thefuckhe was in the diner you work at at one in the fucking morning.”
He takes another step, and I feel myself press up against the wall. I swallow as he closes in on me.
Keaton once told me that he’d do anything for me.
God, I hope that’s still true.
KEATON
Twenty minutes ago, I was sitting in the big leather chair in the living room of my Manhattan apartment that I never visit, holding a glass of whiskey that I never drink.
I was contemplating everything.
My life. The future of my family and our business.
The decision I made all those years ago to leave and never look back.
But now, I’m in the back of one of the company’s Escalades, flying down I-495 out to Long Island.
I don’t know why. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe it was an S.O.S. I want to call her, but I don’t know what’s going on. I am afraid to make the situation—if there is one—any worse. And I won’t be able to rest until I know which one.
Luckily, at this time of night, we’re not hitting a whole lot of traffic. And we get into the little Long Island town she sent me in under forty minutes. I’m just praying that it’s not forty minutes too late.
When we turn onto the street, I look down at the GPS on my phone.
“It’s that one,” I tell Mac, and he makes the right turn into the driveway. It’s a charming little house, but I don’t have much time to admire it. I open the door before he even puts the car in park, and when my feet touch the ground, so do his. I hold up my hand to him, and he gives me a look.
“Boss, don’t get me fired on my first solo night,” he pleads. “I’m supposed to have your six everywhere.”
“Follow me, but don’t make a sound,” I tell him. He nods.
She’s married. I saw the ring. She’s probably inside with her husband. I sneak up the front walk toward the front door. A light is on inside, but I can’t see anything through the blinds on the window. I wait a beat but don’t see anything. I let out a sigh. Maybe it was a false alarm. She probably doesn’t even realize she texted me. And as much as I hate the fact that she’s inside with herhusband,there is a part of me that’s relieved. I turn on my heel, motioning for Mac to go back to the car, just as I hear glass shattering. And then I hear the sound that makes my blood run cold: her scream.
I lunge for the front door, turning the handle frantically, but it’s locked. I don’t wait. I just start banging. I feel Mac next to me. I see his hand reach for his hip. But as the door bursts open, I hold my hand out to him. If I can help it, I won’t have a gun around her.
When the door opens, I see a sweaty, brooding man with dirty blond hair out of place, his shirt undone, and whiskey on his breath.Tanner.His eyes are on fire, and when he sees me, they don’t seem to dim much. I follow his other hand, which is wrapped tightly—too tightly—around Evie’s wrist. I grit my teeth.
