Page 87 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

Traveler had been through enough already.

I had to get her safe.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said.

I hung up and called Lettie who, thankfully, wasn’t busy, and would likely roll up around the same time as Aurelio and Milo.

Grabbing the coffee, I moved into the living room to sit and wait with Traveler.

As she moved in at my side, stealing comfort from me, I thought the most insane thing.

I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to let her go again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Traveler

I hadn’t given my plan much thought pastGet to Navesink Bank.

I had no address for August.

I had no phone to try to look it up myself.

All I had was a vague memory of him saying he was looking for a house, which made me think he had an apartment, and that he once made a comment about him having a view of the river.

With that in mind, I drove toward the river, finding exactly two apartment complexes only. One seemed small and cramped and less expensive. The other was new, shiny, and costly-looking.

I could see him there with all the stucco and glass.

I took the jug handle and pulled into the lot, making my way toward the front doors, finding some fancy-ass new fangled intercom system with a camera and digital screen.

I moved my finger to the log of residents, finding the name Grassi listed there.

I was about to press the button when the door flew open.

I rushed in that direction, catching the door before it could close, then making a beeline for the elevator. For once, not even giving it a second thought, finding myself too consumed with different anxieties.

“Come on come on come on,” I grumbled as the elevator car climbed slowly before finally stopping on the top floor.

Rushing out, I made my way toward the number associated with his name on the log below.

He barely got the door open before I flew at him.

I hadn’t realized how close to breaking I was until he was there to try to hold me together.

When I finally calmed down, and August went to get me a drink for my sore throat, I started to look around.

The inside of the apartment was much like the outside.

Modern.

Kind of sterile.

Not a whole lot of personality.

Don’t get me wrong, his furniture was nice. And, knowing him, expensive. But it was all devoid of personal touches, anything that told you what August was like.

I was sitting on the short side of a large sectional in an airy living space. A framed TV was on the wall, and I wouldn’t have known it was a TV at all if not for the fact that the art on it had shifted when I was looking at it.

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