Page 14 of Legally Mine

Every muscle in my body tensed. I froze, willing myself not to turn around for fear of being seen. My hair, normally a bright orange beacon, was fortuitously tied up under my dad's old Mets cap. Much less noticeable. I could only hope he hadn't memorized my body the same way I'd memorized his.

"Do you mind if we check out the next gallery?" asked the woman. "I'd prefer to look at the Renaissance works instead."

There was a pause. He wasn't looking at me, was he? And what the hell was he doing in New York? Was that even him at all? My skin prickled with that sixth sense, but I didn't dare turn around. I couldn't.

"Sure," said the man's voice. Was it his? How could I not know?

Their steps and her voice trailed off as they left the room. It wasn't until they were exactly twenty-five steps away (I counted the clicks of the woman's heels) that I turned around, just in time to see a dark-haired couple disappear around the corner, the man's hand proprietarily resting at the woman's back.

I turned back around and pressed my forehead into my hands. Great, just great. I couldn’t get that face out of my head, and now I was hearing his voice when others spoke. Next, I'd start pedaling conspiracy theories to anyone who would listen.

The thought had barely zipped through my head when suddenly I had the strangest feeling that I was, in fact, being watched. I couldn't have told you why, but the hairs on the back of my next stood up, and goose bumps ran down my arms. I twisted around quickly, hoping to catch whoever was spying in action. But, of course, I was the only one in the room, and all the doorways were open.

I was alone. And apparently going crazy.

I pulled knees up under my chin and stared at the Waterlilies again, entranced and simultaneously unable to focus as my mind spiraled out of control. Then I pulled out my phone and called the first person I could think of. Jane didn't answer. So, I took her advice and called someone else. Matthew Zola picked up right away.

~

It was half past six by the time I got back to Brooklyn, slightly sweaty from the long train ride. I was meeting Zola at a small, crowded gastro pub in Park Slope, the kind that had been remade with live edge wood and industrial lighting to appeal to the hipster crowds that had taken over that side of Prospect Park.

Zola was sitting at the end of the long, hand-varnished bar top, sipping on a pint of beer. Clearly just getting off work, his suit jacket was laid on the seat next to him, and his tie was loosened around an unbuttoned collar. He perked up as he saw me weaving through the crowd, and I regretfully noticed again how handsome he was. Too bad I wasn't the slightest bit interested.

"Hey there," he greeted me with a kiss to the cheek. "Thanks for coming out."

"Thanks for the invite."

We were slightly awkward, considering we'd really only spoken a few times before. But even if I wasn't interested in him romantically, there was something about Zola that seemed really friendly, like he was another kindred spirit. It was just a hunch.

"No problem" he said. "Can I get you a drink?"

"A scotch on the rocks," I started to say before trailing off.

I had been drinking scotch for years, but now my drink of choice reminded me too much of Brandon, who also enjoyed it. Great. Now I couldn't even drink without thinking of him.

"Actually, just a glass of red wine," I said lamely as I took my seat at the bar.

Zola signaled to the bartender and ordered while I arranged my purse on the bar top. What was I doing here?

"So, I wanted to say, I get why you had to turn the job down. It seems like it was a hard decision to make."

I nodded, although I didn't really want to talk about it. "Thanks. Yeah, I just...I need the money. My dad's treatments aren't cheap."

Zola nodded, knowingly. Considering the guy saw his fair share of junkies working for the D.A.'s office, he knew what that looked like. He had also seen firsthand what kind of injuries Dad had suffered.

"My old man had a gambling problem too," he offered. "You're doing the right thing. The only thing that can help him is real treatment, if he'll take it."

"He better," I said, even with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Yeah, about that," Zola said. "We're still building the case against Messina. I can't talk about it, but...well, we're getting more support, but we could still really use your family's testimony."

I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sorry, but you know the answer to that."

"Skylar, the D.A.'s office can keep your family safe. We can place your dad and grandmother into protective custody. Maybe even near you."

I tipped my head. "Come on. Like that wouldn't be the first place Messina would look for a rat: his only daughter. Besides, I told you already: they won't budge."

Zola shrugged, the easy movement attractive across his chest. He really was a good-looking guy: tallish, but not too tall, slim but with decent shoulders, and a handsome, honest face. His dark eyes twinkled.

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