How cute my dress was. I covered my mouth and gasped into my palm. That's right. I... was here to take out money for my trip out of the city.
For my future.
Colors and images pranced behind my eyes. The memory stabbed into me, fish-hooks that sank into my veins and tugged until everything came tumbling down.
On the fringe of my memories, I started to see something. People... a gun pointed my way... a low, rich voice and firm hands and the realization that everything was ruined and broken and... and...
“Miss Willow?” Roose asked. “Are you—Miss Willow!”
I was already running.
- Chapter Fourteen -
Alexis
I heard Roose calling my name.
I didn't look back.
The fear was real... tangible. It choked me and blurred my eyes. I felt my purse rumbling, knew it had to be the detective calling me over and over.
I can't go back. I won't put myself through that again!
Those memories sickened me, clawing and twisting until I'd been living the terror all over again. The trauma had allowed me to bury it deep. Therapy hadn't even brought it to the surface.
This had come close.
Except I'd stopped it. I'd thrown my hands up over my eyes and insured I couldn't see the ghosts of my past. There was no reason to remember, nothing good could come from it.
I knew just enough about the Old Stone robbery, as much as any other person did or needed to. The sanitized version from the News channel had spelled it out.
Someone had stormed the bank.
They'd held everyone hostage... they'd hacked the systems on site...
And then they'd vanished.
What the hell mattered beyond that?
Why did that day wreck your world? No. Fuck wondering. I didn't need that answer. I just needed to move forward.
I felt like I could run forever.
Bending over at the first crosswalk I came up against, I hung my head and heaved. Great gulps of air filled my lungs. I was so disoriented, it took me a long while to notice my phone was still buzzing.
When it didn't stop, I brushed the sweat from my eyes and grabbed it. It's Roose, I told myself, trying to work out an excuse for why I'd fled so suddenly. But the number flashing on my screen wasn't the detective's.
Like I was in a dream, I pushed my thumb on the green icon. “Hello?” I asked.
“Finally,” Silver breathed into the device. “Why weren't you picking up?”
All at once, every negative feeling I'd had towards this man washed away. His voice was comforting, even if it sent prickles up my skin. His flat confidence grounded me. He helped melt the terror from my heart.
Shivering, I heard my voice breaking. “Sorry, I was busy.”
“What's wrong?” he said quickly. “You sound out of breath.”
Hesitating, I backed away from the cross-walk as it blinked with its tiny white signal. “It's nothing. I'm just having a weird day.”
“Where are you right now?”
Shit, he sounded really concerned. Again, I reminded myself that I'd been pissed—and confused—because of him. Silver had scared me the other night, and I still didn't know what he'd meant by threatening that I belonged to him. I belonged to no one.
But the surety in his tone... it warmed me.
“Pet,” he demanded. “Tell me where you are.”
“Just down by Heagan street.”
“I'm coming to get you.”
“What?” I lifted my head, scanning the roads like he'd appear from thin air. “That's not necessary.”
“Something is wrong, I can tell. I'm heading there now.”
“Just wait a second!” I didn't need him rushing here when I wasn't in any danger. At the same time, fuck, I wanted to look into his eyes all over again. I was itching to touch him... and to get answers.
Not for five years had the world felt more awful than it had minutes ago. Whatever reason I had for distrusting the man who'd been spying on me, he was the only thing that made me feel good.
Was this how drug users justified their choices, too?
I started to turn, and across the street, I glimpsed a building. “Here, listen. There's a coffee shop right across the street, the...” I squinted. “Caffeine. I'll wait inside for you.”
“Alright,” he said. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”
The line ended, the click as good as a smack to my head. Was I insane? I wanted to laugh at myself. I'd invited my stalker to have coffee with me. Maybe he's infected me with that thing—what's it called, Stockholm syndrome?
Ducking across the street, I stood under the cafe's eaves. It was small, the door pink with green edges. Pushing it open, I walked into the comforting warmth. The smell of cinnamon and bread was distracting, and if I needed anything, it was a distraction.
The shop was a cute, tiny little place with low tables and various rugs strewn over the dented hardwoods. Considering the grey-bloated-ready-to-rain weather outside, it was a welcome escape.