For 100 Days(105)
The nearest hotel is a cheap chain a few miles away, and Nick runs to check us in while I wait in the car. I can’t take my eyes off him as he strolls into the hotel and walks up to the desk. Will I ever tire of looking at him? Will he always make my pulse quicken and my body melt with desire?
I suspect so, and I intend to spend the next three and a half months testing the theory.
I’m enjoying watching the young reception clerk flirt with my man when my cell phone rings with a local call.
Thinking it’s Stadler or the prison calling with an update on my mom, I swipe the screen and answer. “Hello?”
“Hello, Avery.”
The male voice is thin, but sharp as the edge of a blade. I can’t place it immediately, yet my body’s reaction is visceral, as if I’ve just taken a face full of frigid water.
“Shame about your mother, huh? ‘Course, all things considered, that fall coulda been worse. A helluva lot worse.”
“Who is this?”
An airless chuckle grates across my ear. “Oh, come on, now. I think you know. But I’m guessing your rich boyfriend in there doesn’t.”
Dread forms a cold knot in my gut at the mention of Nick. And, yes, I do recognize this voice now. The fact that I do makes the dread I felt a moment ago corrode into something vile. Something poisonous and deadly.
How did he find me after all this time? The question no sooner burns through my thoughts than I recall the photo that was snapped of Nick and me at the mayor’s gala. The photo that went viral online. Dammit.
Anxious, I chance a look back at Nick now. He’s still at the reception desk, having just signed for our room. The young clerk smiles at him as he takes the key from her, then starts to turn in my direction.
“We need to talk,” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll be in touch.”
The connection is cut, and I’m left holding my phone in trembling hands. I drop it into my purse before Nick returns to the car.
He’s grinning as he climbs in and hands me the room keys in their little paper sleeve. “Honeymoon suite was all they had left. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No.” I force a smile that feels tight on my lips. “I don’t mind.”
He cocks his head at me, frowning. “Something wrong?”
“No.” I try for another smile, a stronger one that draws on years of practice in pretending nothing is wrong when, in reality, my life is coming apart at the seams. “Everything’s fine.”
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