Man of the House(40)

There was a real menace, a real attack happening, and I was at the center of it. Really, Carter was at the center, but our relationship was an important aspect of that. I was the reason that he was being blackmailed so easily, that things were crumbling apart. Mom didn’t seem to blame me and wasn’t angry with me, but I could tell that she was disappointed. She was angrier with Carter, and for good reason.

I didn’t blame him. I was as much to blame as he was. I didn’t have to sleep with him in the pool-house that day. I knew the risks when he told me about what had happened with the note and why he had turned me down, but I still slept with him anyway. There was just something so intense between us, so undeniable. It was animalistic and pure in a way that I’d never experienced before.

Carter was a man in every sense of the world. He wasn’t like the boys I’d been with. He knew what he wanted and he took it. Maybe that was getting him into trouble here, but I couldn’t help but admire him for it.

There was no turning back now. It was too late for all of us to go back to pretending like Carter and Mom were happily married. We had to figure out who exactly was after him and find out what they wanted. Carter said he had some ideas, but nothing concrete yet.

I had to leave the mansion. I stayed there that night, but I left early the next morning. I had no plans or anywhere to go, I just knew I couldn’t sit around that house and obsess about someone watching a video of me and Carter sleeping together. I thought maybe hanging around San Francisco would be a good distraction, but so far it wasn’t perfect.

I kept coming back to that picture. You could see both of our faces so clearly in it. Worse than that, though, was the way my mother looked with me with such disappointment clear on her face.

I was supposed to help her with this. She had high hopes for this scheme and thought maybe we could finally get some money to make our lives better. I screwed it up, though, and nothing was going to fix it.

I headed off the path near the bay and headed toward downtown. I wanted to get where there were more people and shops, maybe grab something to eat. I had to stop thinking about all of this. I was going back to the mansion soon enough and there was no changing that fact, so I might as well try to enjoy myself a little bit for the day.

The problem of Carter himself wasn’t resolved though, not by a long shot. I didn’t know where this all left us, if we were going to still sleep together, if he even wanted that. Despite the stupidity of it, I knew I still wanted him and that wasn’t going to change. I didn’t say that, of course, because he needed to make up his own mind. But as far as I was concerned, I knew that if he wanted me again, he could have me. He could have every inch of me.

As I passed into a more populated city area, I got a really strange feeling. I walked a few blocks, trying to shake it off, but I just kept thinking that someone was following me. I stopped and turned back twice, but couldn’t tell if there was someone back there. Disturbed, I kept moving, and eventually wound up at a Vietnamese sandwich place for lunch.

After eating, I kept walking, and again I got that feeling. This time, I thought I spotted him: bald, on the short side, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. He looked about as nondescript as possible.

Freaked out, I went into a shop for a few minutes. When I thought the coast was clear, I left again, and started walking. I went right up to the first crosswalk and turned left, looking back behind me as I went.

I spotted him again, and fear spiked through me. He was wearing a hat now, but I recognized the rest of his clothes and his face.

Panic rose up through my throat like bile. I started walking faster, nearly jogging, weaving my way through traffic. I walked through a few more lights before ducking into a doorway and watching behind me, breathless.

I couldn’t see him. Maybe I was making it up and he just happened to be following me. I stared down the street, waiting. Two minutes went by.

I looked to the other side of the street and nearly screamed. There he was, leaning against a stand, reading a newspaper.

I ducked inside the shop, heart hammering in my chest. I didn’t know what to do. Clearly the man was following me, and I was sure he had something to do with Carter. I didn’t know if I should call him or try to lose the guy on my own. I couldn’t decide what was worse.

I was kidding myself. I couldn’t lose this guy. He was probably a professional of some sort, and I didn’t know anything about being followed. Trying not to freak out too much, I called Carter’s phone.

He answered on the second ring. “Emily,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Carter,” I said, surprised at how breathless I sounded. “I’m in downtown and I was walking, trying to clear my head, when I got this weird feeling on my neck. You know, like tingling—“