Randall.So that's the name of whoever she's running from.
"Tell me about Randall," I say.
"No."
"Carla."
"I said no."She refills my coffee even though the last three cups were drilling a hole in my stomach."This is my problem.Not yours."
"It became mine when I kissed you."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Makes perfect sense to me."
She shakes her head."You don't know what you're getting into."
"So tell me."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
The old guy at the end of the counter waves his mug, and Carla moves away to refill it.When she comes back, her expression is harder.More closed off.
"You need to stay out of this," she says.
"Not going to happen."
"Timothy, I'm serious.These guys are dangerous."
"So am I."
"You don't understand.Randall isn't some random guy.He's Special Forces.Green Beret.And he has friends.A lot of them.If he finds out you're involved, he'll come after you too."
"Good.Let him."
"This isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking."I lean forward."Someone's watching you, Carla.Someone who knows where you work, where you live, probably where you shop.That's not going away.And eventually, he's not just going to watch."
She just shrugs.
"So what's your plan?Keep ignoring it and hope he gets bored?"
"My plan is to handle it."
"How?"
She doesn't answer.
Because she doesn't have a plan.She's just surviving day to day, hoping she can stay hidden long enough for him to give up.
But guys like Randall don't give up.I've known men like that.Obsessive.Possessive.The kind who'd rather destroy something than let someone else have it.
"I have to get back to work," she says.
