—Mark Twain
It’s midmorning, and I’m in the paranormal section of floor three, just having finished up with a patron. My finger runs over the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice, a series that is truly about killers pretending to be just normal people. Just as I feel right now—like a killer pretending to be a normal human.
Exactly why I’ve stayed on the floor with patrons, and far away from Jack, one of the only people who knows me well enough to look into my eyes and see the shift from human to killer. A plan that goes right out the door as he hunts me down, rather ironically, right here, next to that vampire novel I was just contemplating. “It’s almost eleven,” he says, appearing distracted by some impending deadline he goes on to explain. “I agreed to twice-a-week PT for a month, starting today. It’s supposedly my answer to not getting surgery, per my doctor.”
My relief at his departure and my escape from his all-too-seeing eyes is immense, a tidal wave washing over me, but I manage to keep cool. “Well, maybe it is,” I encourage him. “You want me to bring you some lunch back when I run out?”
“That would be appreciated.”
“You got it.”
He heads out, and finally I have the green light to return to my office and tackle the paperwork waiting on me while he’s away. I’ve just settled in, sitting at my desk to get busy, when my cellphone buzzes with a text message. My pang of unease is instant, filling me with a sense of dread that is now a programmed reaction to any communication, when only weeks ago I felt no such thing.
Back then, which wasn’t really “back then” at all, my text feed was filled with messages from my two Js, as well as my father here and there, all pleasant exchanges I looked forward to and enjoyed. With a leaden hand, I reach for my phone, unsurprised to find Adam in my alert box. His message reads:I made you an eye doctor appointment for your lunch hour.The address, my own personal eye doctor’s address, which is only a few blocks from here, is included in the text. I wet my dry lips and swallow hard with the real message in this message. He knows everything, even who I use for my eye care.
He is always close and usually closer than I assume.
He must be a hacker or pay someone who is a hacker to monitor me. It’s the only way he could know such personal details about me.
With her typical bad timing, my mother chooses then to call. Certain, without a question mark to be found, that I cannot handle her right now, I hit the decline button. Right after, and I meanright afterI do so, I receive a text from my father:I trust the attorney handling the negotiation. We’ll get a solid contract, honey. I promise. Thanks for worrying. I love you.
Defeat is imminent,I think, both his and mine. I forward the message to Jess. She replies almost instantly with:I’m having lunch with our mutual attorney. Erin will not be attending. I’ll call you after. As for your dad, ask him to have a second attorney from a different firm read the contract before signing. Tell him it’s standard practice with a contract this large. It’s bullshit but it buys you time. I’ll get you another name.
It’s great advice, and I text my father:Jess suggests you have a second attorney from another firm review the contract when this much is on the line. She’s getting us a second recommendation.
That’s very kind of her, he answers.Can we get that name today?
That question—“today?”—tells me all I need to know. I was right. He was silent last night because he’s already made up his mind about the patent. He was about to sign the deal with Big Davis.Good Lord, and thank you, Jess.She bought me and my father time. I reply to his message with:I’ll text her now.
I forward the exchange to Jess and add a note that states the obvious:I think he was about to sign with Big Davis.
Her reply:I’ll text him the second attorney’s name. I already talked to that person. There won’t be a repeat of what happened with Nick. I feel like shit for recommending someone who seems to want to sleep with me and Big Davis.
I actually laugh, when that really shouldn’t be possible right now, and shoot her back a quick response, after which I glance at the clock and conclude the paperwork has to wait. It seems I have an eye doctor appointment, and my master and stalker will not be pleased if I do not attend.
After I check the lunch coverage with the staff, I grab my bag and make my way to the escalators. I’m on the way down, about to call in a take-out order to be ready in about forty-five minutes, when floor two comes into view, and my heart thunders in my chest. The man, the stranger who was in the board meeting but is not a board member, is there, and oh yes, he’s watching me. Our eyes lock, his boldly holding mine, and I can feel the connection this time, and not a connection between me and him. Between him and Adam. Every instinct I own screams a warning in my head and body.
The minute the wall disconnects our view of each other, I start walking down the steps I would normally ride. I’m motivated, ready foranswers where there have been none. Adam, the man who made me a killer in my mind,isinvisible. This man,this man, whoever he is, is not.
Once I’m on floor one, I cut left, ignoring Akia, who I walk right past, and heading for the escalators that lead to floor two. Once I’m at the escalator, I am all but running up them, panting as I round the corner to find the man and all his things gone. He knew. He knew I was coming for him.
Chapter Seventy-Four
“Finally going for it, are you?” Dr.Smith asks as he rolls his chair in front of the one I’m presently sitting in. “I’ve been trying to get you in contacts for years. You’re going to love them when you jog.”
“I’m sure I will,” I concede, all too willing to admit that glasses while jogging are challenging at best, and at worst a tad bit dangerous, considering they fall off, or fog up, when I keep them on, and I’m virtually blind without them. “You know why I’ve resisted,” I add. “It’s the whole finger in the eye thing. It bothers me.”
“It becomes second nature. I promise.”
He says this, and I know he means well, but he’s still forced to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to convince me just to put the lenses in my eyes. However, once they’re finally in, my glasses packed neatly in a case in my purse, I’m feeling pretty darn amazed about how crisp and clear everything around me is looking right now.
Once I’m at the front desk checking out, his tech Mauve, who actually has a shade of mauve hair, asks, “How do you like them so far?”
“Better than I thought I would.”
“And even better a week from now, I promise.” She hands me a sheet of paper. “This is your prescription, but don’t order until you’re sure the prescription feels right. We can tweak it if needed.”
A few minutes later I step outside and reach for my nose to shove my glasses up, an obvious habit, but my glasses are not on my face. “Ido like this,” I murmur to myself, but I also dread the next time my finger must go in my eye.
