Owen, thirty minutes later:I’m not drunk or with a naked woman, I promise.
When I attempt to reply, a text bubble pops up, and I halt. The bubble stops, too. I don’t know what to make of all this.
Me:I’m awake.
Owen:Sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else would be up at this hour.
Me:Did you sleep at all?
Owen:No.
Me:Why?
Owen:That’s a complicated question, Miss Riley.
What does that mean? Usually, his late nights are filled with drinking and women, so why not now? And why can’t he sleep?
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I wait for him to say something else. I don’t have to wait long.
Owen:You ever feel like the clock is ticking far faster than you expected?
Oh shit.
Does he suspect me? Or does he think he’s in danger? My brain goes into overdrive.
Me:Life is short.
It’s the only response I can think of, and I find I have the urge to go to him. Every instinct in me believes he’s in danger, and I can’t shake it.
Owen:That it is, Miss Riley.
A pause before the text bubble pops back up.
Owen:Want to go for a hike? Watch the sun rise? I know a good place.
I should say no, but I can’t shake my fear. I also find Iwantto say yes.
Me:Sure. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.
Owen:I’ll be waiting.
I throw my phone on the bed and let my head sink into my hands. I need answers and fast, because Owen is correct: time is running out.
“Brought you a coffee,” Owen says as he opens the passenger door of his red sports car, parked on the empty street and in front of my apartment building, holding out the steaming cup.
It’s still dark outside; only a few stars blink overhead. But the lights from the city block out most of them. The usually-foggy air is clear this morning, and I suck in a deep, cleansing breath and take the warm coffee from his hand, nodding my thanks.
“Do you ever drive a different car?” I ask when he comes around the other side and settles against the heated leather seats.
He puts his blinker on and pulls away from the curb. “This is my only car, Miss Riley. So, no.”
“Why?” I’ve never met anyone with his kind of money who wasn’t drowning in fancy cars.
“Why would I need more than one car?” he says as though it’s obvious.
He’s right, of course, but that information still surprises me.
“Why don’t you sleep, Miss Riley?” he asks, surprising me with that particular question, even though I’d asked him the same one not thirty minutes ago.
