Once we reached the lobby, I hurried out of the elevator and rushed to my car, knowing I had made a huge mistake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jenny wasn’t in the studio when I got back. I took an Advil for the pain, though most of it had subsided on its own. As the setting sun infused the studio with a golden glow, I paced between paintings and sculptures. This was about finding Nick, I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t ignore the depth of Agatha's betrayal, furious at myself for not connecting the dots sooner. I felt nauseated remembering how I had apologized to her after returning to LA, as if I had done her wrong.
With my anxiety soaring, I sat on the floor and held my head between my legs. Since I didn’t have a needle at hand, I settled for pinching my arms as hard as I could until my flesh turned numb and hot. By the time I stopped, red marks had formed on both my arms, but at least I felt more composed.
I stood up and glanced out the window, half expecting to see someone watching me from the parking lot. I had revealed too much today to Agatha, painting a target on my back. I needed to let Hayden know about what happened. He answered my call with a tired, “I was about to call you.”
I hated it when people said that, as if it gave them a free pass. “I need to talk to you, but not over the phone.”
“You don’t sound good. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I exhaled. “I might have done something stupid.”
He stalled before saying, “Let’s meet, then. I also have news. Can I come to your place in a couple of hours? I’ll grab us dinner.”
“Okay.”
I spent the next hour working, but my mind wasn’t into it. Art could be a good distraction, but when you lack focus, you end up doing more harm than good.
I drove back to my mountain and parked outside my house. The only source of light came from the porch lights, which turned on automatically when it got dark. I walked up the three stairs, my back still aching and stiff. I slipped my key into the keyhole, but before I could turn it, the door slid a few inches open. Hadn’t I locked the door this morning? I always double-checked. Was Hayden already here? But his car wasn’t outside, and the lights in the house were off.
I took a step back, holding my breath as my heart sped up. I could hear movement from inside the house, but it might have been my imagination. I managed to take two more silent steps back when the door sharply opened. I barely caught a glimpse of the man standing inside before I turned around and jumped down the three steps. I ran toward my car, heavy footsteps following. I was halfway to my destination, my heart pounding, when I was yanked back and smashed against a hard torso. Strong arms wrapped around my chest.
Out here, screaming for help was pointless, so I tried to jab my elbows into the man’s gut instead, but I couldn’t gain enough momentum. Without a warning, he pushed me forward, sending me down to the ground. Little rocks dug into my palms and knees.
My car was a few feet away, but I would need to get up, reach the car door, unlock it, and then start the engine. I remained on the ground, willing my heart to settle down.
“A nice place you have here. Killer view.”
I pushed myself to my knees as the man from Agatha’s office walked to stand in front of me. The porch light illuminated his face with a bluish glow. I wondered if I could sprint toward the dark woods and get lost. It would be harder for him to catch me there, and I knew the area better than he did.
As if he could read my mind, the man took a step forward. “Don’t get creative. I’m just here to talk.”
“You broke into my house.”
“So? I didn’t steal anything. You better get up; when I see a man on his knees, I get all sorts of ideas.”
I pushed myself to my feet, brushing little rocks from my body. When he took another step forward, I clenched my fists, though I couldn’t take him down in a fight.
“Relax,” the man said, holding his hands up in peace. “I don’t like breaking pretty things.” He took another step forward, stopping less than two feet from me. “Why did you come to see Agatha today?”
“She must’ve told you.”
“I’m asking you.”
“A friend of mine has gone missing. He’s Agatha’s client. I wanted to check if she had anything to do with it.”
“And did she?”
We both knew the answer. “She said she didn’t, and then you came and threw me out. End of story.”
He closed the gap between us and held my chin. “Who are you working with?”
“What?”
He slapped me. “I hate repeating myself.Whoare you working with?”
