“Damien, no, it’s not necessary.”
“I’m not that far. I just left a client at Eighty-Fifth and Columbus.”
The name and address spill from my lips. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But I could use the company for sure.
While I wait for him to arrive, the scene from the intersection plays on a loop in my brain. Closing my eyes, I try torecapture the exact sensation I felt in between my shoulder blades.Hard like a fist.Is someone possibly after me?
It’s only then that I recall the sense memory that was triggered seconds earlier, when I glanced at the sleeve of my coat in the rain: in my mind I could see myself dabbing at my blood-covered fingers. I can’t be sure, though, if it’s really a memory or simply an image I conjured up from thinking so much about those tissues. I glance back at my coat, bunched behind me on the banquette, but it stirs nothing now.
I’m halfway through my wine when I catch sight of Damien through the window, shaking out his small umbrella. A few seconds later he bursts through the door, and to my dismay, my heart skips at the sight of him.
He plops into a chair across from me, not bothering to take off his khaki raincoat. His face is dewy and his hair slightly darkened from rainwater.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Just rattled. Thanks so much for coming.”
“Like I said, I wasn’t far away. How scary.”
I snicker. “This must seem like déjà vu to you. Me wet and disheveled again, looking like a total mess.”
He flashes a smile. “Well, it’s definitely not your usual look. Or, I should say, your usual look when I knew you. Did you see who pushed you?”
“No, and—maybe I’m wrong. There’s a chance someone accidentally knocked me over. But it didn’t feel that way.”
“Could it have been a random crazy person?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have any enemies, do you?”
“I didn’t think so. Though what do I know? Everything these days seems so jumbled.”
“Because of what you went through last week?”
“Right—and...” Am I really going to go into it all with him?Yes. “Do you remember what happened to me when I was nine? Finding that little girl’s body?”
“Of course.”
I give him the entire update: what I remembered about the timeline, my meeting with the police yesterday.
He’s quiet when I finish. God, is this going to be like Hugh’s reaction all over again? But then he reaches for my hand. The rough calluses on his fingers make me realize he must still play the guitar.
“I’m sorry that you had to dig that all up again,” he says. “I always sensed it bothered you more than you let on.”
“I really appreciate that.” And I’m not simply being polite. His words are comforting.
“Do you think what happened tonight is connected somehow?”
“I’m not sure. If what I told the police this week got out, it could be threatening to whoever killed Jaycee. Which might be her mother or the mother’s boyfriend. And for the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had this weird sense that someone is watching me.”
“I want you to be careful, Ally. Do you promise?”
“Yes, I intend to,” I say, though I have no clue how I’m supposed to do that. “Look, I better go.”
“You want me to walk you back to your building?”
“I can get back on my own, thanks.” It wouldn’t be good to have Hugh see me accompanied home by Damien.
