“Yes.”
“Izzy tells me Preston’s awake. How is he?”
“Better than they’d hoped,” she said.
She recounted what the doctors had said.
“Good, good,” he said. “When are you coming back?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’m on duty in the afternoon.”
“I’m at your place,” he told her. “I can get in through the gate but my key for your door isn’t working.”
“What are you doing at my flat?”
He coughed, and made that little humming noise he used whenever he didn’t want to explain himself. “I don’t want to bother you…. I’m looking for something your mother may have left behind.”
Until the flat was bequeathed to Nikki last year, her mother had owned the place for decades. There were still boxes, and cabinets full of papers and files Nikki hadn’t taken time to sort through yet.
“I changed the locks,” she said.
She’d never told her father about the home invasion that had necessitated this. Her mind flexed as that memory merged with theimmediacy of Teddy’s attack last night, triggering tension and filling her mouth with the tang of fear.
She sat, and felt for the light switch, squinting in the sudden glare.
“Oh.” He sounded deflated.
He was silent a long moment.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“If you don’t have the key for me, you don’t have the key,” he said, sounding irritable. “Fine. You should give Massimo a copy, though. He’s watched over this place for decades. A man can be offended when he gives such loyalty and you shut him out!”
Nikki sighed.
“Valerio has the spare,” she told him. “You can always give him a call.”
He hummed again, the sound of deliberation.
“You’ll be back tomorrow?” he said. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
—
Unable to recapture sleep, Nikki stomped to the toilet and then to the kitchen.
Tension and aggravation twitched through her body, and she wished she could work into her punching bag.
—
Izzy and Preston’s home, usually tidy and welcoming, needed cleaning: dishes stacked in the sink, books and papers on tables and chairs. Nikki made coffee, set the porridge on to cook, chopped an apple, then cleared a space on the table and sat.
While the coffee brewed, she iced her throat and worked from her phone, writing an email to her students about the fire in the studio. Classes were canceled until she could find another location.
On Instagram, Sally had accepted her follow request.
Nikki typed a private message:You told me about Claire’s blog last night. Can you share a link?
Sally wrote back immediately:What did you do? Teddy is fuming about you.
