“I thought you were dead,” Jack groaned.
Boris raised an eyebrow. “Not yet.”
“Yeah, good,” said Jack, turning for the stairs. “Keep it that way.”
“Bossy,” said Boris, flashing a grin of approval.
Jack rolled his eyes so hard that he missed the first step.
The phone rangwhile Jack was in the shower. In his rush to answer, he tripped over the bathmat and crashed hard against the floor, knees screaming in agony. It didn’t matter. He scrambled back his feet and darted naked to the phone.
“You got a call,” said Boris, his voice hazy. Jack could imagine him tapping his fingers against the desk, book overturned in his lap.
It was strange to talk to Boris while naked, even over the phone. Jack’s cheeks heated. If Boris knew, would he care? Would his stomach flip? Would his palms sweat like Jack’s?
He shook himself mentally. Now wasn’t the time.
“Thanks,” he said. The phone trembled against his ear. “Patch her through.”
“She’s fine, by the way. I asked.”
“Thanks,” said Jack, firmer this time.
“Just trying to help. Here you go.”
Carla’s voice was tinny through the phone line, rough from crying or shouting. “Come over, Jack.”
“Yeah,” he said, heart racing. “I’ll be there. You alright?”
A sniffle. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m gonna be OK. It didn’t work.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “It was brave of you to try.”
“It wasn’t brave. It was stupid.”
“No, no,” said Jack, wishing she were right beside him so that he could pull her close and reassure her with something (anything) more adequate than words. “You did good, sweetheart.”
“Just come over,” said Carla, voice breaking on a sob. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Right,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be right there.”
He toweled off and fought his way into his clothes like a man possessed. Ran out the front door and down the street, ignoring Boris’s worried, “Jack?” as the bell rang overhead.
Satchel clutched to his chest, he flew to the edge of town and only narrowly avoided getting hit by two cars in quick succession as he crossed the street. Someone honked, and he gave an apologetic wave, but didn’t dare slow down.
He tried not to speculate as he ran. Forced himself not to imagine Carla staring down the barrel of a gun, ducking fists, fleeing for her life…
By the time he reached the bottom of Hidden Hill, he was out of breath, legs aching, heart thundering. After a brief pause (during which he gasped like a fish), he carried on jogging uphill, sustained only by adrenaline and a burning need to confirm Carla’s safety.
A sedan passed. Maroon, tinted windows.
Jack froze. Debated leaping into the bushes.
The car slowed. He had the uncomfortable sensation that behind those tinted windows were watching eyes.
The sedan sped off in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
Jack watched it go. Dread unfurled in his stomach.
