“She just left to find you.”
“Find me? How does she know where I am?”
“Uh, because I told her. I just saw her here a couple of minutes ago. She borrowed my MetroCard and she’s on her way to the hospital in Queens right now.”
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m in the city,” I bark in a clipped voice. “I’m rolling up to the building right now. Shit, I need to catch her.”
“Then go,” O’Connor tells me. “I see you outside at the curb right now. Leave your car. I’ll take care of it. Just go get her, soldier.”
I chuckle in spite of the torrent of emotions swamping me. “I owe you one, O’Connor.”
I end the call and jump out of the car.
Then I start running, ignoring the protests of my stump as my feet chew up the distance between me and the miracle I hope is waiting for me at the other end.
34
~ Evelyn ~
I’m nervous.
Not because of the dankness of the subway station or the crushing press of the other commuters who surround me on the platform. Not even because of the steep edge on the other side of the concrete floor, with its dark tracks and yawning tunnels on either end.
I’m nervous because now that I’m here, I’m afraid of what awaits me at the end of this journey.
What if Gabe is too angry to listen to me?
What if I’ve pushed him too hard and he wants nothing to do with me?
I’ve cost him his job. He left it voluntarily, yes. But his resignation has everything to do with me.
After my talk with Andrew, I am hopeful that Gabe still has a place at Baine International . . . if he wants it.I know my brother still considers him a friend as well.
Maybe all of us will find a way to repair the damage we’ve done to one another.
I hug myself, needing some sense of reassurance as I stand with the crowd filling the station to await the next train. A little old lady seated on one of the thick-hewn wooden benches in the center of the platform stares at me in open curiosity.
I glance down at myself, suddenly reminded of the ruined state of my dress. The red lipstick stains are faded to pink, but still obvious. An ugly reminder of the morning that now seems like it happened days ago.
“Eve.”
I turn around at the sound of the familiar voice. I’m not expecting to hear my name here, and especially not spoken so intimately by the man who just said it.
He is standing a few people back from me. His round face is unsmiling, his balding head shining with perspiration under the milky wash of the fluorescent lights.
“Mr. Hennings.”
He steps forward, melting out of the surrounding crowd. His gaze is oddly disapproving, unblinking as he approaches.
My instincts recognize the threat in him, even before I glance down and see the blunt barrel of a gun partially concealed by the fall of his suit jacket and held low in his hand.
Oh, God. “It was you.”
He stands in front of me now, and despite that we are hemmed in by hundreds of other commuters, my focus narrows to just him and me.
