“Nikki,” I say.
“Nikki, it’s me.”
“Oh, my God! Andy!” Nikki says in a rush.
“Oh, God, I’ve been so terrified! We’ve been past your apartment, and the place—”
“Niks, I need your help,” I interrupt her. “I’ve just arrived in…” I glance through the window, looking for some way of identifying where I am. “Um…” Shit. I saw the name on the boards on the road as I drove in.
“Holtsville,” the woman at the counter assists. I glance at her name tag and see the name Abby. I smile in thanks as I return to the call.
“I’m in Holtsville,” I tell Nikki. “At Abby’s Diner,” I read off the menu. It dawns on me that Abby must be more than just a waitress here.
“Holtsville? Where the hell is Holtsville?” Nikki asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “I’m leaving shortly. But…is there any way you could send me some cash?” I cringe as I ask it. I hate people who do this to friends. But I’m in no position to be squeamish.
“Of course!” my best friend responds without hesitation. “Though, don’t you want me to get Dario’s guys over to—?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly. Pieces are falling into place, and it’s occurring to me that Mark had taken me someplace near the Hamptons – probably not far from my mother’s home. This area is not unfamiliar to me; I’ve been reading the signboards. The town of Greenport can’t be more than an hour’s drive away. And in that town is a small bungalow my brother bought shortly before his death. He’d sold a diamond watch our father had given him for his eighteenth birthday – supposedly a piece that would impress people during meetings. Kyle had known that the property would be worth far more over time than a damn watch.
My smart, wonderful brother. I fight back the tears that still come whenever I think about him, then look over at Abby.
“I know this may be an odd request, but could my friend transfer some funds to your account, so I can draw them from you?” I ask. I’m putting in a lot of tall orders today, but I have no other options. Her eyes run over my features briefly as if getting a measure of me.
“Sure, sweetie,” she finally says. She reaches into the pocket of her apron and extracts a pen and paper, scribbling down information. “Here are the bank details for the diner. Send the proof of payment to my email address, and I can give you cash from the till.” I stare at her for a second. Abby might seem like a kindly old sort, but she’s clearly no fool.
I reach for the piece of paper and begin reading the details off to Nikki. “If you can just send enough to get me through a couple of days, I’ll be fine,” I assure her. I need to lie low. There’s no telling when Mark will track me down. Which reminds me that there’s no way I can stay on the road in his glaring yellow Ferrari. I have no doubt he’s able to locate it somehow. It’s only a matter of time before some sort of tracking device has him on my tail. I hear Nikki promising the funds will reflect in minutes.
“But, hon, I really need to do more to help,” she goes on. “Let us come and get you. You’re obviously in trouble.”
How do I explain any of this to her, though?
I still barely understand it myself.
Chapter 8
Andy Carter
“Ipromise I’ll get back in touch as soon as I figure things out,” I say firmly. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I can offer her now. Besides, she’s been through enough, and now pregnant with twins, I’d rather she stay away from my mess. I end the call before she can dissuade me. Abby’s staring at me, and I know I must look like some kind of crazy person.
“I truly appreciate your help,” I say to her, handing back the phone. She pushes a cup of coffee across the counter.
“I’m pretty sure you need this,” she says. I’m staring out the window at the parking bays out front, where the Ferrari is sticking out like a sore thumb. There’s a silver pickup beside it. The only two vehicles parked out there.
“Is that your truck?” I ask. She nods.
“Not as fancy as your wheels, but she gets me ‘round,” she says with a smile.
“Wanna trade?” I ask abruptly.
Her eyes widen. “Well, I…um…”
“It…was a gift from my boyfriend,” I improvise quickly. “Myex-boyfriend. I had to get out of there. If you know what I mean.” She nods slowly. I slide the fob with its dancing stallion across the counter to her.
“It’s gotta be worth at least…a quarter of a million,” I add, trying to sweeten the deal. I’m silently praying I’m not about to get her into any of my trouble. But my need for survival outweighs my conscience right now.
“Sure,” she says, reaching for the keys. I almost blink in surprise. Maybe Abby has a secret wild streak. A sound from nearby draws my attention to the computer screen that’s on the far side of the counter. Abby steps closer, runs her fingers over the keyboard, then turns to look at me with an expression of surprise.
