The Distraction (22 page)

He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and a blue ball cap covered his rich chocolate hair. It was already growing longer, fringing behind his ears. His eyes found mine, and the depth in them was so striking, I was momentarily frozen, unable to rise. But my gaze was drawn beyond them, to the tight lines around his eyes, the brand of pain, and the prominence of his cheekbones. He'd lost weight since the hospital. His right arm was in a sling, and the hand that emerged was fisted so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Wait.” I had a hundred questions—Where was he going? How long until I saw him again?—but the agent who'd sat beside us was already ushering him away.

“Are you okay?” I asked quickly. “Have you seen a doctor?”

He leaned toward me, and this time I felt his lips brush my ear. The brim of his cap nudged the side of my head.

“What you did for my dad, that means something. But let Mac take it from here. No more ties to me until after the trial.”

“Wait . . .”

“When this is over, I will come home to you. I promise.”

He'd heard my message—the voice mail I'd left the night Jacob had run away. Knowing he could hear my voice, even if I couldn't hear his, settled me some, but I still wasn't ready to let him go. I stood, and tried to follow him down the row, but was blocked by several people shaking hands in the aisle.

He walked slowly, head down, shoulders hunched, with an FBI agent on each side. They weren't as tall or broad as he was, but it was his size that made him appear even more defeated.

It took everything I had not to chase after him.

I
did try to pawn Thomas off on Mac, but the man was as stubborn as his son and insisted on coming home with me. He moved to the couch despite my arguments, and booby-trapped my front door and windowsills with cups and mugs that were supposed to make a loud noise if someone tried to break in.

Who needed a police escort when I had a blind man and his golden retriever?

Mac came and picked up Thomas in the morning when I went to work. They were going to Mac's restaurant, a burger joint on the other side of the Bay, where Alec had taken me on our first date. There was enough booze there to drown a horse, but I figured Mac would keep his friend on a short leash.

It wasn't easy, but I never told Thomas I'd seen his son. As far as anyone needed to know, Alec was in protective custody. He was safe. And if he got the chance to watch me from afar, I'd make sure he got a good view. One that involved a hip-hugging skirt, an off the shoulder top, and a pair of black stilettos.

I tried to focus on my short time with Alec, not the frustration that I didn't know when I'd see him again. He could hear my voice on his messages, that was positive. And he knew where I was, which meant he might show up for another surprise visit soon.

But he was thin, and hurting, and I seriously doubted the FBI was putting his health before its own needs.

“I guess you probably saw the news.”

Amy pulled me from my thoughts. I was sitting in her chair in the salon, twisting a lock of hair around my finger. She was doing something a little concerning with the right side of my head—a twisty rose of hair with a feather she'd pulled from her drawer. Sometimes I wondered if you had to
be
high in order to appreciate her interpretation of high fashion.

“Not this morning,” I said. “Why?”

Her hands came to rest on my shoulders. The curling iron was dangerously close to my left eye, but she didn't seem concerned.

“They set a date.”

“The new
Bachelorette
couple? Please. Six months, tops.”

“Come on, it's at least a year. They have to make it through all the cast reunion interviews.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “That's not what I'm talking about. They set a date for Maxim Stein's trial.”

“What?”
I was so loud half of the salon looked my way. Amy pressed me back into my chair.

“Here.” She handed me her phone so that I could look up the link to the news.

The story was short, just a couple of paragraphs. After the prosecution had called an emergency meeting with the judge, the trial date had been set. It would start at the beginning of August and was estimated to last two months. Other than a quote from Charlotte MacAfee's brother, who was pleased to begin the proceedings, there was little else.

Two and a half months. I scanned the appointment calendar on Amy's cart. I would see Alec in ten weeks.

I couldn't see Alec for ten weeks.

Had he known last night when he'd seen me at his father's meeting? He couldn't have. He would have told me.

This was all going to be over soon, and then he was coming home to me.

“Wonder what the emergency meeting was about,” Amy said cynically. She knew what had happened at the hotel. Alec's lawyer must have informed the judge of the threat.

That didn't mean they'd arrested Reznik though, or put Maxim Stein where he should have been, behind bars.

“You doing all right?” asked Amy.

I wanted to scream
finally
, and
that's too far away
, and find someone who could tell me exactly what to expect once it started. But the sheer force of the date pummeled me. Everything that Alec had been through—that
we
had been through—was about to be laid out for judgment before a jury. He would have to face every demon he'd fought to put behind him, including the man who'd raised him up only to shove him down and attempt to kill him. I was most definitely
not
doing all right.

Ten more weeks without Alec.

“I hope that jury kicks Stein's ass” was all I could say.

Amy squeezed my shoulder. “Me, too.”

She returned to curling my hair.

“So what are we doing tonight?”

Any plans I'd had seemed shallow in relation to what I'd just learned, but life went on. There was still a full month to wait before the trial.

“It's a surprise.” Tomorrow evening I was going to meet her “friend” Jonathan at the new pizza parlor by Paisley's school, but for tonight, Amy was all mine. Miss Iris was even taking care of Paisley.

Amy squealed excitedly. “Are you taking me to your naughty stripper class?”

I cringed. I hadn't been back to the gym since the last time I had seen Trevor there. He'd been right about putting some distance between us. Even if I did want to talk to him more about the person he loved who'd been hurt, I couldn't while his feelings for me were getting in the way of our friendship.

“Nope,” I said.

“Should I bring dollar bills for tips?”

I snorted. “Um . . . no.”

“Are we going dancing?”

“I'm not telling you.” Honestly, I felt a little bad about hiding it, but she'd never agree to come if I told her.

The lobby door clanged over the Justin Timberlake song piped in through the speakers as someone entered. I glanced back over my shoulder, surprised to see a familiar face. It was almost six, and Marcos must have been off duty. He was wearing the polo shirt again, tucked in to his khaki pants. Maybe his non-date had become an actual date this time.

“I've got to go see someone,” I said, raking the feathers out of my hair. Amy made a face, but eventually helped me take down the spiral she'd pinned there.

“You'll pick me up at seven?” she asked.

“Yes. Wear workout clothes.”

And there was the second face.

“Please tell me we're not running some hooray-great-cause 5K or something. You know how I detest exercise.”

“You'll love it, I promise.”

Or you'll kill me, one of the two.

With a reassuring smile, I headed toward the front desk, but paused before I approached. From my view, I could see Marcos, but he couldn't see me. He was talking to Derrick, and the smile on his face was so wide I nearly didn't recognize him.

Derrick said something, and Marcos laughed into his hand. A blush rose up his neck. Derrick fixed his collar, and he didn't shy away, didn't even move.

“Oh,” I said out loud.

Marcos wasn't here to see me. Marcos was here to see Derrick.

They both turned at my announcement. Derrick grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Marcos looked like I'd just told him his grandma had died.

“Anna.” Whatever he planned on saying next was lost in a storm of coughing.

“Hey.” Trying desperately not to embarrass him, I closed the distance between us and squeezed his biceps. “It's good to see you.”

“Rich has something for you,” said Derrick.

“Rich?”

“Is my first name,” muttered Marcos.

“They give robots first names?” Guess I probably should have known that.

Marcos elbowed me.

“Okay,” said Derrick. “I've got some paperwork to do. It was good seeing you Rich.” He glanced at me, then back to Marcos. “Um . . . Maybe this is presumptuous, but I have an assistant manager closing up if you wanted to grab a drink later.”

Marcos went fire engine red. I was pretty sure his head was about to explode.

“Oh . . . I . . .”

“He'd love to,” I answered for him.

“Great.” Derrick grinned at him and then walked away.

Marcos's breath left in a huff.

“Looks like you've got a date, big guy.” I patted him on the back.

His eyes shot to the floor. I wondered how long he'd been out—or if he even was. If I had to guess, I'd say he was pretty new at this game. I'd have to tell Derrick to go easy on him.

“I ran that plate you mentioned.” Marcos retrieved a piece of folded paper from his pocket. “The car is registered to a Jacqueline Frieda. She's clean. No priors. Not even a speeding ticket.” He passed me the paper, still unable to meet my gaze.

The driver's license picture was a few years old, and a little fuzzy. The woman in the picture had chin-length hair and was halfway into a smile, making it a typical, terrible license picture, but it was definitely the same person who'd been looking for Alec.

I wished I'd thought to ask him about her when I'd seen him last.

“She's a lawyer,” said Marcos. “Not sure if that helps.”

What would a lawyer be doing looking for Alec? He already had a lawyer in the Maxim Stein case. Maybe she was working on the defense and was trying to pump him for information. That would explain why she wasn't very forthcoming with what she needed.

I scanned the printout for anything else that might be useful, but he'd already ripped off the corner with her address.

“She causing you trouble?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

“Not really. She's looking for Alec. I was just wondering who she was.”

Marcos snagged back the paper. “I could get fired for running his exes, I hope you know that.”

I shot him a look. “It's not like that. I'm just . . . paranoid these days.”

He softened. “Yeah. All right.” Another moment passed before he finally looked at me. “Everything else going okay?”

“They set a date for the trial.” I wanted to tell someone who knew how important this was.

“I heard that.”

Of course he had. “Does everybody know but me?”

“It made national news,” he said. “So, yes.”

I shoved him with one hand, and he rocked back on his heels, a hint of a smirk lighting his face.

“You have my number if anything feels off.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. It wasn't fancy, just a small flip-phone. He shoved it my way.

“Got you something.”

“Thanks?” It seemed rude to mention I already had one.

He sighed. “It's a burner. We have a few of them floating around the station. Terry and I thought it'd be a good idea for you to carry one in case something comes up.”

“Oh.” I was touched. “Thanks.”

He leaned closer. “Just because I'm assigned somewhere else, doesn't mean I'm not around, all right? I'll keep an eye on you 'til this all gets straightened out.”

He had a big brother vibe about him. I liked that.

“You going to camp outside my apartment again?”

“Maybe I'll just run a trace on that phone.”

“Stalker.”

“Smart-ass.”

I hugged him. It took a second for him to hug me back, but when he did, he squeezed me tight.

“You don't need to mention tonight to anyone, all right?” he said quietly.

So he wasn't out. It meant a lot that he trusted me with his secret.

“Who am I going to tell?” I asked as we pulled apart. But as I saw his face I knew he was referring to my friend and his boss, Terry Benitez. I didn't think he would have had a problem, but coming out to a friend and coming out to the police force were two different things.

“My lips are sealed,” I said. “I hope you two have fun.”

His ears turned pink.

“God, you're in trouble,” I said.

Before he could turn serious, I skirted away around a makeup display. My shift was almost up, and I had a date of my own with Amy.

“W
hat is this?” Amy asked as I pulled into the YMCA parking lot. It was dark out, but the floodlights were on. I parked beneath one in the back; the front spots were all filled, probably for the basketball leagues boasted on the sign out front.

I'd tucked the burner phone Marcos gave me deep in the bottom pocket of my purse. Absently I slid my fingers over the small lump of plastic, comforted by its presence.

“This, my friend, is the YMCA.” I started singing her the Village People's song, complete with the arm motions.

“I know it's the YMCA,” she said. “I did not leave my six-year-old with a sitter so that I could go to a place where I can take my six-year-old.”

I tried to keep my enthusiasm up, knowing that this was going to be a hard sell.

“Give me an hour,” I said. “Then we'll go get burgers. I know a guy who has this great place. Sort of a dive, but awesome food.” Plus I'd agreed to pick up Thomas from Mac when we got to his restaurant, which I planned on filling Amy in on only after phase one was complete.

She grumbled her consent and I met her outside of the car. We were both in black yoga pants and workout tops—my blue Lycra T-shirt was still a little loose on her, but she looked good in light makeup and a ponytail. Athletic. Like she could kick some ass.

Which is exactly what we were about to do.

Arms linked, we entered the front doors. I hadn't been to this facility, but I'd made sure to get all the details ahead of time. The place smelled like sweat and pool water, and from somewhere to my left came the whir of treadmills.

“Remember I love you,” I said. “Don't be mad.”

“What . . .”

“Hey ladies.” Mike appeared from down the hall to greet us at the front desk. He was holding a clipboard under one arm and was wearing sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt that didn't hide the ripples of muscles in his chest and upper arms. Amy and I both took a moment to appreciate the view before she pinched me hard on the wrist.

“What the fuck is this?” she said between her teeth so only I could hear. Her smile was as wide as physically possible, and more than a little frightening.

Mike pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the cheek. He was warm and strong and made me miss Alec, and I nearly broke down and said that I'd seen him. I didn't though; I didn't want to do anything that put anyone in danger.

“Hi Amy.” Mike held out his hand, giving her plenty of room. She stiffly placed her fingers over his, but instead of shaking, he squeezed. His eyes never left hers. He never moved closer.

“I'm glad to see you,” he said.

“Both of you,” I added. “I'm glad to see
both
of you. I think that's what you meant.”

Mike grinned. “Ready to beat me up?”

Amy blinked. “What?”

“Mike does a women's self-defense class every week,” I said. “After everything that's happened, I figured I needed a refresher.”

She saw right through me, of course. This was for her, and we all knew it. Her fair skin hid nothing and blossomed red, and she shot me a glare that was half fury, half panic.

“An hour,” I promised. “For me. Then burgers.”

Muttering something about cutting my hair off while I slept, she followed Mike as he turned down the hall and entered a multipurpose room with mirrored walls. We sat beside each other on the blue mats that lined the floor, beside half a dozen other women. Some of them looked comfortable, and joked with Mike as he passed around the sign-in sheet. Others trembled like leaves.

“Welcome to women's self-defense,” Mike announced. “If you're in the wrong room you've got twenty seconds to leave before you hurt my feelings.”

A couple of the girls laughed. He grinned, his gaze landing on Amy. She focused on retying her shoes. As guilty as I felt for springing this on her, I really hoped she learned something tonight. I didn't want her to be afraid anymore.

“Okay,” said Mike. “Twenty seconds is up. From now on, if you leave, expect me to cry.” More laughs. He grew serious. “I'm kidding, of course. This is a safe place, ladies, and if you need to step out at any time, go ahead.”

He met the gaze of a woman with short gray hair in the front row, who nodded slowly.

“I teach this because it's important to me,” Mike continued. “I'm proud to say I've never hit a woman. Never come close to hitting a woman. See, I don't believe in hitting women. My father taught me that, every time he beat my mom.”

Amy glanced at me. Miss Iris was Mike's mom. I had no idea she'd been abused.

“Every time he raised his hand to her, it reinforced what I already knew: You don't hurt the people you love. You especially don't hurt the people that
I
love. My father won't hurt another woman again, but that doesn't mean my mom or I will ever forget what he did to us.”

He was looking at Amy again, only this time, she was looking back.

“You all have your reasons for being here. Whatever they are, you're going to leave feeling stronger. I promise.”

Amy got up, and walked out.

I jumped to my feet and followed, feeling Mike's eyes on us. He didn't miss a beat though; he opened the class to a discussion of how to avoid becoming a target.

The door squealed on the hinges as I stepped into the hallway. Amy was heading toward the bathroom with her head down, but when she heard me, she spun around. Her shoes squeaked on the scuffed linoleum floor.

“What were you thinking, bringing me here?” she asked. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She might as well have kicked me in the gut. I was the world's worst friend.

“I thought . . .”

She didn't let me finish.

“What makes you think I want to dig into all that stuff, huh? It's behind me. It's in the past.”

I took a step closer. “It's not in the past,” I said gently. “It's hiding right under the surface. For you, and for Paisley, too.”

“Even if that's true, it doesn't mean
you
need to fix it.”

She was right.

“I shouldn't have surprised you,” I said. “That was wrong and I'm sorry. But I do think you need to do something.”

She pressed the heels of her hand to her eyes.

I stepped closer. “One day you're going to meet a guy, the right one, and you guys are going to fight, and I don't want Paisley to run and hide under the bed, or you to be afraid when all you're supposed to be is mad.”

She forced a shuddering breath.

“He thinks I'm a victim.”

She looked back toward the room, staring at the wall as if she could see Mike behind it.

“He thinks you're a survivor,” I said. “Seems like he has a pretty high opinion of survivors.”

A long moment passed. I figured we were done here. I'd drive her back to her apartment. She'd tell me she was too tired for dinner. The whole way home I would kick myself for dragging her here when she wasn't ready.

“You've done this before?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

“We don't have to talk about stuff, right?”

“Not about anything personal,” I said. “Though that would probably be a good idea.”

“Don't push it.”

I smiled. She groaned. Then sniffled. Then gave me a hug.

“I hate you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“All right,” she said. “Let's do this.”

*   *   *

An hour later we'd gone over the definitions of verbal, mental, and physical abuse, talked about body-language cues, and discussed ways to be more aware in our environments. We'd yelled “no” as a group, louder and louder, until Amy's voice rose over my own.

Then Mike had put on a padded suit, and we'd taken turns kicking him, striking him, and pushing him and running away. We'd broken into pairs and pretended to gouge out each other's eyes, then practiced what to do if someone grabbed our wrists or hair. I had volunteered to help Mike demonstrate ways to break out of a rear choke hold, and when I took him to the floor he groaned, and mumbled, “I bet I know where you learned that one.”

When it was Amy's turn to wrestle him on the floor, she moved fast—impressively fast—and then escaped to the end of the line where I waited.

I gave her a high five.

“Was that good?” she asked, breathing hard.

“Are you kidding? It was awesome.”

“Think Mike was impressed?”

I laughed. “You kicked him in the face. If that doesn't impress him, nothing will.”

She looked pleased with herself.

When the class was over, we stayed late to thank him. He put his pads away in a duffle bag and left the room open for the maintenance staff.

“So?” he asked Amy. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” She fixed her hair. “Really good, actually.”

“You've got some skill,” he told her. “You've taken martial arts before, I guess.”

“No,” said Amy. “Just a careful study of
The Karate Kid
.”

He lifted his arms and right knee, as if to do a crane kick, and she giggled like a teenager.

“So,” he said slowly. “I've got to go pick up Chloe. I could give you a ride home if you like.” He watched her closely, looking, as I was, for any sign that she was uncomfortable.

Which she was, but in all the right ways.

“Sure.” She looked at me. “Is that all right?”

“Of course,” I said. “I have to go check on Alec's dad anyway.”

“Good luck with that.” Mike snorted. “Make sure you text me when you get in.”

He was still intent on looking out for me in Alec's absence.

We all walked to my car, and when I got in and shut the door, Mike escorted Amy to his enormous black truck. While he was rounding the front to open the door for her, she gave me a quick wave, and I smiled back. She'd be safe with Mike. And he'd fall in love with her—it was impossible not to. I'd remember this night a few years from now when they were celebrating their first wedding anniversary.

Matchmaking and raising self-esteem. All in a good night's work.

I turned my key in the ignition and pulled forward through the empty spot in front of me toward the exit. Mike had waited for me to turn on my car, but once he saw me moving, he drove away.

I was getting ready to turn onto the main road when I looked over to the passenger side and saw that the window was cracked. Amy hadn't left it open. I specifically remembered her rolling it up before we went inside.

“Keep driving,” came a gritty voice from the backseat.

My blood froze. Automatically I reached for the door handle, but a hand, glowing white in the streetlight, had already slid over it to block my escape.