You Are Here (11 page)

Focus. Work.

I approached the park’s central arch, cautious but casual. Lucie danced around the edges of my vision no matter what I tried, so I used everything I had to keep my mind on the meeting. I may have been sliced in half, but God dammit, I was going to function.

I sat down on a bench facing the arch and adjusted my aviators. It was a sunny day in the city, so I leaned back and spread my arms across the back of the bench. It appeared as if I was enjoying being there, even if all I could see was Lucie wrapped around me. I felt infected and it pissed me off.

“Mind if I sit down?” A woman wearing a well-tailored suit and running shoes sat next to me without waiting for my response. She was probably in her mid-fifties and carried a briefcase with the tiny gold insignia I knew well subtly stamped on its side. I pulled my arms off the back of the bench and slid to the end to accommodate.

“Can you believe this beautiful day?” she asked me, gesturing to the park.

“Hardly.”

She sighed, a little disappointed in my attempt at conversation. The briefcase, now on her lap, popped open and she pulled out a sandwich and set it between us.

“You looked starved, honey,” she told me, leaning over and patting my knee. “You should eat something.”

I picked it up. Bologna. “My favorite,” I said flatly. “I have to get going, so I’ll eat on my way. Thank you.” I smiled politely, a thin mask. She nodded and pulled out a spy novel. Subtle
.

I stood and walked back to the car. Once there, I got in and pulled the sandwich apart. There was a tiny jump drive wrapped in plastic, wedged between the bread and the lettuce.

I hooked it to my phone, downloaded, and pored over my new target’s file.

Patrick Reese, forty-six, former operative. Suspected ties to several crime families—Russians, Koreans, and the requisite Italians. An equal opportunity asshole and what do you know? The disloyal bastard who trained me.

Fucking hell
.

I soaked in any extra information I didn’t already know, watching the file corrupt itself and disappear once I’d reached the end. I debated my next steps.

What does a drowning man do when he realizes he’s drowning? Keep sucking in water, or grasp at anything within reach to get a lungful of oxygen?

I wanted to call Lucie.

Stupid.

I spotted a meter maid about fifty yards down, and my spot was almost out of time. I started the car, drove until I found another parking garage, and paid for the day.

Once I was back on the street, I realized I was walking toward the High Line again. I stopped cold and performed an about-face, running into a pedestrian who was right behind me. I quickly apologized and sidelined myself, leaning on the closest building.

Rule number one: know exactly what is going on around you at all times.
Asshole
.

Maybe I needed to fuck her and get her out of my system. Maybe that’s all this was. Lust. That would make the most sense. I plucked my phone from my pocket and stared at it as if it held answers.

Walk away.

I knew that was what I
should
do. But I could not shake whatever it was that she did to me. I didn’t
want
to walk away. I felt paralyzed.

The subway was always packed with people and that made it easy to hide, so I grabbed a train toward Times Square. I found a small independent hotel and checked in using an alias, of course.

Once in my room, I pulled out my computer and tried to get to work tracking Reese, looking up any information to pin down his exact location. It was such a relief when the world dropped away as work acted like blinders. It took an insane level of effort to maintain, and after a few hours, I closed the computer and rubbed my eyes harshly. I’d made some progress, but normally I wouldn’t need a break. I groaned, irritated.

I fell back on the bed, considering the possibility of a nap. I hadn’t really slept except for an hour or two here and there along the road, and not significantly more since Memphis.

I grabbed my phone and earbuds, ready to turn on the white noise app. After entering the passcode, the screen revealed Lucie’s contact entry.

Fuck.

I shoved my computer between the mattress, put my card key in my pocket, and left. Back on the street, I headed west, away from the thick of the crowd. Eventually turning down a semi-quiet street, I gave in to the maddening curiosity and called.

It rang a couple times before her quiet voice answered, “Hello?”

“Still want me?”
Pathetic
.

She gasped, just breathing for a moment, but then her breath hitched once or twice. “Nothing I want more. Grey?”

“Yes, baby?”

Christ, did I just have a stroke?
I turned toward the building next to me and hit my head against it.

She made what I guessed was a happy noise. “Come over?”

It was timid, hopeful, and it made my heart pound. I couldn’t even begin to understand what I was doing.

“I’m on my way.” A million possibilities as to what may have been discussed with Charlotte swarmed me, but I forced myself to stop. I couldn’t change any of it. If I couldn’t stop myself from doing this, I would have to deal.

Standing at the door to her building, I pressed the bell. My stomach lurched when the door buzzed, and I looked up to see a tiny camera above the door. I pushed inside and ran up the steps to the second floor. I wanted to slow down and speed up simultaneously. When I reached the top, it no longer mattered.

She stood in the doorway, beaming like sunlight.

Involuntarily, I smiled wide.

She reached out her hand, ushering me in when I took it. The relief I felt in her touch shook me.

“So now what, angel?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care, because you’re here!” she declared, binding our hands together and immediately jumping into questions. “So, if you grew up in New York, why do you have a bit of a southern accent?”

I blinked, hating the disconcerting resurgence even more. I thought I’d left a lot of things behind ten years ago, but lately I did seem to be going backward.

“Uh, I’m … from New Orleans originally?”
How is that a question?
“We moved to New York when I was seven.”

She bit her lip but failed to dim the smile. “I don’t think I knew Drew was born there.”

The mention of my brother sent a wave of discomfort through me and I struggled to keep the irritation off my face.

She waved an excited hand between us. “Doesn’t matter! Come in, sit down.” She dragged me to her couch. It was situated under tall clear windows and bathed in the deep orange glow of the setting sun. She tucked herself into the space next to me and grasped my hand in both of hers.

Instantly, I stood, breaking the connection. I couldn’t be still right now. I looked around the apartment, evaluating. The paranoia was in charge and I felt that my guard was under attack. Because it was.

“Grey?”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t. I walked into the kitchen. I pulled open and shut every drawer before I opened and scanned the refrigerator.

“Are you hungry?” Her quick footsteps brought her closer to me. “I have clementines. Do you like clementines? You do. I already know you do.
Delicious
. Never mind. Oh, how about bubble baths? Do you like those? I do. A
lot
.”

I pinched my eyebrows together and turned to look at her. It was the strangest stream of consciousness, and I couldn’t grasp the significance of such a string of questions.

“I have no idea what to say to that.”

She tried but failed to suppress a torrent of laughter, which only made me smile despite the expanding tangle of uncertainty I felt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, covering her face momentarily. “I must seem like a hyena on meth, but I’m just so incredibly happy to see you.”

“I wish I understood why,” I confessed, my voice strained. My feet itched to check out the other rooms.

“You will.” She was luminous in her confidence.

I doubted it, but my chest warmed with
wanting
to. With a tight roll of my shoulders, a subtle shiver skittered over my skin. I bypassed her to stalk back toward the door. When I felt fingertips digging in to my bicep, I momentarily forgot where I was and reacted instinctually.

I twisted my stance and grabbed, about to break the arm attached to mine when I registered that it was Lucie, and the look of hurt on her face …

“Ow! Oh, I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what—”

I avoided eye contact and ignored the heavy feeling in my stomach as I moved around her to walk down the hall.

“Um, that’s my bedroom,” she said, and I swear I heard a blush beneath the confusion. “Grey, are you looking for something? There’s no one else here.”

I stopped, my hand on her closet door.

“I have to ask,” I began, my tone dulling her shine, “how do you know Charlotte and Drew?”

She eyed me warily as though I’d accused her of something awful. But in a breath, her expression softened.

“I didn’t even know your name until Charlotte said it.”

I tilted my head, reflexively challenging her claim of ignorance. She rolled her eyes.

“I told you,” she said. “I
saw
you. Did I not explain my ‘previews’ properly?”

I let go of the closet door. “You’re clairvoyant. You see the future.”

Easily picking up on my skepticism, she glowered.

I responded by grinning because apparently everything she did was adorable.

I’m unstable.

Her countering sigh told me she was distinctly disappointed in my non-belief, and I was annoyed at how much that affected me.

“I get it,” she said softly, crossing her arms. “It sounds certifiable. I don’t deny that. With everything I’ve seen of us in the future, though, I guess I thought you would be the one person who wouldn’t question it.”

She grabbed my hands, “Grey, I can’t explain let alone comprehend why I know or how I see what I do, but I
do
. I guess if anyone should question it, it
should
be you, shouldn’t it?”

I was at a loss. “You … you freak me out,” I whispered, kind of stunned at the admission.

“There’s no trick here. If it makes you feel better, look through the closet,” she said with a hint of impatience, but not anger. She let go of my hands to gesture to each location. “Check the dresser, the bathroom, too. If you dive into the hamper, though, it’s at your own risk. I’ve been to a couple of extremely challenging and weird workout classes with Vivi this week. I’ve been told to call it ‘deodorant failure.’”

I snorted involuntarily and felt a stab in the gut.
Vivi
,
Nash’s wife
. I shook it off.

“I’m sorry.” I took her hands again. “I just don’t know how to reconcile how you make me feel with what I am.”

She smiled. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be you, that’s all. I temporarily ignored that this isn’t solely about me. My
ability
is what gave me something to keep me from drowning. Since I woke up from the coma with amnesia—”

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said sheepishly. A goofy laugh of relief barreled out of her. “I guess we have a lot to learn about each other, don’t we?”

The look she gave me could bring the Titanic to the surface. My heart buoyed, and for a second I believed I could tell her everything.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her expression was coy.

“Anything.”

Speaking of “what the fuck …”

“Where’ve you been so long that everyone thinks you’re dead?”

I stared at her, just breathing until an answer would come.

“Gone,” I said flatly. It rang ominously of the nameless man I’d been all these years. Unease flashed in her eyes and I tried to pull my hands away.

“No, Grey,” she said sharply, holding tight. “You can tell me.”

I looked into her eyes again and the apprehension was gone. Maybe I wanted to see it, if just to give me an excuse.

“So, why were you gone?” she asked. “Charlotte said you went into the military.”

“I did.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Here, sit down.”

She gestured to the bed as I stood glued to the spot. “Let’s go back to the other room.”

A look of clear embarrassment flitted across her face. With a nod, she smiled and led me back to the living room.

Once I sat, she curled her feet underneath her and leaned into me.

“Okay, now why did you go into the military?”

“This is a bit too much for—”

“I think we’ve established that
this,
” she motioned between the two of us, “is something inexplicable, and first date-ish rules don’t really apply. Not that I remember what first dates are like. So, tell me.”

Admiring her tenacity, I decided give a little. “Did Charlotte tell you about my father?”

She swallowed hard.

“Yeah, well, that changed a lot for me. As much as my dad—the fake one—had pushed me toward the military, I’d always resisted.”

I heard the bitterness in my voice and my stomach twisted. The obvious lack of closure unnerved me.

“Then, when the sperm donor showed up to invalidate my life, it was the quickest escape. I enlisted so I didn’t have to deal with it all.” I continued before she could pity me, “I hated it, but it kept me … occupied.”

“Escape from what?” Her voice was small, but the sadness was not pity. It was pain.

“Myself.” I shrugged. “My mother had an affair two days before her wedding and conceived me. I don’t know when the
un
-dad found out, but I don’t remember a day in my life when he was proud of me or told me that he loved me. And my mom, well, she was so ashamed, she couldn’t bring herself to stand up for me. Not when it counted, anyway. She just took whatever he threw at her because she figured she deserved it. I took it because I thought I wasn’t good enough.”

“And when you found out the truth,” she started, leaving space for me to finish.

“When I found out the truth, I knew I would
never
be good enough. I’d be better off if I were dead, at least in a manner of speaking.”

My shoulders sagged as if I’d offloaded the world. I’d never spoken about any of that since it happened. The loss of that weight was simultaneously glorious and terrifying. My body forced me to suck in a deep breath.