6. Willa
CHAPTER 6
WILLA
A deep line appears between Lionel’s brows as he stares down at the words on the back of the photo. For a long minute, he says nothing. “I don’t like the fact that there are two independent parties stalking you.” He taps the first image. “This person clearly doesn’t like the fact that someone else is watching.”
He nods his head as if he’s in agreement with whatever he’s thinking. “This is the one that worries me. What is their agenda?” Snapping a pic of the two images, he turns toward me. “An admirer? Maybe. If so, he’s gone out of his way to follow your every move.”
He's silent for a few minutes. Brow furrowed; he taps his fingers on the table next to the image. “My gut is churning, but before I try to find this asshole, I want to check into something. Make sure there’s no chatter about you.”
Confused, I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s saying. “Chatter? About me? What are you talking about? Isn’t this enough to go to the police?”
He pockets the photo and thrusts his fingers through his grey hair. “There are a few things in your dad’s past. In my past. Enemies. I doubt this is related, but I have to know for sure.” His worried gaze darts to me. “I know this is confusing, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Once I know for sure, I’ll be able to figure out our next steps.”
My head rears back. “My father?” Even though it’s been years, I immediately see his smiling face and humor-filled forest green eyes the exact same color as my own. He was always joking and teasing my mom and me. Everyone loved him. “What enemies?”
Lionel immediately reaches for my hands. “I can’t tell you.” He holds up his hand when I open my mouth. “Please don’t ask. All these years, I’ve kept you safe, and I’m not about to stop now.”
All these years. The words ring in my brain.
One thing had always bugged me about the night of the accident, but the police had quickly dismissed it. “Dad was upset that night. He and my mom were talking in the front seat, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. All I remember is his hands, clenching the steering wheel, us speeding up, bright lights.” Panic rises in me. Breathing fast, I try to push past the lights to see more. “He yelled. Something slammed into us.”
The car started flipping over and over. Somehow, my seatbelt came loose, and I was thrown out the window. I must have passed out. When I woke, I was lying in a large pond. Our car was farther down the hill. In flames. Then, I blacked out. I remember nothing until the hospital.
Tears roll down my face as I recall the worst night of my life. Their screams. The certainty of the flames. My body broken. My mind filled with horror. The past wraps its tight grip around me until all I can do is stare helplessly at Lionel as the abyss in my mind threatens to drag me under.
Lionel grabs my arms and shakes me. “Stop. I’ve got you. You’re safe, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I stare up at him. If my dad had enemies… “Did someone deliberately hit us?” Holding my breath, I wait for him to tell me I’m wrong.
He sighs heavily. “The police ruled it an accident, but it wasn’t. Your father was trying to get to me, but he waited too long. They got to him first.”
Reeling, I pull away and stumble back from him and the truth he just blurted out. “Who got to him?” Betrayal punches me in the gut. “All this time, you hid this from me. Why? I deserve to know what happened.”
His green eyes harden. “No, you don’t.” He returns bluntly. “Knowing could have gotten you killed. The best way to protect you was to show them that you weren’t a threat. If I hadn’t… I don’t know what they would have done.”
Frustrated at his lack of answers, I throw up my hands. “Who would I be a threat to? I was a sixteen-year-old girl.” When he says nothing, I grab his arm. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because if it’s not the past, I don’t want to open that door. Right now, you have a life. A future. More than anything, I know your parents would want me to do everything in my power to make sure you have the opportunity to live it. If I tell you anything, the future you envision will be gone,” he reveals, to my astonishment.
He grabs my phone and punches in a number. “If I don’t return by Sunday, call this number. I’m going to list it under Help. Tell the person who answers that the Colonel gave this number to you. Then tell them, Raven has found you. Repeat.”
Bewildered, I spit out his instructions. Raven? The black bird that croaks in the trees? Panic sets in. “You’re leaving?”
He nods. “I have to. Whatever the person on the phone tells you to do, you do it. I trust them. Completely.” He fiddles with my phone for a few minutes. “I’m installing the security app on your phone. An alert will pop up if someone triggers the sensors. If someone is here, don’t come home. Stay at the library or find an all-night diner until they leave.” Bending close, he shows me where to find the app and how to use it.
“Follow your normal routine,” he orders me. When I start to protest, he cuts me off. “I don’t want you to trigger them into acting. Right now, they’re just watching. Let them.” He hands me my phone. “Can you do this for me? Please.”
Helpless, I stare into his worried green eyes. “I’ll try.” With a cry, I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly as I breathe in the scent of his old-fashioned aftershave and use it to calm myself. “Please be careful.”
He squeezes me hard. “I love you, Willa.”
“I love you too, Lionel,” I whisper, my throat choking with the words. He means so much to me. A father who loved and protected me after mine was gone. “Please come home.”
* * *
On edge and barely able to concentrate, Wednesday is a disaster. When someone slams into me in the hallway after class, I scream. The guy’s face turns red as he holds up his hands. I stammer an apology and practically run to my next class. I’m so exhausted by the end of the day, I crawl into bed early. But I can’t sleep. Every time I hear a noise outside, I grab my phone and pull up the camera, hoping it’s Lionel, praying it’s not one of my stalkers. The only time my fear abates is when I push myself to remember the night of the accident, but it’s an endless loop. The same sequence plays over and over without change.
I drag myself out of bed Thursday and make my way to the rehab center for clinicals. Thankfully, it’s busy, and my mind is able to take a break from this nightmare and concentrate on my patients. But when I step out the door, I feel someone’s eyes on me. I know they’re there.
Nauseous, I fight the urge to run and casually stroll to my car, then get in. My hands shake as I turn the key. Tempted to keep driving until I’m out of the city, I force myself to return to my apartment. The second I walk in the door, I run for the toilet and throw up the little bit of food I managed to eat for lunch. Unable to face the apartment, I shut and lock the bathroom door, then curl up on the cold tile. It seeps into my skin and bones, numbing me, and for the first time in days, I feel safe. Unable to bring myself to leave my little refuge, I stay in the small bathroom the rest of the night, dozing on and off.
Friday arrives, and I sweep the hair back from my worn face. I need this week to be over. I’m so tired of trying to be strong. The sleep I got last night helped, but I feel fragile, like I could break at any moment. Scraping my hair into a bun, I drag myself out of the apartment to the university.
Once my only class is over, I contemplate going to the grocery store like usual, but I can’t face the crowded aisles. My stomach rumbles loudly, telling me to eat something, and I decide to treat myself to a sandwich at the little bistro near campus.
Normally, I would walk, but the car feels safer, so I get in and drive over. It’s not quite lunchtime and, thankfully, the place is relatively empty. I order a Tuscan Chicken Wrap combo with a drink and a bag of chips. Taking a seat by the window so I can watch the parking lot, I slowly pick at the meal. It tastes like sawdust, but I make myself eat it.
Lionel hasn’t called. I’m trying not to worry, but it’s hard. Ever since Tuesday, I’ve managed to avoid thinking about our discussion. The accident that changed my life that wasn’t an accident. Some faceless enemy deliberately… murdering my parents.
Lionel and my dad were in the same Army unit. It’s where they met and became fast friends, but is that also where they made enemies? My dad left the service and started working in insurance, but Lionel stayed in.
Why all the lies and secrecy? Who would think I was a threat? Who is Raven? Nothing makes sense.
“Mind if I join you?” Trent’s deep voice startles me, and I jump.
With dread, I turn my gaze from the parking lot to him and reluctantly agree. “Sure.” Coincidence? Suspicious, I study him, noting the dark circles under his eyes.
He sets his food down and slides into the booth across from me. “I was going to call you. My dad is returning to Washington early. If you want to move our tutoring session to Monday again, that works for me.”
Will Lionel make it back by Sunday? I flash a wobbly smile, trying to make it seem like everything is fine. If he’s following me, I don’t want him to know I suspect him. “Sure, Monday sounds good.” I pause for a second to find something normal to ask. “Why kinesiology?”
He swallows his food and shrugs. “I’m not good enough to get drafted. Kinesiology allows me to stay in sports and work with athletes.” His lips twist in a wry smile. “And no, I’m not interested in politics like my dad.” This last statement is tacked on in a slightly bitter tone.
Sounds like a sensitive subject. “Well, it’s a great field. Your hands-on knowledge of sports and the way athletes move will be invaluable to your clients.” I take a bite of my wrap.
“What about you? Why did you decide to go into physical therapy?”
I swallow and take a sip of my drink. “When I was in high school, I was in a serious car accident.” I shudder and pause for a second to think about the word I’ve said a thousand times before but no longer believe. Accident. Everything I’ve known and done during the last nine years is based on a lie. I glance up at Trent and force myself to continue. “It took months of rehab for me to be able to walk again. My physical therapist, Kyle, was a miracle worker. I want to help others like he helped me.” That part is true, at least.
His gaze moves from my face to my shoulder. “Is the scar on your shoulder from the accident?”
I lift a hand and rub a thumb across my sweater where it resides underneath. “Yes.” I stop. The mark was there when I woke up in the hospital. Doctors couldn’t tell me what caused it. They chalked it up to possibly hitting a tree.
His jaw clenches. “Was anyone else hurt?”
I frown. “In the accident?”
He scrunches up the napkin in his hand and leans forward.
Even though I rarely talk about it, the intensity of his expression is unnerving.
“My parents. They died,” I murmur, not wanting anyone else to hear me.
“Your real parents?” he asks with an intense look.
“Of course, my real parents,” I confirm, confused by his question. It’s not as if I was adopted.
Releasing a long, slow exhale, he looks away for a second. “I understand. My mom died, too. It’s tough to talk about, isn’t it?” When his gaze returns to me, his eyes are blazing, full of anger and loss. The expression in their depths is riveting.
Is that what I’ll look like? Angry? Lost? Is it because he needs answers? His mother committed suicide. It was all over the news. Beautiful model married to senator with an adorable son. She had everything. Yet, she purposely overdosed on painkillers. Why did she kill herself? The speculation had been rampant.
I can’t imagine going through all that in the public eye. “I’m sorry. Losing a parent, or in my case both… it’s an emptiness you carry the rest of your life,” I whisper quietly. “The only thing I can do is remember them and the good times we had. Live my life the best way I can.”
If anything, my words seem to make him angrier.
My stomach churns. Unable to finish my wrap, I roll up the paper around it to save it for dinner. Just in time, too. The bistro starts filling with students hungry for lunch.
Uneasy, my eyes dart from one to the other. “I’ve got to go. See you Monday. Just text me a time.” Scrambling out of the booth, I grab my leftovers and walk away, leaving him to stare after me.