Connected
Tuesday morning started with a surprise flower delivery. An exquisite single white rose in a luxurious box, tied with white ribbon in a complicated satin bow. The card was handwritten on parchment stock embossed with his initials.
In a world of many, you are the one. Let’s share a moment over lunch today at your favorite spot by the fountains.
W.
My heart swelled as I read it. I buried my nose in the white petals, inhaling the precious fragrance.
Then I put it in water in a narrow, cylindrical vase best suited for the long-stemmed beauty.
On a whim, I took the white ribbon from the box and tied it around the vase, deciding I’d wear white on our lunch date.
My mind wandered to the trip into the desert we’d taken yesterday, remembering how we’d stood on the edge of Antelope Canyon looking far into the distance, where a dark storm shelf had been rumbling with thunder.
The sky above us had remained blue, the sun still shining, but we hadn’t had much time left before the storm would be close enough to cause trouble.
Yet I hadn’t been able to bring myself to walk away.
We’d walked through slot canyons for a couple of hours, playing hide-and-seek with the few tourists that invaded our space, acting like teenagers on their first date, stealing kisses when no one was looking.
Then we’d hiked the trail up to the rim, where a helicopter waited to take us back. For a few minutes, wishing the storm would stop in its tracks, I’d stood by Winston’s side, both of us silent, the world opening at our feet.
I loved the desert, and shared that love of the vast, dry expanse with him. My connection with the desert felt real and immediate, as if I’d just discovered who I was and where I belonged.
The flight back home had taken about an hour and a half.
We’d worn headphones hooked up to a private communications circuit, but I hadn’t felt like speaking.
I’d rested my head on his shoulder, and he’d wrapped his arm around me, his fingers playing with strands of my hair.
At times, I’d felt the sting of tears, but blamed it on the intensity of my emotions in his presence.
I was desperately in love with him.
When we’d landed, we’d parted ways reluctantly, and I’d walked over to my car. Among the people hustling around the heliport, I’d recognized Jack.
He was always there, in the background, like death and taxes and the desert heat.
Remembering Jack yanked me back into the present. I placed the vase on the kitchen counter and picked up the phone to call Brad Pendergraft, the private investigator I’d hired a couple of days ago.
He answered on the first ring.
“Ms. Taylor,” he said, his voice echoing loudly on speaker. “I was just about to call you.”
“Really?” I didn’t believe a word of that. “Did you find out who this man is?”
“No . . . I wanted to ask if you could give me any other details. Anything would make a difference. The picture you sent was taken through sheers or something, and those pixels confuse the image-recognition software. Can you tell me anything else, if you don’t have a better picture?”
My eyes rolled in frustration, staring at the ceiling for a silent, tense moment. “He rides a black Harley.”
“Did you happen to see the tags?”
“No, sorry. It’s not like I was trailing him. He was behind me when I saw him riding that bike.”
“I see.” He sighed, seemingly frustrated. “What kind of Harley?”
I’d searched all over the internet for motorcycles that looked like what I’d seen. “It’s older, I believe, and simple—not too many bells and whistles. It’s got straight handlebars and not the elevated ones like in those biker-gang movies.”
“This is great. Keep going.” He was taking notes. I could hear a pen scratching in the background, and paper being shuffled.
“One second. Let me see . . .” I opened up my laptop and searched for Harley models again, to refresh my memory.
“It could’ve been an Ultra; only, there was no accent color and no chrome trims. Everything was black.
” I stopped for a moment while he jotted his notes, mumbling quietly, and closed my eyes, trying to remember every detail.
“Oh, it had an antenna or something at the rear, behind the seat.”
“How big of an antenna?”
“About two feet.”
“How about him? What else can you tell me?”
I’d thought the photo was going to be enough. “About six-three, really muscular, short hair, Caucasian. Thick neck and bulging muscles, like you see on television.”
“What do you mean?”
“I nicknamed him Jack. He kind of looks like the actor who plays Jack Reacher on TV.”
A beat of silence passed, where he was probably wondering if I wasn’t crazy. “All right, let me see what I can do.”
The call ended, and I immediately started obsessing over what I was going to wear for my lunch date with Winston.
A couple of days ago, I’d picked up a white summer dress from Moncler on a whim.
It was sleeveless and breezy, with top stitching reminiscent of a corset, and tie straps over the shoulders made of thin, braided strands.
The midi-length skirt flowed around me as I walked.
Winston had set the tone with the white rose and white silk ribbon.
I planned to respond in kind, accessorizing the dress with white strappy heeled sandals and a simple diamond bracelet on my wrist.
My instincts told me I was dressed appropriately for the occasion, so I smiled to my own image in the mirror as I twirled and stepped in place, running my fingers through my hair until the long, wavy strands flowed just right.
I was almost ready when the phone rang, startling me with its loud volume setting.
“Ms. Taylor?” It was Brad, his voice a pitch higher than usual.
“Yes?”
“I can’t work for you anymore,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. “All right? You don’t owe me anything.”
His words hit like a sudden drop, knocking the air from my lungs. My stomach tightened, the conversation shifting so fast I couldn’t catch up. This wasn’t just a change of plans. It was an ending. “Wait, what happened?” For a moment of silence, I held my breath, afraid he’d hang up.
“I don’t know what you’re involved in, who you really are, or what’s going on in your life, but I can’t afford to have any part in it. I have a family to think about. Sorry.”
“What are you saying?” I rubbed my creased forehead with the tips of my fingers, pacing the floor back and forth.
“That man you said is stalking you?”
“Yes?”
“He’s connected.”
“What do you mean, connected?”
“Jeez, lady, under what rock have you been living? He’s associated with the biggest crime family here in Vegas. He’s on their payroll.”
“What, like the Mafia?” I chuckled derisively. “Come on . . . It’s not the fifties anymore.”
I heard him mumble a curse. “No, and the Mafia isn’t what it used to be in the fifties. You’re right. But who do you think handles drug dealing and human trafficking here in Sin City? Walmart?” he scoffed, obviously frustrated with my naivety.
His words started to sink in. I got dizzy for a moment and grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, feeling as if I was about to faint. “You’re saying, someone like that sent him after me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Ms. Taylor. And I’m saying goodbye.”
“Wait!” I shouted. “Please, give me one more day. Today. And I’ll pay you everything, just as we discussed. But I need your help with one more thing, all right? It has nothing to do with this guy, I promise. It’s . . . the other thing I asked you to do. The pictures.”
At first, I could only hear his heavy breathing. “All right,” he eventually said. “When do you need me?”
“Now. I need you to follow me everywhere I go. You’ll understand why.”
“Okay. Bring cash.”
The call ended abruptly.
I was shaking so badly, the phone slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor, sliding until it stopped against the baseboard. Picking it up, I realized I’d forgotten to ask him if, by any chance, the name of the biggest crime family in Vegas wasn’t, in fact, Taylor.
That would explain why they’d want me dead. And why Jack was trying to warn me. They must’ve believed I wanted a piece of their action or something.
It was surreal. Things like this didn’t happen to people like me.
But I didn’t have time to think about it anymore. My gut twisting with fear, I climbed behind the wheel of my car and drove off, speeding as I turned the corner.
I was already late for my lunch date with Winston.