Chapter 30
To Do:
- Escape room puzzle double check
- Grocery shopping – lasagna ingredients
Claire wokethe next morning to someone pounding on her door. She sat up, heart rate skyrocketing. Her arms were still tied to the bedframe with scarves. Pins and needles ran the whole way down them. She frantically twisted her wrist until she freed one and tossed the covers onto the floor. Rosie barked and whined at the bedroom door.
Claire freed her other wrist and grasped blindly on her bedside table for Taser #2. She left her room and stepped cautiously down the hallway.
Sawyer was already up and pressing a button on the security monitor. Claire’s breath hitched when she saw Luke’s hooded and sleepless eyes.
Sawyer turned to her, a question in his eyes.
Claire exhaled noisily. She set her Taser on the bar and ran a hand through her wild hair. It wasn’t a murderer, but the conversation was sure to be almost equally as uncomfortable. “It’s okay, he’ll understand.”
She threw the door open. The two stood and stared at each other, silent for a moment.
Rosie barked and leapt for Luke immediately, jumping at him and trying to lick his face. Luke bent down to pet her. She put her paws on his thighs, panting happily.
“You’re supposed to be in California.” Claire was almost surprised by how cool her voice sounded.
“I’m not. Can I come in?”
She slid the door open another few inches to reveal Sawyer, who had mercifully put his shirt back on.
Luke glanced at the crumpled blanket and pillow on the couch. His normally playful and confident eyes were stormy with anger, but he didn’t say anything.
“I was just leaving. Claire was freaked out after we stopped an abduction attempt last night,” Sawyer said, holding up both hands as if to proclaim he was innocent.
Claire shot a warning look over her shoulder.
“Yeah, Kyle mentioned that. And I saw the article. And the video. It’s kind of why I’m here.”
Damn it, Kyle.
Sawyer nodded. “See you tomorrow for class?” he said to Claire, slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder.
“Yes, see you then. Thanks again.”
Sawyer stepped past Luke into the hallway, leaving a ringing silence in the apartment.
“Coffee?” she asked, turning to walk into the kitchen.
“Here.” Luke offered a cup carrier with two dark roasts from her favorite coffee shop. He pulled a bag out of his backpack, revealing the tantalizing smell of buttery scones.
“Thanks,” Claire said. She took the bag and popped the scones in the microwave.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked, standing in an oddly formal way. He shut the door behind him.
“I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
He leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about the abduction attempt?”
She picked up the coffee to give her hands something to do. “Because you smashed my heart into a million pieces in Paris and then I fell off a boat into the river.”
“Wait—you fell off the boat? Is that why I couldn’t find you?”
She nodded. “And then I left, of course.”
He crossed over to her and took her hand. She tried to snatch it back, but he gripped harder.
“Did you watch what I sent you?”
Claire nodded. Of course he wanted to talk about the documentary. He barely made it thirty seconds into a conversation without bringing it up.
“Do you understand what I’m trying to do here? For the victims and their families? For me, this isn’t even about the documentary. I could care less about how many streams it’ll get or how the critics rate it. This isn’t a career move for me anymore. Maybe it started out that way when I moved here, but then I heard their stories. I care about them, Claire. Ariel, Shawna, Jennifer, Kayley, Courtney. They’re not here to tell their stories. The media just treats them as a unit, an unfortunate set. But they lived whole, beautiful lives before he took that from them.”
Claire held a hand up. “I get it. I really do. I’m just not ready to tell my story.”
“I don’t want you to.” He cupped her face gently. “I’m sorry for even asking. I will give everything up for you—the whole project—right now. I don’t care who backs out. I’ll find something else. The only thing that matters to me is you.”
She met his eyes and sighed. “You can’t give up the project. What you’re trying to do is beautiful. Other than exploiting your ex-girlfriend, anyway.”
“Ex?” His face fell. He stepped back and collapsed on the couch. Rosie jumped into his lap and started licking his chin. He pressed his face against her fur.
“You didn’t get the message when I told you it was over and then fell into a dirty French river?”
Luke stood and walked over to her. His clothes were rumpled from the flight. A day’s worth of beard growth shrouded his jaw. His eyes were red, and his shoulders slumped. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel this,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “Like a magnet drawing us together. A year ago, I would have never considered dropping a project for anyone, let alone an ex-girlfriend. But you mean something to me. Something I can’t explain.”
“Luke, I don’t know what to say.” She sipped from her steaming cup and set it on the end table. Maybe an earthquake would crack her apartment in two and she could just fall into the center of the earth.
He caught her wrist and pulled her into him, met her mouth with his own. Claire tensed, half-ready to test out some of her new self-defense moves, but then her body sank into the familiarity of his arms, simultaneously charged with energy and completely exhausted. Their tongues danced together, and she pressed herself against him, barely even worried about her mouth and how it probably tasted like a Starbucks dumpster. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he felt like home. Something in her bloomed, but she took a step back, placed a hand on his chest.
“Look, I know I don’t deserve another chance with you,” he said. “But honestly, at this point, I’ll do anything. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’ve never groveled before.”
She opened her mouth, prepared to shoot him down, but stopped. An idea had struck her like lightning. If he really wanted to show some remorse, she had the perfect solution. If she had to suffer through an awkward family dinner on Friday, so did he. She’d invite him. But she wouldn’t tell him that she was also going to invite his brother, George. Drunk Claire had found him on Facebook the night before.
“Come to dinner on Friday.”
“Done. Anywhere you want.” The storm in his eyes lifted.
“Here. With my biological father and his home-wrecking wife.” She stared him down.
Luke looked confused, but he evidently decided not to comment. “Huh. Okay. What can I bring?”
“Wine,” she said, taking another step back. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.” Surely alcohol wouldn’t get her into any more trouble if she stayed in the confines of her own apartment. She’d start her cleanse the day after.
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll see you then. Seven o’clock, don’t be late.” She crossed to the front door and held it open.
Luke wiped a hand over his tired face. He walked halfway out into the hallway. “Claire? About Sawyer.”
She sighed. “What about him?”
“I don’t trust him.”
Of course. Her hands clenched at her sides. “Just to clarify, you don’t trust the man who saved my life? The one who you hired to install a security system in my apartment?”
“That was before. Think about it. Whose company managed security for Barney’s hotel?”
“Sawyer’s,” she said slowly.
“Exactly. And why wasn’t there any footage from that night?”
“Barney tampered with the hallway feed.”
“We don’t know that it was Barney. And Sawyer conveniently showed up just in time to save your life and play the hero. Why bother having a security system in a hotel that’s not even finished?”
“I don’t know, vandals? Squatters? Sawyer wouldn’t hurt me. He’s giving me self-defense lessons. Why would he teach me how to most effectively kick people in the balls if he planned on trying to kidnap me?”
“He was in the building the night of the fire alarm when you got the note.”
Claire bit back a sigh. He didn’t know about ESA. He had no idea she had already uncovered who was responsible for stalking her. She had the answer to his question. But she didn’t owe him anything.
She tossed her empty coffee cup at the trash can. It missed and bounced into the dining room. Rosie jumped on the cup. “There was video footage of the person who entered the apartment. Unless Sawyer shrunk a foot and lost a hundred pounds climbing up the steps, it wasn’t him. He’s literally testifying against the man who tried to kill me. Why would he be doing that if he was involved? I never took you as the jealous type, Luke.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t like it.”
He glowered. “Just be careful.”
She stepped behind the island to put more distance between them. “Dinner party. Friday. Be there at seven with wine, or don’t come at all.”
Finally, he backed out the front door and left.
She wrestled the coffee cup from Rosie and slammed it in the trash can. How dare he storm in here and insult the man who saved her life?
Rosie whined. Claire slapped herself on the forehead. In all the craziness, she hadn’t even taken her out to pee. Now she was failing as a dog mom. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and snapped the leash on.
A warm breeze blew through the streets of West Haven as Rosie trotted down the sidewalk. Smells of fried bacon and pastries emanated from the café across the street. A pair of elderly men sat at a table in the park playing checkers. The city seemed far less sinister during the day. Still, she couldn’t prevent herself from constantly sweeping the area. The park was clear of press and douchey frat boys, at least for now.
Oh, hell. The press. She yanked her phone out of her pocket and frantically checked the local news website. The article from last night was up to five hundred shares. Scores of comments either chastised her or praised her. Some people, at least, seemed to question why she would have attacked a pair of frat boys in an alleyway. But a fearful number of people were calling her a chronic domestic abuser. A pit formed in her stomach. Channel Eight News was going to pay for trashing her reputation.
Back in the safety of her apartment, Claire opened her laptop. She pulled up Facebook and typed George Islestorm into the search bar. There he was. Luke’s older brother. There was no denying they were related. But while Luke must have looked just like his deceased dad, George was all Rachel. His flat smile, the slightly pinched-looking nose. She clicked on the message button and began to type.
What were the odds that George was A) Local, and B) Available for dinner with his estranged brother on such short notice? She wouldn’t know until she tried.
Luke deserved to suffer for what he did to her, didn’t he? And what better way to make a secret-keeper suffer than keeping one from him? Besides, it was too late now. The message was already sent. And maybe she’d even be doing him a favor. His patricidal brother was one thing, but how could he ignore his niece and sister-in-law forever?