Chapter 4
James
Two days after Des rescued me from the roof of my apartment building, I limp down the street toward the office.
This is the last place I want to be, but things are too pressing for me to not be here.
Just pretend everything’s fine. I reach up to the flesh-colored bandage hiding the stitches on my face.
Alex found me something discreet from the pharmacy yesterday while he was out.
Honestly, he’s such a nice guy. And even though the Band-Aid is helping and my pants are covering my leg, there’s still going to be a boatload of questions I don’t want to answer.
Is staying with Des and Alex any better than living with Jane?
They’re at that early stage in their relationship when everything is sunshine and roses.
Call me a cynic, but that phase only lasts for six months, and I’m not sure Jane and I ever went through it.
We were childhood sweethearts: We watched TV alongside our parents and didn’t even hold hands in front of them.
My heart aches for that innocent time. We were so young.
A buzzing in my pocket makes me reach for my phone:
Hey, handsome man. Your dad and I were talking about our visit! Let me know what works for you two!
Oh, Christ. My mom and dad come to New York every few months from Philly, where Jane and I grew up, and they’re always excited to visit “The Big Smoke,” as Mom calls it.
They’re both teachers who spend all their spare time helping people less fortunate than themselves.
I haven’t told them that Jane and I split up.
And Jesus, they can’t see me in this state. Not so handsome now, Mom.
Things are a bit hectic at the moment. Des is about to leave for Korea. I’ll think about it and get back to you.
Sure thing, honeybunch! Don’t work yourself to death!
I groan. I’m twenty-eight. I don’t want to worry them.
My life has always seemed so solid and easy in comparison to what they see every day, and I want to be the person they’ve always believed in—the one with plans and dreams—not the guy who lost his childhood sweetheart and then stupidly injured himself.
All I’ve ever really wanted is a home of my own and someone to share it with, maybe a couple of kids running around.
The tatty old building that houses Williams Security on Water Street looms in front of me, and I look up at it and sigh.
Add this office to all your other problems, James.
Des and I joined Jo’s business when it was six people, and we doubled in size after landing a major security contract from Caltech.
Since the Samsung contract came in, Des has been out in Korea every few months, and we’ve had to bring on technical people in batches of ten or twelve to handle the increase in business.
Our feet have hardly touched the ground.
When I tap in the code and push through the door, a large man in a Giants T-shirt is standing in the corridor, his belly hanging over his ill-fitting pants, peering at the directory of companies on the wall. It’s not a big list. There are only seven floors, and we have two of them.
“Can I help you?”
He swings toward me, long straggly hair framing bloodshot eyes and rough stubble on his chin.
“I’m lookin’ for my daughter,” he grunts.
And something about the way he says it with a belligerent jut to his jaw makes the back of my neck prickle.
“Oh yeah? Where does she work?”
He scowls at me and doesn’t answer, and I frown at him. “Does she have a name?” I add.
“Sadie.”
Sadie? We have a Sadie. She’s a new developer who started several months ago as part of the last intake.
I’ve got a real soft spot for Sadie; she’s quiet, hardworking, and doesn’t toot her own horn.
I understand that mindset so well. What’s the likelihood that there are two Sadies in this small building?
My eyes scan down him again. I think of her smart pants and careful manner. This is her dad?
“She works in some technology place, software stuff,” he says.
Almost definitely our Sadie. Her dad doesn’t know the name of the company she works for? I study him again. Something about this guy makes me want to stall. He’s making my New York radar for odd people ping like crazy.
“Hmm, Sadie,” is all I say.
“Who d’you work for?” He waves his hand at the board behind us.
“Williams Security.” I’m not telling him that we’re a tech business. “Security and all that.”
He jerks his chin and purses his lips, then he narrows his eyes at me. “You get in a fight?”
My Band-Aid! How could I have forgotten that? “Not a serious one,” I say. A fight with myself, maybe? The idea almost makes me smile.
He grunts. “Always a clear winner and loser in a fight,” he says.
Yeah, and I’m the loser in the fight to hang on to my relationship.
He turns back to the board, and I examine the bald patch on the back of his head. Why has Sadie’s dad turned up at the office looking for her? Why hasn’t he texted her or called? Perhaps she’s not even in touch with him.
“Is there … some kind of emergency at home?” I say, all politeness.
“Na, just wanna talk to her.”
“You don’t have her number?”
“Lost it,” he mumbles, and I watch in fascination as his neck starts to go red. “You got any tech companies in here?” He gestures at the board.
I shake my head. Lost his daughter’s number?
How do you lose someone’s number when it’s stored on your phone?
More like she’s blocked him for some reason, and he’s turned up here.
And suddenly I don’t want to tell him anything about Sadie working for us.
No question he’s lying about something, and Sadie’s nice and straightforward.
He’s like a weasel. I’m expecting him to rear back and bite me any minute.
“This is the right building, though. Y’see?” He holds out a piece of paper with 90 Water Street scrawled on it.
“Ah,” I say. “The numbers here are all mixed up—down one side and up the other. Ninety’s the one across the street.” Technically it’s true that they’re messed up. Though we are number 90, there’s nothing outside to say so.
He grimaces. “What do all these companies do?” He gestures at the directory.
I give him a brief explanation of the cleaning company on the first floor and the recruitment business above us.
“They employ any technical people?”
I purse my lips. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Okay,” he mutters, fiddling with the end of the belt that’s holding up his pants.
“Why don’t you try across the street?” I say, and he grunts but then nods and moves toward the door. I step forward and press the button for the elevator, watching him as he heads out onto the sidewalk.
By the time I get upstairs, I’m feeling twitchy.
Why is Sadie’s father looking for her at work?
And how did he get into the building? Probably followed someone in.
Des gives me a little wave as I dump my bag by my desk, and I spot Sadie’s tawny-colored hair as she bends over something on the other side of the room.
Sunlight is streaming in from the row of windows above her head, catching her hair like a flame and making the mismatched wooden desks Jo bought at a saleroom gleam.
Several people lift their heads and ask me if I’m okay, so I tell them that I had a stupid accident and tripped over a step.
Everyone laughs, and the coming back to the office thing I lay awake thinking about last night—the questions and what I could say in response—all fade away as I weave my way toward Sadie’s desk.
She’s studying something on her phone, teeth sunk into her bottom lip.
“Sadie,” I say.
Her head jerks up, face suffusing with color, and her phone slips out of her hand and lands on the floor with a small thump.
“Oh! James! I’m so sorry.” She scrambles on the floor before straightening up in her chair, phone clutched to her chest. “I didn’t see you coming.”
Her eyes are focused somewhere over my left shoulder. She does that a lot. Some hair has escaped from whatever she’s holding it back with and has curled down the side of her face.
“I just had an odd conversation with someone in the lobby downstairs who claimed to be the father of a Sadie who works in this building. I wondered if that might be you.”
Her eyes are like saucers as she jerks to her feet, the pinkness in her face fading almost as fast as it came, and for the first time I can remember, her eyes meet mine.
They’re extraordinary. They’re not gray or blue, but this strange ethereal color that sits between the two.
So pale they’re only a couple of shades away from the whites of her eyes.
“What did he look like?” she whispers.
“He was wearing a Giants T-shirt and old pants held up with a belt. A pair of brown loafers.”
Her head turns toward the window, and she bites her lip. Would this description be enough to identify her father? Does he always wear this? Everyone has a uniform. Mine’s a button-down shirt and dark-blue chinos. In the cool of the office, Sadie always wears a cardigan that swamps her.
“Where is he?” Her voice is a hoarse rasp as she pulls her cardigan around her body.
“I told him that we didn’t have a Sadie working here and there were no technology businesses in this building.”
Her hand jerks out and grasps my forearm, and I almost reel back in shock as something sharp shoots up into my chest, making me ache.
“Oh God, thank you.” Her fingers tighten for a heartbeat. “Thank you so much.” Her voice drops to a whisper, and for a brief second her eyes go glassy.
I’m aware of every inch of her small hand wrapped around my arm. It’s warm and comforting. That guy downstairs really was her father. Curiouser and curiouser.
“Are you … um … avoiding your dad?” She must be.
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again.
“It’s complicated,” she says.
“He seemed …” I trail off. What can I say here? I want to say “threatening,” but he didn’t say anything threatening, exactly. “God knows, I don’t want to pry, Sadie, but you’re not in any trouble, are you?”
She hesitates for a fraction too long before she says, “No. Not at all.”