Chapter 3 #2
She glances at the vehicle parked ahead at the curb and back to me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She hands me the paper, and I walk with her. Opening the door, I say, “Brady, this is Tuesday.” I offer her a hand up. “Tuesday, this is Brady. He’s been with me since—”
“Since he arrived in Manhattan,” Brady adds, nodding.
“Yes, five years now.” After giving him the address, I add, “He knows this city inside and out.”
I climb in after she’s settled on the far side of the back seat. “I appreciate it. I didn’t know how I would get there since my purse was stolen. I’ll repay you as soon as I can.”
“No need.”
Brady pulls into traffic, and says, “It’s not far from here.”
Because stress had my mind muddled, I hadn’t thought about who would look for her. I hadn’t made the connection that Nurse Belinda hinted to the need for me to be here. Until now.
Why did she tell me?
I hold out my phone. “Do you need to call anyone?”
“No.” Although the phone is within her reach, she seems determined to pretend it doesn’t exist and shifts her body toward the door, angling her knees away.
I’m known for my skill in analyzing my opponents and getting them to confess their secrets inside the courtroom.
My talent extends outside of work as well.
Women don’t stand a chance at withholding much from me.
I can usually see it coming by their obvious tells—a lick of their lips as they stare at mine, desire darkening their pupils, and getting handsy with me.
But I’m struggling to read this woman. With Tuesday, I’m wading in unfamiliar waters. She’s got my attention in a tight grip, so I struggle to focus on the details of the situation.
There’s nothing for her to admit or confess. The bottom line is I’ll be dropping her off soon, and we’ll never see each other again. So maybe she’s playing this right, and I’m doing this all wrong.
Keep it casual. Stop acting like a kid with a crush. Remember how she owned me with her sharp tongue in the coffee shop. She knows how to stand on her own. That puts things back in perspective. “Glad you’re okay.”
That brings the bright coloring of her eyes back to me. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure this is the right address?” Brady asks.
Her head jerks back toward the window, her gaze rising to the top of the building.
I expected to see a high-rise with a uniformed doorman decked out with epaulets crowning his shoulders.
Or at the very least, a skyscraper leading to a company befitting her designer attire—high-powered meetings, even something creative like advertising. This place is neither of those.
We’re not even in a particularly great part of the city.
The run-down building has cracks through the bricks, and the steps of the stoop have chips on the right side where the handrail has gone missing.
Brady hops out as soon as she confirms the address and opens her door to the sidewalk. Not sure what to do, I scramble to pull a card out of my briefcase and lean toward the opening. “Here’s my number.”
When she turns back to take it, I add, “If you need anything, anything at all, just call or text.”
“Thanks.” A half-hearted smile peters out before it has a chance to bloom. She tucks the card in her pocket and takes a deep, stuttering breath as if she struggles to keep herself together.
That’s when I catch her eyes beginning to water. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Thank you again.” The door closes, and she walks away, leaving me no option to say more.
The whole situation is fucked up, so I shouldn’t be bothered by this goodbye. She doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just the stranger who stepped in, not her knight in shining armor, for fuck’s sake.
Yet when Brady shifts the Escalade into drive, the sound of the tires grinding against the rubble in the streets, I realize the universe is conspiring against me regarding the Reinhold case.
I should be heading to court or, at the very least, checking in with Leisa to see where the date stands or if the judge granted us another hearing time. Yet that’s not what I do. I slide across the seat and look at the letters hung above the door. All Welcome Shelter of New York.
I pop open the door just before Brady drives forward.
“What are you doing?” he asks, slamming on his brakes.
Without a bag or money, a phone or a friend, Tuesday stands on the sidewalk looking up at the building before her. Nothing about this feels right. And if I gauge my future actions by my past with her, I refuse to leave her here to fend for herself. “Tuesday?”
Her expensive and sky-high heels plant among broken glass on the dirty sidewalk, and her coat doesn’t look like she’s worn it before yesterday.
The wind catches her coat, the front flapped open. Instead of the silk top she was wearing yesterday, she’s in a faded hospital gown tucked into her skirt. What’s really going on? “Why did you want to be dropped off here?”
Glass scrapes against concrete under her designer heels when she turns to find me standing here. “This is where the hospital coordinator told me to come since I have nowhere else to go.”
“I don’t understand. Why don’t you go home?” I thumb toward the SUV now parked at the curb. “I can take you anywhere you want. I can take you home.”
The water in her eyes from earlier has formed tears in the corners that fall down her cheeks. “I don’t know where I live, Loch.”
I narrow my eyes, more confused than ever. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t remember anything.”
My mouth falls open, but I close it to ask, “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
. . . I didn’t see that coming.