Chapter 39
“Miss.” The redhead was getting closer.
She stumbled backward. “Don’t touch me!”
“If you’ll allow me, I can get you out the back way. You won’t have to go through the lobby.”
“No, no, no, no …” She was backpedaling now, faster than before.
“Miss!” He lunged for her.
She didn’t know how she did it, with the dizziness and the heat, but she ducked and pivoted, dodging him and running past the bar.
Darya was just a startled smear in her peripheral vision, but she could feel the guy gaining on her.
Wherever he had wanted to take her—down some shadowy corridor, over the side of the railing down to the street below—she sure as hell wasn’t going.
Inside the hallway, she tore open the stairwell door and clattered down the metal steps.
“Stop!” the guy shouted above her, but she was flying now, down more steps, bursting out into the lobby, running past surprised guests, bellboys, then the doorman.
Out on the crowded sidewalk, she slowed her pace, weaving in and around the people.
She had no plan, no idea where she was headed.
She just knew she had to keep upright, keep her eyes open, keep her legs moving.
Moving, moving away from that man. Up one street, down the next.
Cutting through an alley, crossing a busy avenue against the light.
Only one thing brought her to a standstill.
Sailor.
Sailor Loeffler, in the flesh, standing right in front of her like the Goddess had just dropped her there.
A gift.
She had changed out of her church dress and now wearing a skintight spaghetti-strapped black bodysuit and jeans whose frayed hems dragged the pavement. Her hair was pulled up in a smooth bun, her eyes hidden by huge amber aviators, but Ingrid knew it was her. Without question.
Her friend. Her best friend, walking beside a guy Ingrid didn’t recognize.
He was young, dressed as sloppily as Sailor was, also with sunglasses covering his eyes.
He had a sparse, oily-looking goatee. A sharp chin and stringy hair.
This had to be the guy Poppy had been talking about.
The high school ex, married with kids. He held the door of a restaurant open for Sailor, and she stepped past him.
“Sailor!” Ingrid’s voice sounded strange. Like someone who hadn’t used it for ages and ages.
But Sailor didn’t hear her. She disappeared inside the restaurant followed by her companion. Ingrid stopped, swaying slightly on the sidewalk. There was only one thing to do; it was obvious. She followed them.
The small restaurant, Lombardy’s, was warm and homey, all red-checked tablecloths, timber and plaster, and bottles of wine in baskets. A woman, hair shaved off one side of her head and ears full of piercings, stopped her just beyond the door. “Reservation?” she asked.
“No,” Ingrid mumbled. “But I’m going to be sick.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“Jesus,” the woman groaned.
Ingrid fixed her with a pleading look. “Please, your bathroom.”
The woman pointed over her shoulder. “Past the bar on the right.”
It must’ve been the power of suggestion.
On her way past the bar, she did indeed feel a wave of nausea, and when she pushed open a stall door, she vomited violently.
When she was done, she felt drained and weak, but still strange.
Hazy and disconnected. Maybe the bartender really had put something in her drink.
She rinsed out her mouth, splashed her face, and washed her hands.
She looked in the mirror. Her eyes looked strange, pupils dilated, and glassy, but she couldn’t just hang out here and wait out the effects of the alcohol or drugs to wear off.
She was running out of time. She smoothed her hair and headed back out.
She peered around the bar into the cozy dining room.
The Loeffler family, minus Scoot, plus Sailor’s male friend with the goatee, was sitting at a large round table in the far corner.
Two bottles of wine decanted on the table, a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil beside them.
Rill picked up one of the wine bottles and poured it for Cas.
That’s when Ingrid finally understood what was wrong with the tableau.
Cas was dressed in a suit and tie.
She’d never seen him in a suit, not on his way to church, not even at Sailor’s party.
Rill lifted his wineglass. “A toast to Casimir,” he said. Sailor, Mr. Goatee, and Cas lifted their glasses. “My son—my searcher and pilgrim—has finally found his way home.”
They all murmured To Cas, clinked glasses, and drank.
“When do you start, bro?” asked Goatee.
“Monday morning, bright and early,” said Rill. “See you at sunrise in the C-suite, Mr. Vice President of Operations.”
Cas sent his father a tight smile. Sailor looked miserable.
So Rill had finally gotten his way and persuaded Cas to join Savannah Sauce, clearly in an effort to prepare him for the role of CEO one day.
The job Sailor wanted—and had earned. Ingrid trembled with fury.
Because she knew Rill had only done it for one reason.
He wanted to keep Cas under his thumb. To control his son, for now and always.
It was so unfair. Cas was a quiet, contemplative person, a searcher.
He was into the church, not running a multinational corporation.
Sailor was the one with the head and heart for business.
But Rill only cared about his own image and legacy.
He expected his children to serve his purpose. He wanted them to carry out his wishes.
And the icing on top? Sailor wasn’t even VP yet in her own department, only a director. It was a slap in the face, and Ingrid had to help. She had to stop this. She had to help her friends.
“Sailor!” she cried, then, “Cas! Hi!” She stepped forward, out from behind the bar. Out into the open where everyone could see her.
Cas straightened. And then, to Ingrid’s amazement, his face lit up and he smiled the widest, most genuine smile Ingrid had ever seen on his face. Her heart surged with joy. With hope. Cas was truly happy to see her. He did like her. She felt it.
Beside him, Rill flashed an expression of his own, a look like a thundercloud. He put a hand on Cas’s arm and moved as if he meant to stand, but Sailor stopped him, holding out one finger to him and rising out of her seat.
“Stop right there,” she said to Ingrid, venom in her voice.
Ingrid stopped. “Sailor, it’s me.” She turned back to Cas, imploring. “It’s Ingrid.”
But now Cas was looking down at his plate of bread.
“We see you,” Sailor said with a snide glance at her father. “What we want is to not see you.”
Her words hit Ingrid in the gut. She turned her gaze to Cas, opening her mouth, ready to offer something of value—an apology, a promise, anything.
“He wants you to be something you’re not,” Ingrid said to him. “He doesn’t see the real you. He’s planning on getting you into the company and training you to take over. To be CEO.”
Cas’s face turned a shade of red in proportion to the amount of color that drained out of Rill’s.
Sailor narrowed her eyes at Ingrid. “No, he’s not.”
Rill sent Ingrid a level look. Shut your mouth, it said.
“He doesn’t care what either of you want,” Ingrid said. “He only cares about his plan. What he thinks is best.”
“She’s drunk.” Rill stood with a flash of danger in his eye. “Ingrid, let’s get you out of here.”
Ingrid stepped back, bumping into one startled customer then spinning around and crashing into a server carrying a tray of food.
Ingrid heard a yelp, and then everything seemed to jumble together in a cacophony of color and sound.
She felt herself go down, along with the dishes and glasses, food and cutlery.
She felt herself lifted, then pushed and pulled, carried out of the restaurant to some other dark, fetid place. An alley.
Her back slammed against a brick wall, the breath forced out of her.
Hot breath blew in her face, and she tried to twist away, but hands pushed her back and her spine ground helplessly into the mortar.
A hand pushed the side of her face against the rough wall.
She gasped and struggled against it, but it held her firmly.
“Stop it, Ingrid,” came a firm voice. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ve got to calm down.”
She obeyed. It was the only thing to do. He released her face, and she felt something drawing close—a blessed end to this strange way she was feeling. Relief. Unconsciousness. But she couldn’t pass out in an alley. She clawed at the shoulders and arms holding her, this time for help. She couldn’t …
The face came near again, and this time, she smelled the wine on his breath. Wine and garlic and expensive cologne. Rill Loeffler’s cologne. Fig and cognac. He spoke again in a soft, coaxing tone.
“Ingrid,” he said. “Listen to me. You have to stop all this … this pushing. Wanting something you can’t have will make you bitter. And bitterness makes you sick.” His face softened. “And I couldn’t bear it if you got sick.”
She frowned at him. Was that a threat? Had he sent Darya and the hot, redheaded guy at Peregrin after her? It could’ve been Patti Jo Norwood. She could’ve called Rill from the restaurant.
“Did you follow me to Peregrin?” she mumbled. “Did you tell them to put something in my drink?”
“Honey,” Rill said. “Baby. You’re not making any sense. I’m just saying that when your grandmother died, it nearly killed me. I would never let anything happen to you.”
“I wanna go home,” she moaned.
But he held her fast against the wall. “Ingrid … Ingrid …” Her name was a whisper in his mouth. He didn’t look angry now or threatening, just strangely tender. She felt something ripple through her. The way he was looking at her felt wrong, but she stopped pushing against him.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Just a second, okay?”
He was staring at her so intently. And the look in his eyes … she’d seen it a few times before, the night of the engagement party, that first family dinner, but now it was different. It was so plain …
Rill spoke softly. “It’s amazing how much you look like her. Like Edie. You both have the exact same freckles … here …” He ran the side of his thumb over the bridge of her nose. “… and here …” Now the side of his thumb across her upper lip.
She couldn’t move. She felt a glimmer of desire inside her, a spark that ignited something she didn’t want ignited. A tear gathered in her eye then fell down her cheek.
He brushed his cheek along hers and whispered, “That night at Sailor’s party, it was like I was seeing a ghost. Ever since then, I’ve been your friend. Your advocate. Did you know that? I’ve been the one on your side, helping you out, all along.”
She shook her head.
“I was the one who found the jade flowers. Just a quick phone call to an old friend in Mexico. And the dress, the harpist? Those were just a couple of calls, too, Ingrid. Because I wanted to help you. I wanted to make you look good so Sailor would keep bringing you around.”
He looked so pleased with himself, but she felt like her brain was knocking around her skull from all the information bombarding her. Rill had been the one who’d made Sailor’s perfect wedding possible. Not her. Not her magic.
It had never been her magic …
Rill stared into her eyes and gave her a smile. The same slow, lopsided smile Cas had. “Hey. Don’t you want to thank me for how good I made you look?”
“No … I …” She struggled against him, again, but now it felt half-hearted. She was so tired.
“We could work something out, Ingrid. All you have to do is say the word.”
She couldn’t speak. She pushed him away again, and this time, he actually released her.
“If you want to go, go. But I don’t think you do. I think you want to stay. I think you appreciate me for what I’ve done. I think you want me, Ingrid—” He took hold of her arm.
She wrenched away from him, stumbling.
He put his hand out as if to catch her. “Whoopsie-daisy.”
She let out a sob as she staggered down the alley toward the street. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she had to get away.
“Ingrid!” she heard behind her, but she didn’t stop. She just ran.