Come Fly With Me (33 page)

"Thanks,
but
I
can't
put
you
out.
You've
been
a
lifesaver,"
Allison
said
as
she
climbed
onto
the
curb
and
shut
the
passenger
door.
She
stuck
out
her
hand.
"Brett,
it's
been
a
pleasure
getting
to
know
you
for
the
last
twenty
minutes.
Good
luck
with
everything."

Brett
shook
hers
in
return,
"Allison
Ross,
I
hope
you
find
what
you're
looking
for."

Allison's
eyebrows
knit
together
at
that
parting
remark.
She
stood
alone
on
the
corner
of
an
unfamiliar
street
in
a
strange
town
while
she
waited
for
the
cab
she
had
called
from
Brett's
car
to
come
pick
her
up.
She
could
not
remember
the
last
time
she
had
felt
so
lost.

Allison
was
back
in
her
hotel
suite
later
that
evening
and
had
a
charcoal
pencil
in
her
hand.
She
worked
from
memory,
trying
to
recapture
the
images
of
the
celebration.
The
play
of
light
and
dark,
as
the
menacing
wooded
perimeter
of
the
property
encroached
on
the
sun-dappled
expanse
of
lawn
was
a
particular
focus
of
hers.
There
was
a
knock
at
the
door,
and
she
put
down
her
pencil
to
answer
it.
At
the
last
second,
she
covered
the
sketch
with
a
newspaper
that
had
been
lying
on
the
table.
Alex
wordlessly
entered
the
room
as
she
stepped
aside
to
let
him
in.

He
handed
her
a
bag,
"I
didn't
know
which
you'd
prefer,
so
I
saved
a
slice
of
each
for
you.
The
brownies
were
finished
before
I
could
get
near
them."

She
took
in
the
grim
set
of
his
mouth.
So
this
was
serious
Alex.
Hallelujah,
he
does
exist,
she
thought.
She
watched
as
he
paced
the
room,
sleek
as
a
cat,
running
his
fingers
through
his
light,
wavy
hair.
He
seemed
uncharacteristically
stressed.
Well,
that's
what
happens
when
your
past
actions
come
back
to
bite
you
in
your
ass,
Alex.
She
realized
he
had
stopped
pacing
and
as
she
blinked
back
to
attention,
she
noticed
him
holding
her
sketch.

Alex
studied
it
carefully.
He
turned
to
face
her,
his
eyes
sharp
with
accusation.

"I
knew
it,"
he
said.

She
said
nothing
in
reply.

"Now
I
understand
why
I
had
such
a
strong
reaction
to
your
painting;
the
one
that
I
bought.
I
was
connecting
to
you
."
He
seemed
furious
as
he
pulled
out
a
chair
at
the
paper-strewn
table
and
sat
down.

He
propped
his
ankle
over
his
knee,
but
Allison
was
aware
that
each
of
his
movements
was
deliberate—calculated
to
throw
her
off
guard.
She
had
been
hyperaware
of
him
from
the
moment
he'd
stepped
into
her
office
a
month
ago.
They'd
been
dancing
around
each
other
ever
since,
and
she
was
not
about
to
cede
her
edge
now.
As
she
sat
down,
she
took
the
pony
holder
from
her
wrist
and
efficiently
tied
her
hair
into
a
knot,
letting
the
last
twist
of
the
rubber
band
sound
off
a
satisfying
snap.
She
could
be
annoyed
,
too.
She
waited
for
him
to
share
what
was
on
his
mind;
she
didn't
have
to
wait
long.

"Why
did
you
leave?"
Alex
asked.

"I
heard
what
I
needed
to
hear."

He
nodded,
"Seth
told
you
about
the
newspaper
route.
That's
a
particular
favorite
of
his.
He's
resentful
that
I
flit
in
and
out
of
his
life.
He
thinks
if
he
sabotages
my
prospects
in
New
York,
I'll
come
back
here
and
work
for
my
father."

"So,
you
didn't
teach
him
to
steal
to
get
ahead?"

"I
taught
him
business
is
cutthroat
and
you
have
to
create
every
advantage
for
yourself."

"Don't
equivocate,
Alex.
Just
say
it—say
you
taught
him
it's
okay
to
steal."

"Seth
would
always
knock
on
the
door
in
the
afternoon
and
hand
over
that
day's
paper.
Mrs.
Limons
read
the
news
a
couple
of
hours
later.
No
harm
done."

"Except
to
the
boy
who
lost
his
paper
route."

"He
should
have
figured
it
out.
I
did—when
my
father
did
it
to
me,"
he
said.

Allison
shook
her
head,
"And
here
I
was
just
beginning
to
like
your
father."