Dangerous (3 page)

Ryan

“What is it you do, buddy?”

I grimaced. I wasn’t there to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to make friends. If it had been a movie, I’d have glared at him and narrowed my eyes in the most menacing way I could; maybe told him I worked in garbage disposal and watched him shrink away.

But it wasn’t. Shit like that drew people’s attention, and I didn’t want anyone’s attention on me.

“I’m an insurance salesman.”

His mouth opened and closed again as he tried to think of something to say. For a chatty guy, he was stuck for words all of a sudden. I smiled to myself. Shitty as it was, I liked this place. I didn’t want to have to avoid it because of a pestering douche like him.

“Maybe I can tell you about some of our plans, in exchange for a tab,” I muttered.

That sealed the deal. He mumbled something and walked to the other end of the bar. I smiled. That was exactly where I wanted him.

When I wanted to shut a conversation down? I told them I worked in insurance sales. And then I asked them for something. It worked every time—instant conversation killer.

I watched as he started flirting with the two chicks midway down the bar. I looked down at my beer and frowned. There was something wrong with that image.

I glanced up again. It was one of the girls who had grabbed my eye. She was wearing a bandage around her temples. I found myself watching her. She was talking animatedly with her friend now that the bar guy had torn himself away to go serve someone. There was something about her. Something…

I snapped my head away and forced myself to stare at the small TV that was bolted to the wall above the bar.

No, Ryan. Stop.

I wanted to glance back; to look at her pale, smiling face some more. But I couldn’t allow myself to do that. There was something about her. She wasn’t like the others; I knew that instinctively. Which made her all the more dangerous.

I concentrated on the tiny TV screen, blanking out the image of her sparkling eyes. Too bad it was an ad break: I found myself focusing all my attention on a fucking tampon ad. I watched as some chick in white pants danced across the screen like a damn maniac, never once daring to take my eyes away. ESPN came back on then, thank fuck, and a ticker tape at the bottom of the screen reminded me why I’d stopped off in the bar in the first place: the Raiders game.

I threw a tip on the bar and shuffled off my stool toward the back door. I’d catch the game at home, I thought. It was safer.

***

Icy air hit me as soon as the fire door slammed shut behind me. I glanced around. Usually, that alley was deadbeat central, but it was empty as I left. And I was in a rush. I calculated. I could take a shortcut along the alley to my apartment: it’d get me home well before kickoff. Otherwise I’d need to rush back and risk missing Erikson score his first touchdown. That decided it for me.

I walked the wrong way down the alley and turned onto D Street. I usually avoided that route. And now I remembered why. The street was deserted even though it was still early. Well, the street looked deserted: I could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on me from the alleyways and abandoned buildings that ran its length. I quickened my pace, sidestepping piles of trash as I made my way along the narrow sidewalk.

My heart sank when three guys shuffled out of an alley fifty yards ahead of me and blocked my way.

Why didn’t I go the long way?
I thought.
Now I have to deal with this shit
.

In my mind, I urged them to turn and walk in the other direction, but they kept on coming. It was obvious as I got closer that they’d spotted me from an upper floor window and decided I was an easy mark. Idiots. That was the definite downside of being able to pass for a boring suit—people thought they could mess with you.

“Guys, I don’t think you wanna…”

The big one cut me off; cruel face twisting into a sneer. “What’s that, pretty boy?”

I balked. I’m not ugly, but I definitely don’t qualify as a pretty boy. I never have. But compared to this guy, I thought, I must have been like some kinda Disney club asshole. Underneath the grime and filth, he was young. The only way I knew that was from his voice, though: his face was pockmarked and worn. This kid hadn’t had an easy life, I was willing to bet. And if he kept this up, I was going to have to make it even harder. Neither of us wanted that.

I sighed. I just wanted to go home and sink into the couch in front of the game. “I don’t think you wanna...” I made my voice sound as calm and persuasive as I could. I could read him like a book, this kid: rile him up and I knew he wouldn’t back down, no matter what.

Five minutes to kickoff.

I watched him watching me. I had to stop my foot from tapping out my frustration on the cracked, uneven sidewalk. But that was what I wanted to do. I was suddenly bored by the encounter; bored and frustrated at myself for not just taking the longer way. I might still have caught the start of the game. Now? I wasn’t sure.

A chill breeze blasted past us. I shivered. His eyes widened slightly. I knew he’d mistaken the movement for some sort of weakness. I felt a fleeting urge to prove him wrong. But I had learned a long time ago not to do that; not to feed my ego. Besides, he was just some kid. What did I care if he thought I was a weak loser? I just wanted to go home and watch the game.

I glanced from him to his two friends, calculating. Beneath the mean exteriors, I could see the boys they really were. Just desperate kids who needed a break. Nothing like the type of guys I usually dealt with.

“Here. Just take it.” I reached into the pocket of my suit jacket and threw a roll of notes at him. It was mostly dollar bills, I knew, but it was all the cash I had on me. There was maybe fifty, sixty bucks there and he was welcome to it.

Greedy hands pulled the roll apart and thumbed through the notes. “And the rest of it, man.”

I shrugged. “That’s all I got.”

One of the others who’d been silent until then stepped forward. “Your phone, man. Gimme your wallet.”

I tried not to roll my eyes as I held open my jacket and patted my sides. “I told you. That’s all I got.”

He looked from my face to my chest, then his eyes landed on my wrist. I cursed silently, knowing what he was going to say before he’d even said it.

“The watch.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed. Why did he have to see the watch? I might be home by now, throwing my feet up and cracking open a cold beer. Instead…

“Come on man.” They were agitated now, but I could tell from their eyes that they weren’t high, at least right then.
Good
, I thought. They were already too unpredictable for my liking.

I glanced at the watch they were all staring at. It was six fifty-eight. There was no way I was getting home for the start of the game now. I cursed myself for cutting along that street. It was notorious for robberies and holdups. Had I gone there deliberately? To blow off steam?

No
. I shook my head. I was too much of a professional for that. I didn’t allow emotions to drive my behavior.

This was different, though.

I readjusted my sleeve, carefully pulling it down over my watch in a slow, exaggerated movement.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the leader hissed, wrong-footed now.

I glanced around. The street was as deserted as it had been when I first spotted them. This wasn’t the kinda place where neighbors intervened at the first sign of trouble. People here stayed inside; nobody got involved unless they had to. They certainly weren’t going to risk themselves for some suit they didn’t know.

My hesitation seemed to agitate him even more. He lifted his sweatshirt and pulled what looked like a Glock 19. I didn’t flinch – I’d noticed an asymmetry to his stance as soon as he blocked my path. I wanted to smile. Threaten me with a gun? You’d better be damn sure you know how to use it before you pull that shit on me.

“Look,” I said as calmly as I could, holding my hands in the air. “Here’s the thing. Are you guys Raiders fans?”

“What the
fuuuuck
?” He took a step closer to me, waving the pistol in the air in a way that told me all I needed to know about him.

“Are you Raiders fans?” I repeated slowly. “The game’s about to start.”

He held the gun sideways; gangster style. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders even though it was pointed straight at me. “I’m gonna ask you one more time.”

I shook my head.

His eyes bulged. “Are you serious?”

I sighed. This had gone on long enough, but they only had themselves to blame. They were kids; I didn’t hurt kids. But there was no way they were getting that fucking watch.

“It’s worthless. You could pawn it, get maybe five bucks.”

“I don’t care, man.” He took a step forward. He wasn’t letting up. The
idiot
.

It took me a second. Less than that. I stepped forward. The Glock was in my hand before he even realized he’d lost possession of it. He turned back and looked at his friends, mouth open with fury. I saw it happen in slow motion. Saw them reach into their waistbands.

I shoved the gun in the back of my jeans and stepped forward, grabbing both their wrists before they had time to pull their weapons. Two sets of tired eyes looked up at me in astonishment. I wasn’t surprised. I got that all the time. Despite my height and size, people looked at me and they saw the IT guy. The waiter. The guy who cut their lawns. I could blend into any situation. I had one of those trustworthy faces that people seemed to look right past.

They were still mute with surprise as I spun them round at the same time and pushed them to the ground, quickly throwing the other one on top of them. If I’d been capable of feeling guilty, I would have felt a pang when I saw the youngest one cringe away, as if he thought I was going to kill him.

I stood over them. “You don’t fucking move for the next five minutes, got it? If you do, I’ll know.”

They wouldn’t move, I knew. They were kids. And I had their weapons.

“I thought it was worth shit to you, man,” the youngest one groaned.

I stepped past them, adjusting my jacket and checking my wrist to make sure the damn watch was still there. “It’s not worthless to
me
.”

Amy

I groaned and clasped my hands around my head. My fingers recoiled. I still wasn’t used to touching the bandages. My brain was throbbing, and for the first time in five weeks it wasn’t because of the attack. This time, the culprits were vodka and tequila. I hadn’t even had that much to drink—four weeks of unconsciousness had made me a cheap date.

“Here you go,” Julia chimed.

I twisted around on the couch as she sauntered over from the tiny kitchen and sat beside my feet.

“Thanks,” I said, gratefully taking the cup of coffee she offered me.

She frowned and looked away.

“What is it?”

“Are you sure you should go back to work this soon?” she said, sheepishly. “After all you’ve been through?”

After all I’d been through
… I’d heard that phrase a lot since I’d woken up. It was usually said in hushed tones, and
about
me. Not to me. Honestly? It was driving me crazy. I’ve always been more reserved than my more hardass friends like Julia. But now? They were treating me like I was a goddamn delicate flower.

I shook my head as gently as I could. “I need to get back. I’ve been gone five weeks already.”

“But… are you sure you’re ready for it?”

I nodded. “The only thing that’s wrong with me right now is this goddamn hangover.”

She smiled. “Excellent. I mean, that sucks, but it’s better than amnesia and a head injury.”

“Yeah well I’ve still got those.” I laughed and sat forward, almost spilling hot coffee all over us as I threw my arms around her and hugged her as tight as I could. “Thank you so much. I’ll get out of your space as soon as I can.”

Julia’s apartment was tiny.
Shoebox
tiny. It was really just an L-shaped room with the bedroom part around the corner, separated from the rest by three ornate Japanese paper screens. It was absolutely fine for one person; not so much for two.

She shook her head. “Don’t be stupid, Amy. Stay as long as you need. I want you to.”

“Thanks,” I nodded.

It was great spending so much time with her, but I didn’t want to be a burden on my best friend. She’d already spent most lunch breaks and evenings visiting me in the hospital. As she stood up and went to shower in the tiny bathroom, I resolved to find a new apartment as soon as I could. I felt like a fool: Ben had insisted on us moving into the penthouse. He’d paid the rent in advance, but I’d paid what I could, including half of the security deposit.

As I’d cooked the night before, Julia had told me more about my living situation. It turned out that my landlord had refused to repay our deposit because of the damage to the apartment from the night of the attack. I had my paycheck from the week of the break-in. That was it. Julia had already called the super of my previous building—unsurprisingly, my tiny studio had already been let to another tenant.

But hey; I’d have money soon enough, right? As Julia showered, I grabbed a pen and paper from the old trunk that served as a coffee table. On it, I started writing a list of things I needed to do. Number one was getting my ass to work. It wouldn’t be hard. Sure, people assumed I was a giant nerd when I told them I was an accountant, but the truth was, I loved the work. And it was interesting: I worked for a small accounting partnership. I got to work with a huge variety of clients in everything from small businesses to charitable foundations, as well as feeding my inner spreadsheet geek. What wasn’t to love?

Julia opened the door and a blast of steam followed her out of the bathroom. I scribbled
apartment
and
new cell phone
beside numbers 2 and 3 and folded the list into my favorite purse to finish later, thankful that the thieves didn’t touch most of my possessions. I’d had that purse since I first moved to the city—it meant a hell of a lot more to me than a laptop or cell phone.

I rubbed my head as I stood and shuffled to the bathroom. Now that the hangover had receded, I could feel the tenderness from where I’d been struck. The doctors had told me it would be tender until the staples came out, and they hadn’t been lying. I was due back into the hospital in a couple days to get them removed. I closed the door quickly as I felt tears spring to my eyes. I know, I know; I shouldn’t have been feeling sorry for myself when I was lucky to be alive, but I couldn’t help it. I’d tried to trivialize it by saying that they hadn’t gotten away with much. The reality was, though, they’d taken much more than some electronics. They’d taken my memory. My boyfriend. My apartment. They’d taken my
life
.

***

By the time I stepped out of the subway train, I’d calmed down. Thankfully. There was no way I would have wanted the guys I worked with to see me like that. It was going to be enough of a shock for them to see me at all. Julia had tried to coax me into calling them and letting them know that I wouldn’t be back in the office for another week, but I’d inconvenienced them enough. I reasoned that I’d rock up to the office, and if they’d arranged temporary cover I’d just go back to Julia’s and rest. I doubted that would be the case, though: it was the busiest time of the year for our business.

I’d covered my bandages with a knitted beanie, conscious of the stares I’d gotten in the bar the night before. I walked along the platform in a swell of commuters. Even though I should have felt relaxed, I felt anything but. It was my first time out in public alone since the break-in. And even though I was surrounded by people, I still didn’t feel safe. None of these people knew me. None of them cared about me. What if something happened? Would anyone come to my rescue or would they just walk on by?

My breaths were shallow and fast; tears were forming in my eyes by the time I reached the steps to the street. I reached the top and grabbed on to the handrail, leaning against it as I tried to fight the feeling of panic that rose inside me. I barely registered the frustrated sighs as people fought their way around me in the morning rush. I was trapped in my head; my heart hammering as if it was working up to burst out of my body. I glanced around wildly. There was nowhere to sit to catch my breath and I was still five blocks from the office. I felt a whimper escape my lips. I clung on as tightly as I could to that railing, even though somewhere within me I knew I must have looked crazy. I didn’t care—the panic was stronger.

It wasn’t even like I was remembering what happened. That whole evening was a hazy blur. Not only that, but I struggled to even recall much about the new apartment. Sure, I remembered Ben leading me to it; surprising me. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to call up a memory of what it was like when we lived there. What was the couch like? The bedroom? I shook my head in bewilderment. Nothing. I couldn’t remember sleeping there; eating; using the bathroom. I knew there was a terrace off the huge living room, but I could only remember looking at it from inside, never sitting out there with a book. Had I been working long hours all that time? I couldn’t remember that either.

Fuck.

My vision was swimming now; my head throbbing. I looked around again, mouth dry. It had hit me from nowhere—I’d come out of my coma a full week ago. Why was I only just realizing the extent of my memory loss? The doctors had asked me how much I recalled. And I’d told them that it was only the attack I couldn’t remember. But it was much more than that. I frowned. I pictured myself lying in bed, Dr. Milano sitting by my side. What was it I’d told him?

Someone bumped against me and muttered something. And then it was like the fog cleared. I still couldn’t remember what had happened, of course, but the contact was enough to jolt me back to reality. I was clinging to a handrail in a subway entrance with tears streaming down my face. I cleared my throat, embarrassed. I was also late for work. I dusted off my suit jacket and walked up the rest of the stairs, cheeks burning. The rational side of my brain took over then: I’d ask Dr. Milano at my next appointment. He could check his notes. Now, though, it was time to reassure my employers that I was just fine. I was extremely glad none of my colleagues took the same train as me.

***

By the time the elevator doors opened on my floor, the feeling of panic had left me completely, replaced with excitement about getting back to work. I didn’t even care how nerdy that made me—my job was just about the only thing left in my life, and I intended to throw myself into it.

But when I rounded the corner to our section of the floor my heart started to race. There was something wrong. The atmosphere in the office was usually hectic. It was like a wall of silence fell over everyone as soon as they saw me. Not only that, but they all stared at me in unison like I’d just risen from the dead or something.

I swallowed down my apprehension as best I could and marched to Steve’s office, trying not to allow myself to dwell on the strange reaction to my return. Maybe they didn’t know what to say to me after the attack, my optimistic brain insisted. They weren’t exactly the most sensitive bunch of guys on the planet, after all.

Before I even reached his corner office, Steve came out and took my elbow, leading me inside. I frowned at him, but I couldn’t get the words out.

My heart pounded as he closed the door behind us and gestured for me to sit on one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. Before, I’d never felt apprehensive about going in there to catch up. Now there was a ball of dread in my stomach—it felt like I was just waiting for him to drop the bad news I had a strange feeling was coming.

I closed my eyes when he cleared his throat. I’d worked with him for long enough to know that was a tic that happened when he was about to say something he was uncomfortable with.

“Amy,” he said, his voice falling.

I smiled as bravely as I could. “Steve.”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’ve loved working with you, Amy. I really have.”

“Um, that’s good…” I realized with a sinking feeling that I’d been too optimistic. I’d assumed that they’d found a temp to cover me and I wouldn’t be able to come back for a couple months. Was it more serious than that?

“I’m sorry. I really am. We weren’t sure if you’d pull through, and this is a small company, and it’s coming up to reporting season, and…”

I could tell he was really bothered. Steve was usually calm and reserved. Now he was babbling like a child. But I didn’t feel sorry for him this time, much as I wanted to. I just needed him to get to the point; I felt like I knew what was coming next.

“Go on, Steve.”

He looked up at me. I could tell it was a struggle for him to meet my eyes. “We can’t take you back on, Amy. I’ve already hired a replacement.”

My mouth fell open as he confirmed what I’d suspected ever since he closed his office door behind us. Then I laughed. It started as a snort, but turned into an almost maniacal cackle. I’ve always reacted weirdly to bad news. Steve smiled uneasily, obviously not sure what the hell was going on in my mind.

“Talk about writing me off too soon, Steve,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath after my laughter subsided.

He shook his head and glanced down at the scrawl-filled notepad on his desk. “I’m sorry. I had to think of the company. It’s nothing personal. We’re just not like the big guns. We need every man on deck.”

I looked at him with nothing left to say.

“If it makes any difference, know that I’ll give you a stellar reference.”

I shrugged. “I can’t pay rent with a reference, can I?”

He looked utterly dejected, but I was in no mood to console him. Homeless and now unemployed? What next? I stood and walked out without saying another word. I was determined not to show emotion in front of my colleagues—my
former
colleagues. I never had. No matter how bad a day I’d had there, I’d refused to let the pressure show.

That thought snagged in my brain. It wasn’t true, was it? I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall beside the elevators. I glanced behind me to make sure no one had followed me out of the office. I was safe. There was something, something I couldn’t identify. Wildly, I traced back the mental steps I’d made. Something had triggered that feeling. It was a flash. It wasn’t a memory as such; a mental photograph. It was more a wisp of emotion. A flash. Sitting at my desk, not exactly hysterical, but still unable to hold back tears. Willing them to stop. I shook my head trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t my imagination. I was sure of it. But it must have been? How else could I picture something that had never happened? Unless…

I leaned my head against the cold marble and tried to recall the emotion. It had vanished. I squeezed my eyes closed. My mind was racing now.

“What’s happening to me?” I murmured.

My heart raced too, terrified I was going crazy. Those flashes I’d been having since I woke up. They made no sense. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull up a meaningful memory. I exhaled, struggling to steady my breath. Because I damn well wasn’t passing out in my old workplace and giving Steve a justification for giving my job away.

I pressed the call button repeatedly, stabbing it until the elevator car arrived. I needed to get out of there. I had picked a cheap new cell phone on the walk to the subway station; it was in my hands before the doors even opened on the first floor. Julia’s number was the only one in there so far. Good. It was the only one I needed right then.