The Confession (8 page)

Marcos lowered his head, until he caught my gaze. “Derrick says I shouldn't yell at you because you've been through enough.”

“Do you yell?” I asked. “I'd like to see that.”

And it was true. I wanted him to yell at me. I wanted him to tell me it was stupid going out when I was upset. That I should have told someone where I was going. I wanted someone to, so I didn't have to.

He shook his head, then grabbed me and pulled me into a hug.

“You're like a goddamn cat,” he muttered. “What life is this? Four? Five?”

I laughed into his shoulder, squeezing him hard.

“Don't push it, all right? One of these days that luck is going to run out.”

A
lec didn't come back that day. The psychiatrist came, and the doctor, and the nurses. My dad stayed in my room, taking the occasional call related to his PI work. I asked to be released. They all said no. Tomorrow.

Relax,
my dad said.
Eat.

I told him my muscles were going to atrophy if I stayed in this bed much longer. I refused to turn on the television, afraid of seeing anything that might pertain to the trial.

It made for a very boring, frustrating day.

That night I barely slept. It seemed the rest had caught up with me, and now we had switched gears back to insomnia. With my dad at home to check on Mug, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of Alec.

It was basically about as effective as trying not to think of donuts while dieting. The worst part was, I kept wondering what he was doing now, and the conclusion was always the same.

He was in bed with another woman.

I sat up and flipped on the light. My phone was finally charged, and I flipped through the messages. About four thousand texts and missed calls from my dad and Amy. A few voice mails from Mike. Marcos's blunt text:
CALL ME ASAP.

A message from Alec.

I scrolled down the list and pressed the Play button.

“Anna it's me.”
Hesitation.
“It's Alec. Look, if you get this, can you call me? No one's seen you for a while and I just want to . . .”
Pause.
“Just call me, all right? Or call Amy or Mike or your dad. Just call someone. Soon.”

My chest began to ache. He sounded seriously worried. I imagined him driving around town, trying to figure out where I'd been.

And then going back to Janelle at the bed-and-breakfast.

Searching for me was what any friend would do. Just because he didn't love me like I loved him, didn't mean he didn't love me at all.

I bit down hard on my top lip. I bet Canada was nice this time of year. Mountains. Skiing. People who ended sentences with “eh?” I'd known a woman in Baltimore who'd spent a year in Canada on a work visa. I wondered how long it took to apply for those.

I opened the Internet on my phone. But instead of researching Canada, I searched for the bar I'd ended up at after the fund-raiser. Marcos had given me the name—Barrow's. I could imagine the sign out front, but couldn't tell if that was from a recent memory, or something older.

It was just after two. I doubted they were still open.

A man picked up on the third ring. “Barrow's. We're closed, so if you left your shit here, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to get it.”

“Hello?” I said. “Are you the bartender?”

He waited a beat. “I may or may not be. Depends on who's asking.”

His voice was familiar, and brought a cold sweat to my brow.

“My name's Anna,” I said. “I think I was in the other night. Friday night, to be exact.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Anna Wright or something?”

“Rossi.”

“Yeah,” he said again. I tried to picture his face, but couldn't. “People are looking for you. A few cops. Your boyfriend came by like seven times.”

“My boyfriend?”

“Tall guy, looks like he could wrestle a bear and come out on top.”

Alec. Just being a good friend, I reminded myself.

“Right,” I said. “They found me. I was just wondering if you saw anything that night. Who I was with, anything.”

I heard a screech, like a stool being dragged across the floor. “Look, like I told the cops, we have a lot of people in and out of this place. A lot of girls looking for dates. I don't judge, everyone's got their reasons.”

My fists clenched. I willed them to relax.

“Do you remember what time I was there?”

“Had to be early. Ten or so. You looked sad as hell. I remember thinking you could use a fucking hug. A guy I'd never seen before picked you up before you finished your first drink. I didn't see you leave, but it was before the band started at eleven. Hey, the cops mentioned he might have dropped something in your drink. Is that true? If it gets out people are dropping roofies in my bar . . .”

“I can say for a fact that people are dropping roofies in your bar.”

“Shit.” The implication of this hit a moment later. “
Shit.
You all right?”

I pressed the make-believe Pass button.

“Did I look uncomfortable?” I asked. “Or frightened?” I felt like an idiot asking questions about myself like this.

“No,” he said. “Just sad, like I said.”

“Anything specific you can remember about the guy?” I asked. “What he was wearing? Any scars or glasses or missing teeth.”
Anything.

“I'm sorry,” said the bartender. “Honestly. I barely looked twice at him. Friday nights are jammed here. I can't remember if I even got him a beer.”

“But you remember he bought me a drink,” I huffed.

“You're a little prettier than he was.”

I frowned. “You don't have security footage?”

“Naw. I've got a camera out front, but just to scare people straight. I don't keep it on. I . . . yeah. Sorry about that. Anyway, it'd hardly matter. Some kids fucked it up after the band anyway.”

“They stole it?”

“No. They busted it. I bet I know who it was, too. Crazy-ass college kids. When I left that night it was in pieces behind a bush.”

This didn't sit right. “You're sure it was college kids?”

“Could've been anyone, I guess.”

It could have been the guy who met me, thinking that he didn't want to get caught. He wouldn't have known it wasn't connected to a live feed.

“All right,” I said. “If you think of anything else, can you call me?”

“Sure.” He took my number. “Sorry about all this. If you find that asshole, send me his mug shot and I'll make sure he never steps foot in another bar in the state.”

“Thanks,” I said, and hung up.

I grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the nightstand and wrote down everything he'd told me. I read it again and again, trying to remember the things he'd said, until dawn's orange light began sneaking through the window and I finally fell asleep.

*   *   *

The next morning, the nurse told me I would be discharged after the doctor made her rounds. When I asked how much this would cost, she told me not to worry, they'd already worked it out in billing. I suspected that meant I'd receive a nice fat itemized list in the next few weeks.

I packed up my few belongings and checked my complexion in the mirror. Not exactly beauty queen material, but not terrible either, considering I'd been found at a Dumpster a few days ago.

When the knock came, I'd assumed it was the doctor.

“Come in,” I called. My dad, who'd been reading in the chair, put down his book.

It wasn't the doctor. It was Janelle Take-Your-Man Jamison.

I planted the heels of my rubber flip-flops into the floor. Not usually the jealous type, a surge of anger rose so quickly within me, I'd have sworn my eyes turned green.

She was wearing a pants suit today, with her auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. It was like the first time I'd seen her in the hospital. All business, no room for softness.

I was even jealous of her mascara.

“Anna, you look well.”

“I'm fantastic,” I said tentatively. “Never better. You?”

She avoided my question.

“Special Agent Jamison with the FBI,” she announced to my father. Her head turned back to me. “Can we speak privately?”

“Of course,” said my dad. “I'll be downstairs in the cafeteria. I hear they've got powdered eggs on the menu today.”

He squeezed my forearm on the way out.

When the door shut behind him, Janelle moved to the side of the bed, heels tapping on the hard linoleum. I prepared myself for the inevitable
Jerry Springer
showdown and grabbed the edge of the lunch tray.

“You've been through some terrible things lately,” she said. It sounded nice, but I didn't want her kindness.

I released the tray and crossed my arms over my chest.

“What do you want, Janelle?”

She looked up at me, green eyes flashing with a hurt that made my stomach clench.

“I want you to know I didn't mean for this to happen,” she said.

She was genuinely sorry for hurting me. I could see it on her face. Feel it in the heavy air around us.

“He's . . .” She took a breath. “Well. You know how he is.”

Yes. I knew. I could already feel my tough front stripping away. I didn't want her to talk to me about Alec. I didn't want her to care about him, and I certainly didn't want him to care about her.

“I make him happy, if that matters to you.”

It did matter, though I couldn't admit it to her.

“Is that all you came to say?” I asked.

“I wanted to tell you I'm looking into who took you. If it's linked to the Stein trial, I'll find out.”

“I thought you were demoted,” I said, the cattiness gone from my voice. “Inappropriate conduct or something.”

She gave me a dry grin. “I was. But they still find some uses for me, I guess. Agent Tenner's heading the case now.”

“He's all right.” It was a relief. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been knocked unconscious by a tire iron before Alec and I had been taken to the bridge.

Janelle nodded. “Matt's his second. And I'm . . .”

“Watching Alec's back.” I didn't like it, but I wanted him to be as safe as possible.

“Of course,” she said.

Her phone rang. She pulled it from her hip and checked the number, then turned to me. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

She stepped in the hall, leaving me staring after her. I wasn't sure I felt better with her in charge of my case, but at least I believed she would look into it. If she cared for Alec at all, she'd want to make sure she didn't let Maxim Stein get away with anything, even something to do with me.

Outside in the hallway, I heard her answer the phone.

“What's up, Tenner?”

Curiosity had me tiptoeing toward the crack in the door. The last time I'd seen Janelle and Agent Tenner together, it was quite obvious who had been in charge.

“I'm with her now.”

I heard Janelle's shoes clack as she went a little farther down the hall. I stood in the gap of the door, listening.

“She doesn't know.”

Doesn't know what? I held my breath, trying to silence the background noise to hear her better.

“No,” she said, lowering her voice. “Flynn's in court. Matt took him. Why?”

Her shoes stopped.

“Are you sure it's him?” The emotion in her voice caught me off guard. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

A pause.

“Is there only one Residence Inn in Lakeland?”

Another pause.

“No, of course I'm not going to tell her. She'll find out soon enough.”

I was trying to make sense of her scattered responses. Alec was supposed to be in court, but it sounded like Tenner had found him somewhere else. The concern in Janelle's voice turned my paranoia to fear. Was Alec in danger? Was he hurt?

I nearly pounced on Janelle as she came back through the door seconds later.

“What was that?”

Surprise crossed her face for only a moment before she wiped it clear. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“You were talking about Alec. And me.”

“You're nosy, you know that?”

I stepped closer. “Is he all right?”

“He's fine. He's in court.”

“Don't lie to me, Janelle.”

She placed her hands on her hips, beneath her tailored suit jacket, and sized me up.

“I can't talk about this now. I need to leave.”

“I'm coming with you.”

She laughed. “No, I don't think so.”

I grabbed my bag and the purse Marcos had brought. “Just because he's not mine anymore, doesn't mean I don't love him.”

Later I'd regret saying that, I was sure. Right now, I just cared about getting to Alec.

“Calm down,” she said, her voice becoming more clipped with urgency. “Really. You've just been through something traumatic. You need to take things slow. Find your father. Talk to your doctor. Let me do my job.”

“You don't understand.”

“I do,” she said. “I know how you must be feeling. I'd feel the same in your position. But right now, you need to trust me.”

She gave me a firm look, and I rocked back on my heels. She was an FBI agent, she could do things I couldn't. I looked down at my pajama pants and pink flip-flops, clashing with the black sequined clutch in my hand. I was wasting precious time distracting her when she could be helping the man I loved.

“Will you call me when you find him?” I asked.

She nodded, and strode quickly from the room.

I waited five seconds, and then I grabbed a pen from the nightstand and scribbled a note to my father.

FBI needs my help. I have my cell, will call you soon. Love, Anna.

“That ought to piss him right off,” I muttered. Then I grabbed my stuff, and headed for the stairs.