Wired (Buchanan-Renard #13)(88)

Allison was getting the feeling both of them wanted to yell at her. She tried to justify her actions. “Yes, I know I’m supposed to call you, Agent Phillips, if there are ever any problems, but nothing was taken from my apartment, and there was already a policeman taking a report, so I didn’t think it was necessary to bother you. I’m pretty certain I know who it was. My aunt and uncle.”

Her new announcement led to another round of questions, and by the time Liam finished with her, she felt like an imbecile. Just because Stamos guessed her aunt and uncle were responsible didn’t make it so.

Liam rubbed his brow as if trying to wipe away a headache. “So you’ve figured it was your aunt and uncle at your apartment.”

Feeling backed into a corner, she said, “Yes.”

He nodded, then asked, “What reason do you have for being run off the road?”

“I was thinking it was probably road rage.”

“Road rage.” Phillips repeated her words and dropped into his chair. “What could you have done to make the driver come after you like that?” Frowning, he asked, “Were you texting?”

Was he blaming her? “Of course I was texting,” she countered. “I always text while I drive. Oh, and I was putting on lipstick and mascara, so I had to adjust the mirror. . . .” She couldn’t think of anything else outrageous to tell him.

Phillips didn’t look amused. “This is a serious matter.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.

“I’ve taken care of the police report on your car,” he said then.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t road rage,” Liam said.

She stared at him for several seconds, letting the events of the last few hours sink in. “They’re related, aren’t they? But how? Do you have any theories?”

“Several, as a matter of fact,” he said. “We’ll find who did this,” he added with a granite voice. “And when we do . . .”

Afraid he would say something crazy in front of Phillips, she stood and said, “We’re finished, right? Do you want me to work or go home? I should go home.” And before Phillips could answer, she said, “I’m going home. I need to go home.”

She was beginning to feel a delayed reaction to the effects of her near miss. Her hands were still shaking so much she knew she wouldn’t be able to type, and she felt weak. Liam saw how pale she’d become and grabbed her before she could fall.

She was walking out the door with Liam holding her arm when she turned back. “Where’s my laptop?”

“The techs have it,” Phillips said. “It was pretty banged up. They’ll see what they can salvage.”

“Thank you,” she said.

—

The first she noticed that Liam had her backpack and phone was when he opened her apartment door for her. He must have gotten them out of the car, she thought, or maybe she’d held them when he pulled her through the window. She was too tired to figure it out now.

Liam led her to her bed and pulled the covers back. Within seconds of laying her head on the pillow, she was sound asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at her alarm clock and saw that several hours had passed. She could hear Liam’s voice in the living room. He was on the phone. He was always on his phone, it seemed. His job didn’t let up. She couldn’t tell whom he was talking to, but she caught snippets of his conversation. She heard part of a question about an underground cell and another about an informer. He kept his voice low and she couldn’t make out anything else. The minute he ended one call, another came in. She honestly didn’t know how he could keep up with it all. She knew he was in a high-pressure job, one that was very important, but she also knew it was impossible for one person to handle so many responsibilities. Even Liam. He sounded tired. No matter how much stamina he had, he would eventually crash. Allison got scared thinking about it.

She got out of bed and stood in the doorway until he noticed her. “Liam, when did you get back from Berlin?” she asked.

His phone rang and he quickly answered it with “I’ll be right there” before giving her his full attention. She could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Allison, I’m afraid our talk is going to have to wait,” he said.

“Answer my question. When did you get back from Berlin?”

“A week ago.”





TWENTY-FIVE



A week? He’d been back in Boston seven days and nights and hadn’t bothered to call her? What was the matter with him? Didn’t he have any idea how much he was hurting her? No, of course not. How could he know? He was an idiot.

Any other woman would have thrown her hands up and moved on. She had tried, but, fortunately or unfortunately, she wasn’t any other woman. It was time for her to find some courage and confront him, and that wasn’t going to be easy. If he didn’t like what she had to say, would she be able to walk away? What if he rejected her? She thought about that possibility for a few minutes and then decided, yes, it would be devastating, but then at least she would know, and she could then figure out a way to put him out of her life.

Her mind was cluttered with worries while she showered and got ready for bed. Every time she thought about barreling down the hill in her car, she felt sick to her stomach. Time to lose herself in her laptop, she concluded. It was the only way she knew to disappear from the world. And then she remembered her laptop had been destroyed, and she was going to have to buy a new one. Thankfully, she had external backups of all her work.