Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(30)

“Oh.”

Katrina rested her forehead against the glass, the coolness grounding her. She didn’t like to think too much about the small flat she’d been kept in for those few days or the fear Hardeep wouldn’t be able to pay the ten million dollar ransom the kidnapper had demanded. Or that he wouldn’t want to. Theirs had, after all, been an odd alliance—he got a pretty young escort and the satisfaction of saving her, and she got protection from her dad.

He’d paid it, though. On the day of the exchange, blindfolded and gagged, she’d struggled on the way to the van, certain the man was going to kill her. That was when he’d cut her cheek. Going by the way he’d cursed, she was pretty sure now it had been an accident, but she’d backed down, cowed.

She shook her head, lest the odor of that van invade her nostrils now.

Rhiannon cleared her throat. “You’re scared someone might hurt you again like that?”

“Maybe.”

“Or are you scared of your dad finagling his way back into your life?”

That scenario was more likely, but she’d drafted a plan to handle her father if he ever came back. It was her break-glass-in-case-of-emergency plan. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, but it was there.

“Or is there something else?”

The breath she released was shaky. “I wanted to get away. That’s all. I’m scared of people knowing who and where I am, of being exposed like that. It’s not rational, not based on any one threat.”

Katrina, sweetheart, you must come to the party.

Katrina, be rational. I can’t not have my wife at this event.

Katrina, please get in the car. No one will hurt you. Face your fears.

Hardeep’s well-meaning words rang in her ears. Being in public had been challenging before the kidnapping, never knowing where or when she might have a panic attack. After, it was like there were two threats always waiting for her. Inside her head, and around the corner.

She clenched her fists tight, part of her terrified Rhiannon would echo Hardeep’s logical words and tell her to go back home.

Of course, this was Rhiannon, and there was a reason the woman was her best friend. “This place you’re at, Target aside, you’re safe?”

Outside the window, Jas came into view, striding to the car. If the glass hadn’t been there, she would have fallen out, she pressed herself so tight against it. She couldn’t see his face, but he wore a white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and he held a ladder tucked under one arm, a black bag in his other hand.

He looked good.

“I’m safe. This is kind of an experiment, you know? Like how I expose myself to new establishments, but on a bigger scale. If I hate it, I can leave. Like any other typical person who goes on a vacation.” Kind of. “I just woke up, but I’m already feeling better than I did staring at that Twitter thread all day yesterday.”

“We all need to get away sometimes. I’m glad there’s a place you could run to, however temporarily. Good for you, listening to yourself.”

Her sinuses got a little clogged. “Thank you.”

“Tell Jas to make sure no creepy clowns are lurking in the cornfields or anything,” Rhiannon warned.

“There’s no cornfields here.” Katrina paused. “I mean, hopefully no clowns too.”

“In my mind, corn and clowns and farms all go hand-in-hand. And bears. Are there bears?”

Rhiannon was being deliberately silly, and Katrina appreciated it. “That I’m not sure about.”

“If you see a bear, run zigzag.”

“That’s a crocodile. Or an alligator?”

Rhiannon gave an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, do I look like a farmer?”

Katrina was still chuckling when she hung up. She searched for Jas outside. At first she’d thought he’d disappeared, but then she caught sight of him at the top of the ladder next to a tree, a drill in his hands. Cameras, she guessed.

She tucked her phone in her sweatshirt pocket, adding her little gray fidget stone before she left the room. Though she couldn’t zip up the hoodie, she did pull it tighter around her.

Katrina made her way slowly down the creaking stairs, clutching the wooden banister for balance. There were multiple framed photos on the staircase, like a small baby museum, full of chubby thighs and fat cheeks. The photos appeared to date back maybe fifty or sixty years—she assumed one of the more recent ones was Jas—ah, that one. For sure, this was him.

She paused at the last photo, smiling. Jas was maybe a couple years old, his eyebrows already beautiful at this young age, and he stared out at her with a militant glare.

She imagined he’d probably grunted at the camera as this was taken.

She ran her finger over the silver frame and looked up at the rest of the photos. There was history here, family history.

Katrina placed her hand over her heart. She’d stopped thinking of her maternal extended family long ago, but occasionally a memory or longing tapped on her consciousness. She tried to sit with that discomfort the way she did her fear, but it was a little too sharp today, exacerbated by the upheaval.

A schedule. She checked her watch. Too late for working on her latest project or the newspaper, not that she had one, but she could get to work on breakfast.

She walked through the house, taking stock. She’d lived in lavish houses for a long time, but this was about the size of her childhood home, and it was neither big nor small, but cozy, hugging her like Rhiannon’s sweatshirt.