Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(76)

“I took the liberty of doing some research. Nothing fancy, just some basic internet searches with your name. Articles came up, archived stories from twenty years ago.”

“Is that right?”

“Your parents—I’m very sorry. May I ask what happened to you in the aftermath?”

“I don’t talk about that.”

“You’ve made that very clear, but why not tell me a little? Stop if you like.”

“Other people told me that, too. Afterward. ‘Just talk, tell us just a little, we’re here to help you.’ It was too late for them to help, though. Too late for talking to fix things.”

“I assume you mean other therapists? After it happened? Maybe this is different, now.”

“Different? How? I didn’t have a choice about seeing them. Same as I don’t have a choice about seeing you.”

“Five minutes, Nikki. Talk to me for five minutes, and then leave. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Five minutes? And then I can go?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Sure. Five minutes. Why not? I was twelve when it happened. My brother was three years younger. No relatives on my dad’s side; my mom had an estranged sister somewhere up in Oregon. So at first we were wards of the state, until they found different families to adopt us. Like puppies, I guess. Easier to find room for one than for two.”

“What happened then?”

“I was in Stockton for a few years with one family. Things started badly and ended worse. Then I landed in Davis, with new foster parents. They were different. I lived with them until college, and when I got into Berkeley, they helped me with tuition. I owe them a lot.”

“And your brother?”

“Brandon ended up in Fresno, in a strict, religious household. Eat-your-peas-or-go-to-bed types. With what happened, it was the worst place for him to be.”

“Is your brother better now?”

“He’s had a hard life. Drugs. Addiction. We each got some money when we turned twenty-one. From the estate, which was mostly just the sale of the house. My parents didn’t have a lot of savings. The house was sold before prices really shot up in Bolinas, but it was something. I bought a building, started a business. My brother didn’t do those things.”

“How about you, Nikki, right now? Are you safe?”

“I got dragged into something. Now I have to drag myself out. I have a week to do it.”

“How do you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope you figure it out.”

“Me, too. If I do, you’ll see me next week.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then, probably, you won’t.”





37


I ate a salad at a popular new place in downtown Berkeley and thought about faces. I had looked at the In Retentis photographs so many times I had started to memorize them. Like the photos of suspected terrorists that the U.S. military had printed onto playing cards and given to the troops after the Iraq invasion. I wondered if any of the faces I was looking at had been on those cards. Doubtful. That had been almost fifteen years ago, and terrorists weren’t known for their long lifespans. Surely those men were gone, replaced by others equally willing to give up their lives to murder others. November 1. The days ticking by. Less than a week. What had Karen Li been trying to tell me? What was I missing?

I pushed my plate away. Faces. Who were they?

“Nikki?”

I looked up and saw Ethan. He had come in with a group of friends. I stood to greet him, and then with a rush of guilt remembered the Vietnamese place. With everything that had happened that night it had been the last thing on my mind. “I didn’t mean to stand you up the other night. I’m sorry.”

“Sure. No problem.” His voice indicated the opposite. “Anyway, I’m with friends. I just saw you and wanted to say hi.” He started to move off toward the counter. “See you around.”

“I wasn’t trying to be a Pamela Flitton, honest,” I called after him. He was the first guy I’d ever dated who I thought might get an Anthony Powell reference.

He turned, half smiling in spite of himself. “Don’t worry, she broke many men’s hearts. You only crushed mine. You have a long way to go.” He took a closer look at me and the smile was gone. “Nikki, what happened to your face? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. The last thing I wanted to talk about was my face, bruised and puffy after my recent encounter with Victor. “I mean it,” I went on. “I’m sorry. I have a really good excuse.” The men with guns walking up the bookstore stairs. Victor on top of me, his weight suffocating. Fingers tracing nauseatingly against my skin.

“Does your excuse have something to do with those bruises?”

“Let’s not talk about that.” The noise of the zipper. The recoil of the gun in my hand. Victor’s face glaring up from the red bathwater.

Ethan motioned for his friends to go ahead. “Did someone else try to mug you?”

“Hey! Not fair.” Joseph standing over my brother with the needle. The exhausting thumps of heavy bodies being dragged down endless flights of stairs.

He nodded. “Sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair.” He wasn’t done. “Look, I like you, Nikki, a lot. But if there’s always going to be something that gets in the way, then maybe we should just admit that now, no hard feelings, before we get too far.”