Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(73)

She forced a smile. “Sure. I’m just surprised to see you here. What are the odds, right?” At the sound of an approaching train, she swallowed hard, but maintained her nonchalant façade.

“No kidding. I just finished an interview at the Thompson Center, walked to your office and saw you leave, and basically did a loop right back here,” Ford said before the train rushed into the station and drowned him out.

Victoria nodded, her attention diverted as the train came to a stop and the doors opened. She thought about bailing; she could say that she forgot something in her office, but Ford would probably offer to go with her anyway. But more important, she didn’t want to run from this. She didn’t want to be the person who couldn’t get on a train if she had an audience. She wanted to be herself again, the unflappable, panic-free woman she’d been before the break-in had messed up everything. Because her life had been good before—and a hell of a lot less complicated when it didn’t include therapy, and a pesky psychologist with pesky questions, and a summer rental with a sexy, charming next-door neighbor who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

So if she wanted her old life back, if she wanted to get back to that person she’d been before, it started right here. Right now.

She was getting on that damn train.

That decided, she took another deep breath and stepped forward.

Trying not to be obvious about it, she let a few people pass in front of her and Ford, so that the two of them wouldn’t be stuck at the back of the car. They ended up about a third of the way down the aisle, not too far from the door.

She only had to make it four measly stops, she reminded herself. Less than a fifteen-minute train ride.

“You’re killing me with the suspense here,” Ford said.

Victoria blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Your meeting with Sutter,” he said as the doors closed. “How did it go?”

She shifted her weight as the train began to move, drawing on the trick she’d learned during the Sutters’ open house, when she’d begun to feel light-headed in the closet. If she focused on something other than her fear, her body would stop responding as if she were in a fight-or-flight situation.

Hopefully.

“It went well.” She proceeded to tell Ford about her meeting with Sutter, and the distraction helped. Although she remained hyperaware of her surroundings—primarily the fact that she was in a crowded train car underground—she was able to keep up her end of the conversation.

“He could’ve concocted that entire story in the two hours before you met him at the coffee shop,” Ford said, looking skeptical.

“Maybe. But you didn’t see his face when he asked about Zoe. He was teary-eyed.”

Ford grunted. “Probably freaking out over how he’s going to pay child support for two kids, and for a divorce lawyer, once his wife hears about this alleged ‘break’ they were on and kicks him to the curb for good.”

She nudged him. “Let’s just see how this plays out.”

This is Chicago, said the train’s automated PA system as they pulled into the station. Doors open on the right at Chicago.

Victoria exhaled. She was halfway home, with only two stops to go. Reassured by this, she began to feel proud of her progress, when—

The doors sprang open and all hell broke loose.

A large group of teenagers wearing yellow camp T-shirts clambered onto the train, laughing, chanting some kind of cheer, and pushing each other around.

“Stay together!” someone called out as the group shoved their way inside the already crowded train. To make room, the people at the front of the aisle moved toward the back of the car.

Having no choice, Victoria moved back, too.

It was an extremely tight fit. The people in the aisle were packed in with barely enough room to breathe, awkwardly jostling one another as the train began to pull away from the station. Ford put one hand on her hip, steadying her. With her shoulder pressed against his chest, he shrugged off their situation with the ease of a commuter who’d been in this situation many times before.

“Beats trying to find a cab in the rain,” he said.

Yes. Sure. For normal people.

“That’s true,” she managed to say. She gripped the handle on the back of the seat next to her, suddenly feeling as though it had become uncomfortably warm in the train car.

Please, not now.

She forced herself to say something—anything. “So what was your interview about?”

Ford chatted on, while she silently tried to pull herself together. But every time she’d get into her relaxation techniques—I feel quiet, my shoulders are loose—he would ask her a question, or pause for her to comment. And of course he would, because to him this was just a normal, everyday conversation between two people riding the subway home—not exposure therapy for a goddamn mental disorder.

My legs and feet feel warm and heavy.

As they pulled into the Division station, she had a decision to make. She could get off the train now, which would look really odd since they lived only one stop away, and clue Ford into the fact that something was amiss. Or she could suck it up, and stay put.

The Division station and her stop, Damen, were so close. Only about a two-minute train ride apart.

She made up her mind.

She was going to finish this thing.