Last Light(61)

“Hey!” I said as I rounded the corner.

I waved my arms and Matt’s bathrobe flapped around me.

Matt and the redhead turned. His eyes widened and he went stock-still. Then he held up a hand and shook his head.

“What—” I slowed as I neared the car. “What’s going on here?”

“Hannah. I didn’t want you to worry. Let me explain. This is my driver.”

The redhead stepped forward. She extended her hand and nodded.

“Alexis Stromgard,” she said. “Mr. Callahan’s private driver.”

Private … driver? I blinked and took the girl’s hand. She grasped my fingers in a curt shake and moved away. “Mr. Callahan, I’ll take your bag.”

Matt, still looking shell-shocked, handed his duffel bag to the girl. She carried it to the back of the car. I watched all this in a state of wonder. Something didn’t fit. The car was too garish. The girl was too young.

“Come here.” Matt steered me up the alley. When we were out of hearing range, he said, “Yes, okay, I lied about the cab.”

“I can see that.” I tightened the tie on his bathrobe. “Mr. Callahan?”

“She doesn’t know who I am. It’s just an alias I gave her. She’s from out of state.”

“Why did you lie?” My cheeks reddened with cold and embarrassment. And hurt. I thought Matt and I were past the lies. I thought we were partners in crime.

“Baby, I didn’t want you to worry. I knew it might seem … risky, to hire a driver like this, and I didn’t want you worrying about me blowing my cover, you know?” Matt squeezed my hand. “But it’s actually safer, Hannah. She doesn’t know who I am, and she … she’s very discreet. Very professional. We signed paperwork and stuff.”

I looked at my toes. “Where did you find her?”

“What?”

“How did you come into contact with her?”

“Well … I found her on Craigslist.”

“Craigslist? Seriously?”

“Hannah, I have to go.” Matt glanced around and put on his sunglasses. “Yes, Craigslist. She’s very professional, like I said. I hired her for the weekend to bring me here, that’s all. I couldn’t stand the idea of a weekend without you. Is that so wrong?”

“So she’s leaving?”

“Yes, she’s driving me to the cabin. Are you angry with me?”

I shifted my feet on the cold, prickly pavement. “I’m not angry, Matt. I’m sad that you felt like you had to lie. I’m glad you came to Denver, though. I missed you.”

Matt hugged me, squashing my damp body to his chest. He kissed the top of my head.

“Nice bathrobe,” he murmured. “Now get inside before you freeze your cute little ass off, all right? I’m sorry. I love you. We’ll talk soon.”

I faked a smile and kissed Matt’s cheek. I took one look at the blue car. The driver sat inside, her slight silhouette almost invisible.

She was cute—adorable, even—and that bothered me more than Matt’s lie. Very professional, huh? I saw that laugh she shared with Matt before I charged out of the condo.

“I love you, too,” I said. “And I want her gone by tomorrow.”





Chapter 32


MATT


Melanie peeled out of Denver like a race car driver.

“That was some f*cked-up shit!” she said above the music.

Fortunately, Mel’s taste in music didn’t bother me. All the same, I didn’t feel like shouting. I turned down the volume and lit a cigarette.

I’d smoked more in the last month, I realized, than I had in all of 2013.

“Alexis Stromgard, huh?”

“Damn straight.” Mel beamed. “Quick on my feet, right?”

“Mm.” I smoked and looked out the window.

“You can thank me whenever the mood strikes you, Mr. Callahan.”

“Thank you? Do you think I’m proud of that performance?” I scowled and turned away from Mel. “Maybe you have a future in fiction writing. You have to be a great liar to write fiction, a real historical revisionist.”

“Hey, buddy, that lie saved your ass.”

“It saved your ass,” I hissed. “I could have f*cking told her who you really are. I should have. You’re the bitch who stole my work and published it.”

Mel hit the brakes. I pitched forward and grabbed the dash.

“Get out of my car, you *.”

“Drive.” I stared at Mel and she stared at me. A car behind us laid on the horn, then pulled around and sped past.

Mel eased back into the traffic. She glared through the windshield.

“Sure, you could have told her that,” she said, “and I could have told her that you put Night Owl online in the first place—and that you told me to keep selling it.”

I smirked and flicked my cig out the window. I knew Mel was right, and I knew I was using her as a punching bag. I just felt so goddamn guilty.

“But I wouldn’t threaten you with that,” she went on, “because I’m not a douche bag. And if you call me a bitch again, I’m going to shove your three thousand bucks up your ass and kick you out of my car myself, all right?”