Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(37)

My father embraced me tightly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Daddy. I’m okay.”

He kissed the top of my head, shook Drew’s hand, and followed Mother out of the waiting area leaving Drew and me alone.

“I texted Lilah,” he said as we walked to the elevators. Drew had parked in the garage. “She was worried sick, of course, but I told her you were okay, and she said she’d tell the others. She wants you to call her the second you can.”

“They took my phone,” I said, and flinched as a flashback of me putting my phone in Frankie’s white trash bag popped out at me like a jack-in-the-box.

Drew took my arm. “You okay?”

I smiled thinly. “Yes. Fine.”

The elevator took us down.

“I called Jon Lawson as soon as I knew the hostage crisis was over. He told me to tell you everyone at L&D is so glad you’re okay, and that you’re to take as much time off as you need. Just not too much.” He laughed lightly.

I looked up at him. “My trial…Munro…?”

“The news broke about the robbery before the jury reached a verdict. The defense filed a motion to have the jurors questioned, but the questioning revealed insufficient influence. Deliberations are continuing as we speak.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s a relief.”

The doors opened on the parking garage and a barrage of flashes went off. I shrieked and fell back. Drew moved in front of me as a crush of press—about fifteen men and women with TV cameras and small mics thrust in my face— began shouting questions all at once.

“You’re one of the hostages? What was it like?”

“Whose blood is that? Did they hurt you?”

“Did you know any of the robbers before the incident?”

“Is it true they wore monster masks?”

Drew put his arm around me and pushed through the throng. “No questions at this time. Ms. Gardener has yet to give her report to the F.B.I. Until then, no comment.”

The press—and questions—followed us to Drew’s silver Porsche.

“Are you her attorney?”

“You said Ms. Garner?”

“What’s your first name?”

“Could you spell that?”

Drew helped me inside and hurried to the driver’s side. I kept my face averted as they flashed their cameras right into the car, only backing off when Drew gunned the engine. We left the dark confines of the garage and sped out into the bright Los Angeles summer sunshine.

“That was crazy.” He shook his head, amazed but a little bit pleased too. But his face fell when he saw me trembling. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Drew. I’ve hardly had a moment to process it all. I’m a little bit shaken up, to be honest, and talking to Officer Paulson felt like describing a crazy dream I had. It hardly makes sense yet.”

Drew reached over and patted my hand. “When you’ve had a chance to rest a bit you can tell me all about it.” He tapped the wheel with his fingers. “So. Who is Cory?”

I nearly flinched to hear one man’s name from the mouth of the other. “Another hostage.”

“Yes, of course, but what happened? He saved your life?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t want to talk about it just yet. I need a shower, a nap, and something decent to eat. Then I might feel steady enough to talk.”

“Of course.” Drew said, his smile tense. “Whatever you need.”

#

I took a long shower with water as hot as I could stand. When I emerged from the cloud of steam, I saw that Drew had removed my bloodstained clothes. He’d probably thrown them out. There was no salvaging them but even so, I felt a pang of regret. Or maybe grief—it was hard to know. My emotions were ping-ponging so fast I could hardly keep track. I scowled in anger that Drew would dispose of the clothes that bore Cory’s blood—blood he’d lost for me—and then I nearly burst into tears a moment later. I climbed into the king-size bed, still wearing the towel from my shower, and buried myself under the duvet.

“Rest,” I muttered. “You just need to rest.”

I closed my eyes and felt sleep reach up immediately to drag me down into quiet oblivion, and I was grateful for the respite from the uncharacteristic lack of control.

I’ll wake up better, I thought. Stronger. I will…I…

…I tossed and turned, bundling myself in the duvet. I heard breathing, raspy and fetid. My knee touched someone’s leg. Was Drew in the bed with me? I pulled back the cover and Frankie’s pocked face leered at me in an obscene grin.

“I’m ready for that blowjob, Red.”

I woke, choking on a scream, my hands clutching the duvet until my knuckles ached. My gaze roved the room, desperately trying to orient myself. It was the first time in three days I hadn’t woken up in that bank office. Drew’s large master retreat, with its tasteful décor in dark beige, blue, and grey surrounded me. Not the office. No ugly fluorescents. No Frankie.

The clock on the nightstand said it was only noon. I’d been asleep for all of twenty minutes and felt just as exhausted and rattled as if I hadn’t slept at all. But there was no going back to bed. Not now. I shuddered, threw off the covers, and swung my legs over the side. I inhaled and slapped my cheeks. “Come on. Keep going.”