Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(38)

I dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt from my walk-in closet and headed downstairs.

There was a note on the kitchen counter from Drew.

Food’s in the fridge. I’m in the office. Love, D

I went to the stainless steel refrigerator and found a tuna salad sandwich from Mayberry’s on the top shelf. He must have gone out for it while I was taking that marathon shower. I opened the wrapping and stared at the food, my stomach both nauseated and growling hungrily. I nearly put it back but the memory of my gaunt visage returned to haunt me and I took a bite. It tasted so good...and then I nearly gagged.

I managed to swallow the bite and quickly rewrapped the sandwich and shoved it back in the fridge.

God, what is wrong with me?

Rashida’s clipped voice answered for me in typical Rashida fashion: PTSD. You were a hostage for three days. Threatened with rape. Terrorized by a madman. You had a gun pressed to your skull. You were a millisecond away from death and then caught in a gunfight. What, exactly, do you expect?

I took another a deep breath and then spat a curse. Inhaling deeply wasn’t working. Swearing like a sailor helped more. I wiped my eyes and went to find Drew in the home office.

He was on the phone, as usual, but began to wrap it up as soon as he saw me. In the meanwhile, my gaze wandered over the office: the bookshelves filled with law tomes, legal thrillers, collections of WWII biographies, histories, and encyclopedias. Drew was a history buff for that era and had even made a few models of bombers and U-boats several years ago, before he had given it up to devote even more time to his job.

“Yeah, I know but I have to call you back, Dan,” he said. “Give me an hour. Thanks.” He hung up and turned to me, a sympathetic smile on his face. “I thought you were going to nap. Feeling better? Did you find the sandwich in the fridge? It’s just to tide you over. Tonight, we can order whatever you want. Or would you like to go out…?”

I waved my hands to ward off the idea and sank down into the leather couch that made up one wall of his office. “I still haven’t found my appetite.”

“Okay,” Drew said cautiously, and waited for me to say more.

“I just...I’m not sure what to do next,” I said. “I know I should call Jon or Mr. Dooney, but I’m not ready to jump back into it yet. I feel like there’s…unfinished business with the whole bank thing, and I don’t know what it is. Or even what that means.”

“It’s a lot to process,” Drew said. “Telling the F.B.I. everything tomorrow will probably help.” His smile slipped from sympathetic to pitying. “You need closure, sweetie. Making that report will probably give it to you.”

I toyed with a stray thread on the seam of my yoga pants. “I guess so.”

“Well…you could tell me about it. Whatever you want.” His gaze strayed to his paperwork. “I’m here for you, Alex.”

For an hour anyway, I thought with a bitterness I instantly regretted.

“I came in here to talk about it with you,” I said. “But now starting from the beginning seems like climbing a mountain and I just don’t think I have the mental energy for it.”

Drew nodded and glanced at his work again. He was itching to get back to it and irritation flared in me again. Oh, why not let him work? You don’t want to talk anyway.

I uncurled from the couch. “I should call Lilah. Then try to sleep again.”

“Are you sure?” Drew asked, the relief in his voice only barely contained.

I paused at his desk to give his hand a squeeze. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

I shut the office door behind me and lingered in the hallway. Less than thirty seconds later I heard Drew’s voice. “Dan? Okay, where were we?”

I went back to the master bedroom. The bed was empty, of course—no lurking psychos. I forced myself to climb in. I didn’t survive sleeping on the floor for three days just to be evicted from my bed by a stupid dream. There was a landline for emergencies on the bedside table. I slipped back under the covers and called Lilah.

“Alex, oh my God, I’ve been worried sick. Drew texted me when you got out, but it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“I’m…” I started to say ‘fine.’ “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.” Lilah’s voice became stern. “Not that I blame you, but talk to me. Or do you want me to come over?”

I almost said yes, but the same reluctance to tell the whole story was still there. It was too exhausting to contemplate. Not to mention, I couldn’t trust myself not to tell Lilah everything. There was something about my best friend that demanded honesty. As with Cory, she had integrity ingrained in her like bedrock.

“No, no. I won’t be any good to talk to. I just need to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll be better. I just wanted to check in.”

A pause. “I know it’s early yet—you just got out. But if I hang up with you, I’m going to feel like it was the wrong thing to do.”

I smiled. “You’re the best, Lilah. Really.”

“You’re not thinking about work, are you? I hope to God you’re not stressed about that. Not now.”

“No, I promise. I’m just really tired. We were hardly given any chance to sleep.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. What an ordeal.”