And Now She's Gone(55)
“Admit it, Vic,” Faye said, looking up from her Essence magazine. “You lost, dear.”
“You suck at Centipede,” their daughter had boasted, “and I am the queen.”
Victor had kissed the top of Natalie’s head, then slid open the glass door. The aroma of brisket from his smoker wafted into the house. “You are the queen of this, Nattie. Chess—”
“Yeah, yeah, game of kings.” She’d reached for the board beneath the coffee table, the one she had found off of Champs-élysées, with the silver and blue stainless steel pieces. The trio had eaten crepes afterward—cheese and black pepper for her, lemon for Mom, and ham for Dad. It had been the third full day of their Parisian vacation …
And that’s what Gray thought about as she fell asleep—her life with Victor and Faye, savory crepes in Paris, Centipede and chess. She didn’t think about Sean; she didn’t fret about Hank—five-second rule, just another block in her life that would soon disappear like the others. The heavy food from Dulan’s and the exhaustion of a nonstop life pulled her down, down, down, and she slept until well into Saturday.
Gray didn’t leave the bed even then, because her limbs refused to move. She didn’t feel … together. There was the pain in her abdomen, but her unease was more than that. She dragged herself to the bathroom, popped another oxycodone, then dragged herself back to bed.
Outside, Los Angeles was so bright—it looked too hot to verb in that light. She fell asleep, so tired, and awakened again to watch the sun move across the sky. She listened to fire engine sirens wail over the thrum of freeway music; listened to her refrigerator gurgle like a swamp thing; heard her phone vibrate with texts and calls and emails. She responded only to her body and its needs. Sleep, relax, let go. She didn’t eat—didn’t need to. The soul food had taken care of her daily calorie requirements for the next month.
Finally, Gray turned on the television and found The Lord of the Rings on cable.
At four o’clock, she answered one phone call.
“You okay?” Nick sounded guarded, worried.
She sat up in bed as the Ringwraiths surrounded the Fellowship. “Meh. Mental and physical health day.” She glanced at her phone’s call log.
Tea, Tea, Isabel, Clarissa, Jennifer, Clarissa, Toyia, Tea, Tea …
“From the appendectomy,” he asked, “or…”
“That”—and narcotics—“and I just needed a moment to do nothing. This Lincoln case is a Dumpster fire caught in the middle of a tire fire, and the heroine needs to regain her strength in order to continue.”
“Maybe you should go to urgent care.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m flying back tonight, but call if you need me before then.” He paused, then asked, “You ever find out who sent you the roses?”
Dread—of Nick’s reaction, of Sean’s resurgence—bundled in her stomach. She rubbed the scar along her jaw. “Uh-huh.”
“Who?”
“Take a guess.”
Silence. Then, “Who?”
“Sean.”
More silence, and then, “You’re fucking kidding me.”
She rubbed her face and groaned. “Girl runs from boy, boy finds girl, boy sends girl menacing texts and her favorite flowers. Tale as old as time.”
“I’ll get an earlier flight—”
“Don’t. I’m good.”
“How did he find you?”
“No idea. I did a search and I can’t find the old me. But you know what? It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not okay.” His voice had climbed an octave, and she pictured him pacing the floor wherever he was, hand over his eyes then running through his hair. “How can I hide other women if—”
“Nick, calm—”
“This is my fucking business model, Grayson. You and Lauren and Christina and … and … All of you rely on my ability to keep you hid, to keep you safe, and now this fucker is sending you flowers? What the fuck?”
She clamped her lips. He was right.
“Your gun?” he asked.
She lifted the pillow and saw the Glock nestled there. “Right next to me. She says hi.”
“Natalie—”
“Uh-oh. Calling me by my name name.”
“Sorry. Slipped. This can’t—”
“I’m gonna handle it.”
“How, Grayson?”
“So many questions this early in the morning.”
“It’s after four o’clock.”
“It’s morning somewhere.”
He took a deep breath and released it. “Listen. Stay with me for a few days. At least until I figure out how he found you.”
“You’re not in charge of my messes. How many times do I have to keep saying that?”
“I’m only asking for you to stay until I find out how … Shit.”
“I’ll think about it.” She raked her fingers across her scalp. “I’m kinda itching for a fight, to be honest. Slaying the dragon has always been on my ultimate bucket list.”
“Do you understand my concern?”
“I do.”
“This isn’t a game.”