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"He wasn't bothering anyone," I say slowly. "And they're actually quite sweet animals if you're kind to them—"
“Why the hell do you care so much?” Drew’s chest shakes with a chuckle, though I can’t help but think there’s an undercurrent of malice in it. “It’s just a stupid pigeon. A million of them are shitting all over this city. Now, about this weekend…”
Just then, another car pulls into the lot. Drew’s gaze darkens as he watches the bright red Honda park a few spaces from my car, and he abandons whatever he is going to say.
“Come on, let’s get inside,” he says, taking off toward the front doors. I stare at his receding frame, unable to wrap my mind around his actions.
Maybe his mood turned because he realized I wasn’t going to respond to his advances? It’s the only thing that makes any sense. I’ve only ever known Drew as a kind, selfless person. The kind who helps old women with their groceries and goes above and beyond for what most nurses are willing to do for their patients. Drew is warm. Drew is safe.
Drew tried to kill a pigeon.
I shake the thought from my mind. He wasn’t trying to kill it, was he? Scare it, sure. But he would never intentionally hurt something.
“Lilly! You coming, or what?”
“Coming!” I call, jogging to catch up with him. He gives me one of his dazzling smiles as I huff to his side, but the churning in my gut doesn’t stop.
Just as we’re about to pass the threshold, the tip of my clog catches on something, and I fly forward. My palms hit the tile with an embarrassing smack, and pain radiates up my forearms.
Drew’s cackle sends heat crawling up the back of my neck. “You gotta be more careful, Lilly. Here.” He holds a hand out to me, and I gladly take it. The force of the gesture knocks me off balance, and I stumble into Drew’s chest, the side of my cheek thumping hard against his broad pec muscle.
“Sorry, Drew. That was pretty embarrassing,” I say, letting out an awkward chuckle as I place my palms against his chest in an effort to push away. I barely get two inches between us before his arms snake around my back, pulling me flush against his chest.
“Drew…what are you doing?” I whisper, trying to wriggle out of his viselike grip.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs, sliding his hand up my back. Two of his fingers reach around the side of my neck and press into the space just below my jaw. “I’m just feeling your pulse.”
“My…pulse?”
“Mm-hmm,” he breathes, digging his fingertips deeper into my flesh. “Your heart is beating pretty fast.”
An awkward, high-pitched laugh tears from my throat as I try again to push away from him. “Listen, this has been really fun, but…”
Drew ignores me, dropping his fingers from my neck and weaving them into the hair at the base of my scalp. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You went down pretty hard.”
“I’m positive,” I snip, wriggling against him in a more desperate attempt. “Drew, I’m fine. You can let go now.” Thankfully, he listens this time. Dropping his arms from my body, he takes a step back with a boyish grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Sorry about that. It’s the technician in me. Always gotta check the vitals.” He chuckles easily, brushing his messy brown hair back from his face. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah…” I murmur, watching as he turns on his heel and heads inside the lobby. Okay, that was fucking odd.
The scent of antiseptic and death knocks me in the face as I step into the air-conditioned lobby, and I turn to give the receptionist a thin-lipped smile.
“Hey, Becca. Any news on the…” My voice dies in my throat at the thought of the scarred man, and she gives me a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but no. You know how they are.” She waves a hand with a roll of her eyes. “I swear, the only thing the police are good for in this city is handing out parking tickets.”
I give her a smile, not having the energy to laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Thanks, Becca. You’ll let me know if they find anything?”
“Of course. But don’t hold your breath.” She pulls out a nail file from one of the drawers and begins shaping the nail on her index finger. Okay, I guess that’s the end of that.
I give my head a little shake and trudge in the direction of the women’s lockers. It’s so strange how unconcerned everyone seems about the whole situation. First, Drew when the scarred man was admitted, Sandra when it came to calling the police, and now Becca.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the police really can’t be bothered to look into his disappearance. Or perhaps… perhaps they just don’t want to. A shiver runs the length of my spine as my hand wraps around the handle of the door to the locker rooms, and I have the inexplicable sensation of being watched.
I never called the police when I found that note, and now I’m wondering if my reasons were the same as everyone else’s. It’s not that I couldn’t or that it would be futile…
I just didn’t want to.
