Page 34 of Body of Trust

His expression is blank. It’s jarring that he’s not masked or concealed in any way. If he doesn’t care about me seeing who he is, most likely, it means he doesn’t plan on me living to tell anyone.

“I have a message for you. I’m only going to say it once. Are you ready to listen?”

“Yes,” I stutter.

“Good.” He pushes the gun into my temple, and it hurts, forcing me to scrunch my eyes closed. “Two hours before the lottery drawing, you’re going to ensure you’re one of the four people who are let into the machine room. Make sure they choose the third one from the right. They’re going to bring out two sets of rubber balls. One set is red, the other white. In your glove compartment is a pair of cloth gloves. You’re not to look at or touch them until you arrive at the building. You’re going to wear them when you load the white balls into the machine. Load every ball with your right hand, except for numbers seventeen, twenty-three, twenty-seven, forty-nine, fifty-three, and sixty-four. Those you’ll load with your left hand. You’ll remember them because each digit is the same as the last four numbers of yours, your mother’s, and your father’s cell phone numbers.”

I do a mental tally of our phone numbers and understand what he means.

“Do you understand me?” he asks.

“Yes. But that seems almost impossible. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to get near the—”

“Make it happen, or your family dies. I know your father is away, but mommy and sister are sitting pretty at home. Wouldn’t take too much trouble to end them.”

My own life being in danger is nothing compared to them being in harm’s way.

“Please don’t hurt them!” I wail out.

“I will—and early if I hear that you’re running to the cops.” The gun rolls down my head and into the curve of my neck. I move away from it, but there’s nowhere to go. “Glad we were able to have this conversation, Amelia.”

He puts the gun away and exits the car. His back is to me as he walks down a nearby subway staircase, disappearing. The light turns green, and I don’t move. Cars behind me honk, and I still can’t hit the gas. The honks continue to blare.

Shakily, I take my phone out of my bag. I need to call someone, but who? I’m being watched, I’m sure, surveilled in every way. So many eyes are on me, but I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.

Chapter Nine

I’m surprised I don’t crash my car on the ride home. My hands clutch the steering wheel to keep steady, both the car and myself. I look around the lot for the white car Jesse was in last night. It’s not here. I have trouble getting into the front door of my building because I’m shaking so badly.

When I get to my apartment, I bolt the door and search the place, making sure there is no one inside.

I bite my nails as I stare out the window, wondering who is watching, listening … waiting.

“Amelia,” Jesse’s voice booms from the other side of the front door.

I jump and rush to the steel frame, pushing my eye against the peephole to confirm it’s Jesse. He’s looking down the hall one way and then the other. Unbolting the lock, I open the door and let him in.

“What happened to you?” he asks, his eyes wide with concern when he sees the state of me with my bloodshot eyes and frazzled, shaking body.

“Where the hell were you?” I pace the room. “You followed me all day yesterday. You camped out outside my parents’ house and then my place. You say you’re never going to leave me, and the moment I need you, you’re not around!”

He closes the distance between us, but I skirt away like a skittish cat.

“I had a meeting.”

“Enough of the lies, Jesse!”

“Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re unhinged?”

I form the shape of a gun with my hand and stare at it, vibrating in the air. “They found me. The Lugazzis or whoever it is that wants my father, they found me. This thug. This dark, sinister man. He … he was in my car when I got in it. He literally just appeared. There was a gun.” I push the spot on my head where the metal was pressed against it.

Jesse’s brow rises, and his face grows stern. “What did he say?”

“That’s your question? Not, What the hell was a man doing in your car? Or, Are you okay? Or, Did he hurt you?”

He runs his fingers through his hair and grips the base of his neck. “Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

I fold my arms across my body. “I’m fine. Just scared shitless.”