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Now what?
She stared at the screen, and two minutes later a new bubble appeared:
215-555-3452
BITCH . . . MY PHONE DID NOT RING. AND YOU DIDN’T LEAVE MESSAGE.
BUT NOW WE TALK.
I SEND A COURIER FOR MY BOOKS AND MONEY.
He did not deny being Ricky, she thought, then sent:
HOW CAN I TRUST YOU, RICKY?
I AM NOT GIVING THEM TO ANYONE BUT YOU.
He took a long moment before replying:
215-555-3452
OK. THEN WHERE?
Now what?
I have to stall him.
I NEED A DAY.
And tomorrow I will need another day.
I have what he wants. He can wait.
Then her stomach really knotted up as she read:
215-555-3452
NO! NOW. OR BLOOD OF ANOTHER GIRL IS YOUR FAULT.
You bastard! Enough with the threats!
She exhaled audibly.
But they’re not idle threats . . .
I need time to figure this out.
He’s got to learn not to fuck with a McCain.
LISTEN, RICKY. STOP WITH THE DAMN THREATS.
YOU CREATED THIS MESS. I AM TRYING TO FIX IT.
TRUST ME, YOU MORE THAN HAVE MY ATTENTION.
YOU WILL GET THE BOOKS. BUT I DECIDE HOW — NOT YOU!
She sent it. Five minutes passed before he replied:
