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“What are you talking about!” I’m as confused as at the get-go. We’ve engaged in so little conversation I can’t imagine what I could have lied about, and to incur this level of wrath? Forget angry, she should be thankful to be alive and well. Not that I intend harm and not that she deserves anything less than decency and respect, but I admit, time and again I wonder what is going through the minds of the women who slip away with me. I could be anyone, do anything, and I’ve seen enough evil in my life to know it exists on a scope and scale that would floor most normal people.
“How dare you try to pass this off as your house! And what? Have you broken in?”
Like a burglar? What themmmis she talking about? “I have a key, thank you, but as far as this being my house—”
“I know it’s not!”
I step back a bit, as I might be beginning to make sense of this. “I take it you know the Walkers?”
“Know them? Why, yes, I do know them, and I also know that you…” Here, she moves in, jabbing her fingernail into my chest. “Don’t! And how do I know that? Because if you knew them, you would have never—never—brought me here. They don’t go for this kind of thing.” She flaps her hand in the tiny space between us.
From things Tripp has told me, things I know of him after years as his partner, I don’t doubt her for a moment. In fact, it had flitted through my mind that bringing a woman here might be disrespect in the face of his family’s generosity. In the end, my selfish nature won out, as it often does.
But I don’t have time to feel guilty because the fireball in my face isn’t letting up yet. “The Walkers and I are quite close, actually. How close? Very, and you know why?” Here, she gets on her toes and fully into my face.
“Because I’m one of them.”
Annalise
This man, Marco—if that’s even his real name—is no longer in my face. He’s suddenly paced several feet away wearing a look of horror more in line with a man facing a firing squad than a possible breaking and entering charge. So, while I should be gloating over my victory, I’m not. Something is off, more so than I thought when he pulled the truck up and parked in my own—
I whirl around and take a good look at the pickup that delivered me to my own doorstep. My jaw drops. No wonder it was familiar.
Itismy brother’s truck! “Wait a darned minute,” I begin, ready to rip this creep a new one. “This—”
“Annalise,” he murmurs so softly I almost doubt what I heard. On some level, I understand it would be better if he hadn’t just said my full name, but unfortunately, I am indeed quite certain he did. I am equally certainInever told him the unabbreviated version.
I, too, back up, or try to, but the truck has blocked me more effectively than any lineman ever could.
“You look different than the pictures.” His words are still low.
Blasted truck, still in my way! I want to run. I want to hide. I don’t know this person from Adam, but he knows me. What is he? Some weird stalker? A squatter who knew my family was on vacation? I watch the news. Stranger things have happened. If I didn’t know for a fact, thank you, social media, that my parents were on a Mediterranean beach right now, that my brother is halfway across the state, I’d be fairly certain this man had done away with them and squatted in our family home.
But I must concede this Marco person’s horrified shock more resembles a victim than a victimizer. He looks more afraid than I am, an inexplicable incongruity since he’s bigger, stronger, and has possession of both guns.
Abruptly, he turns, head dropped, arms braced on the top of the truck bed. He mumble-swears. “I picked up Tripp’s little sister.” His head shakes like he can’t believe something.
I hear my older brother’s name, and though I’m still confused as crud, I’m breathing slightly more normally now, and the added oxygen is helping. “You know my brother?”
Marco swivels his face to the sky. No, he throws his head back and laughs.It’s not a happy laugh. It’s the kind I might have spurted when I was asked to be in yet a seventh wedding, an old ex’s, no less. More of a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-is-this-the-universe’s-idea-of-a-joke sort of laugh.
When he’s finished, he holds out his right hand. “Marco Gonzalez, at your service.” His tone is ironic, not introductory.
So. What?
I stare at his hand. At his face. Neither means anything to me. Rather, his response seals him as a con. Why? Presumably, I’m supposed to think he actually knows my brother and hasn’t just picked up his name while pillaging my home—but the joke’s on him. First, Tripp, ten years my senior, hasn’t lived here since college. Second, my brother is closemouthed at best, antisocial at worst, at least until recently. Things have changed a bit since sweet Avery came into the picture, but other than his recent fiancée, I’ve heard him mention a sum-total of two names in the entire past decade. One is some guy named Chavez, who I believe is his boss. The other is his longtime partner, and likewise with him, I’ve only heard a nickname: Gonzo, I think. So if this guy, this Marco Gonzalez person thinks he can just—
I stop. I gape.
I feel ill.
Marco’s—Gonzo’s?— dark eyebrows arch in ading-ding-we-have-a-winnerkind of way. He rotates, resting against the wheel well. “Yeah, so, nice to finally meet you…Annalise Walker.”
I want to throw up. Badly.
Never have I ever in my life done what I did tonight. And I choose Tripp’spartner? I’m with him: this must be a cosmic joke, only neither of us is laughing.
My own weight is suddenly too much to bear, and, dazed, I sink onto the edge of the floorboard. “This can’t be happening.”
