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There was no reason a sudden moment of sadness swept through me. None at all. Maybe it was all about missing my brother. “You would have loved this truck, Matt. And red was your color.” I could still envision his grin, the expression I’d called evil more than once. “I know. You’d have installed huge tires and rims right away. Then I could see you driving down the road with the stereo blaring. Full blast. Yeah. With a beer in your hand.”
The sadness became almost overwhelming. I’d tried to put the ugliness behind me, but his closeness was missed so much, a hole would forever be in my heart. How many times had I asked why? If only we’d both made other choices that night. Yeah, if only. I took a deep breath and allowed the images to fade, squeezing the leather-covered steering wheel hard enough my knuckles turned white. Damn it.
The seat was so comfortable, I could have easily fallen asleep. And I would have if a loud screech of tires hadn’t jerked me back to reality.
I glanced into the oversized side mirror, noticing a black SUV had pulled up about four lengths ahead and nearer to the elevator. While I didn’t recognize the vehicle, that didn’t mean anything given the comings and goings of residents and guests, most of whom I didn’t know and from what I could tell didn’t want to be seen.
When two doors opened, I unfastened my seatbelt, turning toward the activity. Three huge men dressed in dark suits popped out, each one of them obviously influenced by bad gangster movies. Their slicked-back hair had seen far too much hairstyling gel, their burnished cinnamon complexions adding a dangerous aura. And I could swear one of them held a weapon in his hand.
What. The. Fuck?
I’d seen my share of bad guys, including in Montana, although the rough dudes usually carried rifles, not handguns. The three stood outside the SUV, two of them keeping watch in either direction. Then the third opened the back passenger door. From the angle I didn’t have a clear line of sight, but two sets of legs eased onto the concrete.
The brawny guy who’d opened the door almost completely blocked my view. When he threw a look in the direction of my truck, I turned off the radio and slunk down further. My instinct told me whoever they were didn’t want to be seen.
I cut the engine, praying they hadn’t noticed the exhaust. While my curiosity was nagging at me to crawl closer to the passenger door for another peek, the intelligent and rational side of me won out.
Seconds turned into full minutes. Then I heard the slamming of car doors and the revving of an engine. I refused to move from my spot until the driver sped off. If they were exiting the garage, they’d need to find a spot and turn around.
When it finally whizzed by thirty seconds later, I took a deep breath, counting to ten before lifting my head. Thank God they were gone.
For about a million reasons my legs were shaking as I stepped out, grabbing my bag. No one remained in the garage. Exhaling, I headed for the elevator, constantly looking over my shoulder. Maybe Jameson was right and living in the building wasn’t such a good idea.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, I rushed inside, slamming my hand on the button for our floor, praying the doors would close. When they did, I let out a moan. I tapped my foot on the floor, staring at the panel over the doors as the steel box took its sweet time getting to its destination.
When it was finally close, I inched forward, ready to jump out. Then I noticed a spot on the floor. After eyeing it carefully, I bent down and swiped my finger though it. I didn’t need to bring it to my nose to realize it was a large drop of blood. A slight chill coursed through me as I thought about Charlotte.
The girl needed to level with me about what was going on. I wiped it on my jeans, quickly heading to the door of the condo. It took me almost ten seconds to find the keys. At least my hand was steady as I shoved a key into the lock, yet I took a few seconds to open the door, listening for any sounds of activity.
Silence greeted me, but it eerie. Charlotte was a music lover, her stereo blasting when she was home. I walked inside, scanning the perimeter before closing and locking the door. I wanted to call out to her, but my gut told me it wasn’t a good idea. I placed my bag on the foyer table, slowly moving through the living room toward the bedroom hallway.
Her door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side. It was entirely possible she was sleeping. Thankfully, no sound was made when I opened it, peering inside. She was on her bed fully dressed, her face pressed into her pillow.
“Charlotte?” My whisper seemed hoarse, my nerves the reason.
She didn’t say a single word or move and I was about to leave when the covers were rustled.
“Go away. Okay? Just go away.”
Her voice seemed distant, devoid of any emotions, but I sensed she was in pain.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Just go.”
I walked closer. “That’s going to happen. You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now. I won’t leave until you do.”
She didn’t react right away nor was there any sound. Then I heard a sob, the sound so full of agony that I eased onto the edge of her bed. When I pressed my hand on her shoulder, she flinched.
“Don’t,” she moaned.
“What did they do to you?”
She sniffed, shaking her head slightly, refusing to allow me to see her face.
“Charlotte. Not only am I family but I’m your friend. You need to tell me what’s going on. Please?”
The hesitation killed me. We’d trusted each other through boys and troubles in school, always able to count on each other.
