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I make it halfway there when doubts fill my mind. Maybe I should just go back home. Angela is not giving me back my job after two no-shows. Slowing down my step, I hover between turning back around or pushing on.
Just when I’m about to spin around and make my way back home, I notice a slow-moving car in my peripheral vision. That’s not something I would have worried about before, but after the last few weeks I’ve had, it’s enough to have me on high alert.
Reaching up to my neck, I run my fingertips over the still-tender skin around my throat. I’ve been so consumed with the pain of losing Mason that I haven’t had time to process almost getting killed. Just thinking about that day sends an eerie feeling through my veins. Or maybe that’s thanks to the ominous car slowing down beside me further.
The car suddenly stops, and the sound of a door opening fills the air. I don’t waste time looking over my shoulder to see who it is. I simply start running, pounding my feet against the sidewalk as fast as I can.
“Teagan! Wait!” Griffin yells after me.
If I had any chance of outrunning him, I would. Now, I wish I had taken a few bites of that oatmeal. My empty stomach rumbles with displeasure as I slow down from a run into a jog.
By the time I come to a stop, Griffin has caught up to me. “You scared the shit out of me,” I snap.
Instead of apologizing, his words come out as a command. “I need you to answer a few more questions.”
Spinning around to face him, I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “Pass.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I don’t care.” I shove past him, purposely digging my shoulder into his arm as I do. I’m pretty sure I hurt myself more than I did him, but I’m still proud of myself.
Griffin easily catches up with my long strides. “How long were you dating Randy Tucker, and when was the last time you saw him?”
His question is so unexpected it takes me a second to realize who he’s talking about. “Why do you want to know about him? I have no idea when I saw him last. Three years ago, maybe.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“No, I literally said I don’t know.” I stop dead in my tracks, spinning around to face him. “He was some random guy I dated years ago. I don’t keep track of those. Now, tell me what do you really want? Or better yet, what does Mason want? Does he want me back in your weird-ass hotel so I can almost get killed again?”
“Cut the act. You were the one snooping around. We warned you not to wander. You lied.”
“I lied?!” I snort. “I didn’t lie. The elevator took me there. I didn’t even mean to go there the first time.”
“But the second time you did.”
“Yes, because I didn’t want to stay in a place knowing that someone is being tortured. I had to know what was going on.”
“Sure you did.”
“Your face looks super punchable right now, you know that?”
“Please try,” Griffin muses, holding out his arms like he is ready for me.
“I’m tempted, but I don’t hit girls.” I grin, giving him the finger instead.
I’m about to walk away when he tells me something that I didn’t see coming in a million years. “Randy Tucker is Dave Tucker’s younger brother. The same Dave who tried to kill you the other day. The same Dave who drove and picked you up from the hotel. Are you saying that’s all a coincidence? Or are you ready to come clean?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I’m so confused. Dave and Randy are brothers? There is no way… or is there? Dread creeps up my spine like cancer. I would hate being associated with someone like Dave in any way.
Griffin scans my face. “You should really be getting an Oscar for this performance.”
“This isn’t an act. I had no idea they were related.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s rich coming from you. Mason told me the hotel protects people.”
“We do.”
“But only who you feel like protecting.” The rest are discarded.
“Only those who deserve to be protected,” he corrects me.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I want to wipe the smug grin off his face with my fist.
“What do you think it means?”
“Ugh! Whatever.”
“Why did Ainsley change her name and cover it up?”
“Ainsley changed her name because she always hated her given name, and she didn’t cover it up. I don’t know why you assume we’re some kind of secret agents who have the ability to cover shit up. We’re community college dropouts who get paid in dollar bills at the local bar.”
Griffin goes quiet, and I continue stomping in the direction of my apartment, sighing in relief when I don’t hear him following me. What a prick. Who does he think he is, following me around town and asking questions like he is the next Sherlock Holmes?
