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I told him to text me the number and I'd call as soon as I got home and checked it out.
Half an hour later I had him back on the line. "So, I tracked the number you gave me and got a location." I rattled off the street address that coincided with the red dot on my computer screen.
He sighed in apparent relief. "That's the address of her apartment."
I’d thought it sounded familiar. I should have remembered since I’d been there a few months ago helping Ali move her things out.
I heard Ali's voice in the background for a moment before she came on the line. "Spencer?"
"Yeah. Hey, Ali."
Her voice was strained and afraid. "She's at the apartment? You're sure?"
"Yep. I'm looking at the signal right now. If she has the phone with her, she's at the apartment."
"I know you have all these cool tech skills... can you activate the camera on the phone or something? Anything to verify that she's all right?"
I blinked stupidly for a second, not understanding the desperation in her voice. "I'm not quite that skilled, I'm sorry to say." She sniffed. Shit, was she crying? "Ali, I'm sure she's okay. If you're that worried, can you have a neighbor go and check on her? Or maybe a friend from work?"
Another sniff. "There's no one I trust to check on her. The only neighbors we're close with are the elderly couple who share our floor, and they vacation in Florida from November through April. Anyone else would have to be buzzed in and I doubt she would do that if she won't even answer her phone." She paused for a second. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"I could call the front desk and have them let someone in. They all know me, and I could convince them that whoever I send is there to water the plants or something. I don't live there anymore, but my name is still on the lease. Plus, the doormen love me because I bring them presents and snacks, especially during winter."
Clay's voice filtered through the line, and although I didn't catch it all, I could have sworn he said... "Wait. Did Clay just say Stony the Sloth? What the hell is he talking about?"
She clicked her tongue and told Clay to shush. "It's nothing. He doesn't like one of the doormen. Swears the guy is high every time he sees him, but that's beside the point." The line went silent for so long I had to check my phone to see that we were still connected. When she finally spoke, it was with quiet pleading in her voice. "If I call ahead and get you cleared, will you go check on her for me? I know it's a long drive, but you're the only one I trust to do it. I'd do it myself but I can't leave here. We won't be able to grab a day away for at least a couple of weeks."
Me?
She wanted me to go check on Talia? I barely knew the woman. I mean, sure, we spent some time together at the hospital and again when we helped with Clay's proposal to Ali at the lake, but that didn't mean it was okay for me to just show up on her doorstep. The doorstep. Aha! I just found my way out. "Let's assume I go. Getting me into the building won't get me in the door. What if she refuses to answer? I can't very well kick the door in."
"Damn." She sounded deflated momentarily but suddenly sucked in a big breath. "Wait, they have a spare key to each apartment in the office. I can just tell them that I forgot to give you my key and ask that they let you have the spare." The hope in her voice was hard to ignore. "Please, Spencer. She never ignores my calls. Ever. The longer I go without hearing from her, the more afraid I get. If you don't go, I'm coming home to check on her myself, my contract be damned."
Clay started protesting loudly in the background, not wanting her to lose her dream job.
Shit.
Looked like I was headed to D.C.
Somewhere between Richmond and D.C.
How did I let myself get talked into this?
Yeah, Ali said she'd cleared the way and that Talia would be too polite to kick me out of the apartment, but I still wasn't convinced my going there was a good idea. Although, given that Clay and Ali were stuck over four hours away, my nearly two hour drive wasn't such a big deal. Growing up in a moderately rural area — forty-five minutes from everywhere — I'd grown accustomed to long drives to get to a decent-sized city. Besides, I make the trip to D.C. all the time. It was fairly routine to meet with prospective clients there, actually, so the distance wasn't a problem.
The issue was that I had no clue what I would be walking in on when I got there.
Despite Ali's assurances to the contrary, I was half-convinced that Talia was holed up at the apartment with a man, maybe enjoying having the place to herself now that Ali had moved in with Clay.
My luck, I'd walk in on something I'd have to spend the next twenty years trying to erase from my memory.
Images of whips and ropes flashed like lightning through my mind, making me cringe as my grip tightened on the steering wheel. Not that I had any reason to think she was into that, but one never knew. Just because she looked sweet and innocent…
I wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the thought of walking in on something illicit or the idea of having to live with the image for the rest of my life.
I forcibly shook the train of thought from my mind, rolling my shoulders to break the tension and sinking into the plush leather seat of my methodically-restored 1971 Chevelle. It was my most prized possession these days, my favorite place to spend time. Just me and the road, the roar of the engine chasing away everything else. It had an impressive sound system — accurate retro styling with updated technology — but I rarely switched it on. The deep rumble emitted by the exhaust was better than any music I'd ever heard and I respected the hell out of it.
