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Alexis breathes out. “Fine. Sixty-forty. And it’s Jane.”
“Thank you,Jane. See you soon.”
And then I hang up. A smile stretches on my face. I can still manipulate with the best of them.
31
KIT
FRIDAY, MAY 5, 2017
When Patrick and I finish making love, I roll over and listen to the Aldrich clock tower chime. We are lying in a king-size bed in the Kingsland Arms, an understated, modest hotel near campus. It isn’t the Duquesne Club or the Omni William Penn, which are the hotels a woman of my status would expect—or, rather, where a man like Greg might have taken me, but I’m beginning to feel a little turned off by status symbols. Where did they get me, after all? Wealth certainly didn’t make me much happier.
The blinds are thrown open, exposing a view of the river and the Pittsburgh Point. The sun is beginning to set, turning the room a dusty pink. Patrick leans toward me, and I feel the warmth of his body against mine. “You know that box you carry around containing the meaning of life?” he murmurs.
It takes me a moment before I get the reference—it was a detail from my Philly persona. “Mm-hmm...”
“I think whatever’s in there can’t be better than this.”
Just his touch makes me dissolve. I reach for him again. I want to never leave this bed.
Patrick’s phone buzzes. We’re still kissing, but I can feel him pullback. He rolls over, sits up, and reaches for the device. A tired expression comes over his face. It’s Lynn, then. She probably wants to know where he is. I lick my lips. I have every right to hate Lynn Godfrey for drugging me. I have every right to feel justified about doing this with Patrick—though that’s not why I’m doing it.
Patrick drops the phone back on the desk. “I have to go.”
I nod. “I understand.”
“I certainly don’twantto.” He touches my cheek. “I’d rather be flying into hurricanes with you.”
“Hurricanes,” I murmur. Right, right, he was the hurricane pilot. “Or even just lying here. For the rest of our lives.”
“Mmmm.” He leans over, his lips brushing my shoulder. His eyes are pleading and hopeful. “If I left her... would that be something you’d want?”
I blink.DoI want that? I barely know Patrick. But isn’t it also true that when you know, you justknow? It’s an instinct I had with both Greg and Martin. Or at least IthoughtI did.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I’d have to think about it.”
“But you wouldn’t rule it out.”
I lick my lips. “No. I wouldn’t rule it out.”
He takes my shoulders in his hands, lightly massaging my muscles. When we kiss, I close my eyes, letting him fill me.
A few minutes later, after he’s disposed of the condom we’ve used and we’ve taken a quick shower and dressed, we’re kissing again at the door. But as I move to walk with him to the elevator, Patrick touches my arm awkwardly. “Actually, I should probably go downstairs first. You wait here, if that’s okay.”
It gives me an oily feeling, but it’s not like I can argue. After enough time, I slip into the hall and shut the door behind me. The corridor is eerily empty. Even the lobby is deserted, the lone attendant at the front desk busy with something on her computer, though as my heels tap across the marble floor, she looks up and gives me a warm smile. After a moment, something in her eyes sharpens. I keepmy head down. Can she sense what I’ve done? Or maybe she recognizes me from the news? I think of the lie I told Willa before I left: I’m at a work meeting. I picture what my daughters would think if they found out what I’m really up to.
The double doors open, and I emerge into the night. The sky is the color of a bruise. Lights twinkle atop buildings. The downtown street is as vacant as the hotel’s lobby, and I feel a chill. I wish Patrick were walking me to my car.
I turn left, then right, momentarily disoriented as to where I’d parked. I’m ultra-aware of my lone shadow gliding along the sidewalk. Is this a safe neighborhood at night? I’d thought so, but it isn’t like I come here very often.
I find the parking lot, a flat square of pay spaces usually guarded by an attendant, though it seems he’s left for the day. I rustle in my bag for my keys, then hear a click to my left. I raise my head, turn. Someone’s there.
A streetlight makes a lone gold circle at the edge of the lot. Far in the distance, a car alarm blares. I squint past the rows of cars, watching shadows and movement that may or may not be real. My fingers curl around my keys. Shakily, I hit the unlock button, and my taillights illuminate. I hurry to the driver’s door, but there it is again. A rustle.A footstep. I glance over my shoulder once more. Maybe Willa was right to warn me to be careful. My fingers clamp around my phone. Maybe I should call 911. Maybe I should call Ollie Apatrea, considering his open-ended offer that I could reach him at any time.
I wrench the door open, fall into the seat, and lock the car fast. My breathing is quick, and I can feel my pulse heavy in my throat. I glance in the back seat, remembering those horrible campfire tales of killers lurking there, ready to pounce on lone women. Nothing. I run my fingers through my sweaty hair. Maybe I’m losing my mind.
Buzz.
