Aftershocks (7 page)

He shoved to his feet and walked away from the rest of the papers stacked on the scarred wood table, carrying his beer bottle to the rail of his beach-side shack to look out over the calm water. He hadn’t needed his mother’s unofficial clipping service to keep him up to date on the Rhomney/Thomashunis situation. Because Grant had never been called to testify, he wasn’t on the official notification list. But through his work contacts, he’d known when they made parole, where they were now, and what they wanted.

It was the last that was keeping him from sleeping as well as he normally did. He took a pull from his bottle and watched a windsailer down the beach teeter and fall, her laughter drifting to him on the breeze. He could easily imagine Zoe doing that, helped, as this woman now was, by her fancy fiancé. People without a care, their pedigrees and their money insulating them from the harsh realities he dealt with regularly.

He blew out a breath. That wasn’t fair. Zoe hadn’t grown up pampered and spoiled, and he doubted that was how she was now. He also knew money didn’t insulate, and some who had it were good people. He was just in a bad mood.

The phone in the little shack rang again, the machine picking up immediately.

“Grant, honey, it’s Mom. You said you’d be home today, so please—”

Grant got inside and picked up, wincing at the squeal made by the interrupted answering machine.

“Hey, Mom. I just got in.”

“Okay, good. I don’t mean to be pushy, you know, I just—”

“I know.” He carried the cordless handset outside and dropped into his sling chair, propping his feet on the splintered rail. “I’m fine. No injuries on this gig.”

“Good.” She moved on briskly, but he could still hear the relief in her voice. “Did you get my package? And Zoe’s announcement?”

“Of course.” He refrained from mentioning that she could just e-mail him links, instead. That would just encourage her. “But I keep telling you, I don’t need them.”

“You say that, but I know better.” She paused, and he heard the telltale puff of a cigarette.

“You said you quit.”

“I’m working on it.” A faint stubbing noise followed, and he smiled.

“You like when I catch you. It makes you feel guilty.”

“Yes, and then I don’t smoke again for at least a week. You’re adding months to my life. Congratulations.”

Grant laughed. A couple of girls in bikinis walking by peered at him from under their hair, but he didn’t spare them more than a glance.

“Anyway, honey, about Zoe. Shut up,” she interrupted before he’d done more than open his mouth. “I’m tired of your protests. If you don’t care what’s happening, why haven’t you had a serious girlfriend since Amanda?”

“God, Mom.” He dropped his head back over the top of the chair. “How many times do we have to not have this conversation?” His corrugated tin roof was pulling away from the wall. He’d have to fix that. “I wasn’t serious about Amanda. We were together so long because it was convenient. Then it wasn’t. I haven’t told you about other women I’ve dated because they weren’t important. When I meet someone worth telling you about, I will. And I am
not. Pining. For Zoe.
”

His mother clicked her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Well, whatever you say, I know you still feel strongly about her, even if it’s only as a friend. And I’m sure you’re concerned about her current situation.”

He dragged his head upright and downed the rest of his beer, setting the bottle on the planks next to him. “What do you know about her current situation?” It couldn’t be more than they’d been showing on TV, the same stuff she’d faxed him, and that had already died down. Zoe hadn’t even been mentioned by name in the public stuff he’d seen.

But his mother was capable of putting six and eight together and getting fourteen.

“She’s in trouble, Grant. Those people are out, and they’re after her, I know it. For whatever she did that got them caught, or whatever unfinished business there is.” She paused. “That’s why I sent you that stuff. Unfinished business.”

Grant was probably the only person on Zoe’s side who knew exactly what that unfinished business was. But she wasn’t his responsibility. Never had been, really. They’d taken care of each other, after she’d gotten away and Pat and Freddie had been captured. He’d believed they’d take care of each other forever, until Zoe discovered her dreams weren’t compatible with his.

“She needs help, Grant. You can reach out to her.”

“You’re the one who sent me the engagement announcement, Mom. She doesn’t need me.” Even after all these years, the words sent a pang of regret through him.

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, if she does, I’m not that hard to find.” That was a blatant lie. He didn’t come up in Google or Yahoo, his phone was unlisted, and his contacts weren’t the kind of people Zoe would know. Not in her current world. But his mother wouldn’t think about that, and hopefully she’d be reassured enough to lay off.

“So if she comes to you, you’ll help her?” she asked.

“Of course. I’m not cold-hearted.”

“No, dear, quite the opposite.”

He didn’t dignify that one with a response.

* * *

Whatever Zoe hoped would happen after she left Kell, the reality didn’t measure up.

She’d known it would hurt. But she hadn’t anticipated the constantly sharp digging in her chest, like the love she’d cut off was trying desperately to find its connection again. Now she understood why people drank. Not that she dared try it. It might take the edge off, but she couldn’t afford the vulnerability.

Henricksen had agreed that the photos and letter were frightening, but still not actionable. He’d added them to his unofficial file and told Zoe to be careful, even recommended a bodyguard. But she couldn’t reconcile that logic. She was working hard to make sure no one got hurt because of her. Paying someone to get hurt in her place? No way.

The phone calls had started again. She never answered them, and they never left messages, but text messages followed. Their cheery tone was downright sinister, the words still mundane but clearly demanding the totems. Her stomach churning, she responded to one of those. Just one word.
Patience
. Enough to keep them at bay, and even that made her feel grimy and worthless, once again under their control.

She had no idea if they’d sent anything to Kell or his family, because when you cut yourself off from someone, that meant no communication. She couldn’t risk trying to check. If Pat was watching closely enough, any contact would still paint them as viable targets. But surely someone would have told her if they were hurt. James, maybe.

She hadn’t felt this helpless since she’d gotten free.

The general buzz of conversation outside her office door changed, and tension zinged up her spine. There were gasps and high, excited voices. Zoe hurried to the door and found half the staff surrounding their filing clerk, Trish, all talking at once. The girl’s face was flushed, her eyes bright but half glazed, as if something unexpected had happened.

“What’s going on?” Zoe strode forward, and the group parted.

“She was mugged,” Sherry explained, her arm around Trish.

“Are you all right?”

Trish nodded. “I’m fine. They took my wallet, but it only had my driver’s license and a few dollars.”

Zoe frowned and touched the back of her hand to the girl’s forehead. “You look like you’re in shock.”

“Well, it was shocking.” She giggled. “It’s never happened to me before. In broad daylight! I was paying for a latte and he just ran by, snatching it right out of my hand. He shoved me into the stand. That’s why it’s a mugging.” She rubbed her elbow. “Right? It sounds better if I call it a mugging.”

Zoe’s shoulders loosened and she managed a smile. “It was definitely a mugging. Here.” She nodded her chin at Sherry. “Give her some money from petty cash for a cab. Trish, hon, take the day off. Go deal with your license, or just go home and rest.” She walked her to the door, reassuring her that she’d still get paid, but half her mind was on herself instead of her employee. She was sure the mugging had nothing to do with her own situation. But it reinforced that she didn’t need to love someone for them to be close to her. In danger.

One phone call to her attorney sped up the next step in her plan. It didn’t get her any closer to the totems she had to find, and she knew damned well she was reacting as Pat wanted her to, cutting herself off from everyone in her support system as completely as he had the day he’d snatched her. But she didn’t see any other way.

The next day, she arrived at the office to find a box on her desk, unmarked and sealed with tape. She lifted the phone and buzzed Sherry.

“Yeah?”

“Did you put this box on my desk?”

“Yep.”

“When?”

“When I got in. It was on the floor outside the door.”

Zoe spun it, checking for a postmark or label of any kind. “How did you know it was for me?”

She could almost hear Sherry shrug. “I don’t. But it’s your company. Who else is it going to be for?”

“Okay, thanks.” She hung up and thought about calling downstairs to ask security who’d signed in last night or early this morning, but the building housed a dozen businesses. If this was what she feared it was, they would have been innocuous and signed in with a fake name.

Just do it
. She used her letter opener to slit the tape and opened the box. On top was a small envelope, thin, with one photo inside. Olivia, laughing on the sidewalk outside her school. Printed across the bottom in red marker was one word. “PERFECTION.”

Zoe squeaked and dropped the photo, covering her mouth with one hand. The other already fumbled with her office phone, but she froze before she dialed. If someone saw her company number on the caller ID, it would ruin everything.

It took only a few seconds to look up the code to block caller ID, but she couldn’t breathe and that made it feel like forever. Quickly, she keyed in the code, then dialed Olivia’s cell phone number. She’d be on her way to school, probably, not already there with it off, and—

“Hello?” Her bright, cheery voice was backed by other young voices. Someone said, “Ooh, look what Zach’s doing,” and Olivia’s second “hello?” was far more distracted. She giggled, then disconnected the call.

Zoe let out the dry sobs she’d been holding back and set the phone rattling into its cradle.
She’s fine, they haven’t done anything, she’s fine.
Her hands shook, pissing her off, as she dragged a bottle of water from her bag and uncapped it. The coolness moistened her mouth and throat, but she eyed the box that sat so patiently on her desk. She wasn’t done. Their message wasn’t complete.

Inside was a cheap clock, unwound. Obviously to tell her to move faster. Next to it was a smaller box, the kind that held jewelry or figurines or ornaments. It all looked like a friendly gift, surrounded by white tissue paper. But Zoe’s chest squeezed until she could barely breathe again. What was in here was going to be bad.

The box was so light it could have been empty, but something shifted when she tilted it to pry open the lid. What was inside was so odd, her confusion took away the dread. She peered more closely at it, then picked up the letter opener again to poke at it. Whatever it was, it was leathery and stiff. Mostly flat, about a quarter inch thick. Kind of round on one side, a little pointed on the other end, and with a tiny hole, like a…

Like a piercing. She gagged and shoved the lid closed, almost throwing the box across the room. That was an
earlobe
in there. Grant’s earlobe.

God. She swallowed bile and swallowed again. Her head swam, her vision fuzzing around the edges, hot saliva a warning to partner her cramping stomach. She had to sit. Her chair had skidded backwards when she jumped. She carefully pulled it to her and lowered herself into it. She wanted to bend over, head between her knees, until the nausea subsided. But she hadn’t closed her blinds. Anyone could see her.

Think. Think
. She forced herself to breathe and ignore the dizziness, the instinct of her body to escape. What were they trying to say? They’d cut off Grant’s earlobe to force his brother Jordie to do their bidding. They could do anything to anyone—to Olivia—to get the same results from Zoe. That was the message here.

A half second of panic lit inside her, but she quickly squashed it. She’d just heard Olivia’s voice. She was fine. And that wasn’t how Pat worked. All the therapy she’d been through had given her a more thorough understanding of him than she’d ever wanted. He believed in incentive. He’d only hurt Grant because Jordie wouldn’t do what he wanted. They wouldn’t hurt anyone yet. She still had a chance to make sure they never did.

With nausea rising again, she pulled out her phone and sent another response to the text messages. Three words this time, her hands shaking so badly she had to undo autocorrect twice before she could hit send. They’d have to be enough.

I’ll find them
.

* * *

It took too long to execute her plan, even though she pushed everything through impossibly fast. The final meeting with the attorney that would erase the life she’d built occurred late in the day on a Friday. When she finally walked into the office, her shoulder briefcase dragging her down and slowing her steps, Sherry pounced on her as usual.