Hard to Hold (True Romance) (15 page)

Beyond the obvious.

“Where is Anne today?” Nikki asked, her tone light.

She might not be able to read his mind, but she had instincts that were impeccable. She was backing off at precisely the right time.

“She just left Egypt,” he replied. “I think she’s in Jerusalem until day after tomorrow, then she comes home by Sunday night.”

“You going to call her?”

“When she gets back, of course.”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Why wait? Call her now.”

He checked his watch and calculated the time difference. It was after midnight. But Anne was a night owl. He could send an email or attempt an instant message.

“Do you have your laptop?” he asked.

Nikki pulled the device out of her oversized bag. “Never leave home without it.”

“Think they have free wi-fi here?”

Nikki pointed to a sign on the wall that claimed they did.

He had no more excuses left.

The chime on Anne’s laptop drew her out of a restless sleep. She glanced at Adele’s bed, but then remembered that she’d already flown home. Anne had considered doing the same, but in a fit of self-reliance, had instead stuck to her original plan to remain in Israel on her own and visit some of her college friends. She couldn’t blow off seeing them again after all these years just because the guy she was dating—the guy she thought she was falling in love with—was acting like a brat.

The laptop chimed again and this time, she recognized the sound as an instant message. She opened her program and saw that someone with the screen name
KickinNik
was trying to get a hold of her. She didn’t remember knowing anyone with that monicker, but now that she was wide awake, she might as well answer.

YofiToffi: Who r u?
KickinNik: It’s Mike. Using Nikki’s computer.

Anne sat up and dragged the laptop entirely into her lap. This was the first time that Mike had initiated contact with her in over two weeks. Though it had contradicted every instinct she possessed, she’d continued to e-mail and call him as they’d prearranged before her trip. A few conversations had been just like old times—chatty and fun. Most had been distant and cold. But after the phone call outside the British hotel, she’d resolved to stop fretting over his attitude and instead enjoy her vacation.

She’d never forgive herself if she let Michael’s drama dampen her trip. But now, he was reaching out. She couldn’t ignore him. She didn’t want to.

YofiToffi: Glad you IM’d. Where r u 2?

KickinNik: El Mariachi’s. Came for cervezas and chips. Thought about you. Don’t even know if you like Mexican food.

Anne laughed. They’d sampled quite a few cuisines together since they started dating, but they’d yet to hit El Mariachi’s.

YofiToffi: I like margaritas.

KickinNik: Ah, I remember.

YofiToffi: El Mariachi’s has a great verde sauce.

KickinNik: That’s what Nikki said. She says hello. Wants to know if you’ve met any hot Israeli guys.

Anne hesitated. Technically, Samir was Jewish, but he was Egyptian in ancestry and Spanish in nationality. The idea of torturing Mike a little appealed to her on a very girlish, very childish level, but she beat the mind game back. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in silliness. Mike was back to his old self and she had every intention of enjoying him while it lasted.

YofiToffi: No hot Israelis. I must not put out the right vibe. Tell Nikki she’ll have to come with me next time and find them for herself.

KickinNik: How about if I go with you next time?

YofiToffi: You want to find hot Israeli guys?

KickinNik: No, I just don’t want to be without you for so long again.

There. There it was. Anne’s eyes suddenly burned with all the tears she’d dammed behind her eyes for the past couple of weeks. She’d refused to cry—refused to give in to the intense grief of loss when she hadn’t been entirely sure what was going on in Mike’s head—or more accurately, his heart. She wasn’t going to start now, even if one drop did spill down her cheek and splash onto the space bar.

YofiToffi: I’ll be home in two days. Any plans for the weekend?

Kickin Nick: Need to clear my head. Probably a hike with Sirus. Will be out of touch. Call when you get back?

YofiToffi: Will do.

KickinNick: Sleep well.

Anne typed a reciprocal good night, and then logged off. Yes, she’d sleep well—probably for the first time in days.

Anne’s plane was delayed, so she didn’t reach her apartment until one o’clock in the morning on the same Monday she was due back at work. She grabbed five hours of sleep, then dragged herself out of bed, infused her system with strong coffee, and then left to deal with traffic and criminal court. She’d hoped to see Mike, or hear from him, maybe find a note saying, “Welcome home,” slipped under her door or, his preferred method, stuck dead center for all the neighbors to see. But even when she opened her e-mail inbox at the office, she was disappointed.

She worried a little, wondering if he’d made it back from his hike. In the break room, she found a few copies of the weekend edition and checked the weather forecast. It has been a little chilly, but mostly clear with sunshine. Maybe she should have knocked on his door this morning. So he knew she’d made it back safely herself.

Of course, he could have easily knocked on her door. Why was it up to her to make the first move?

She went to a staff meeting, perturbed that she was unprepared for all that had happened in her absence, including a sex scandal involving local church leaders and a serial rapist operating on the fringe between Schenectady and Albany. With no sympathy for Anne’s jet lag and lack of sleep, Pamela ordered her straight to the courthouse so she could file updates on both stories.

Anne entered the courthouse cafeteria around twelve-thirty in hopes of snagging a bagel when Kate waved her over to her table.

“You’re back!” Kate said, rising half out of her seat to give Anne a hug.

“I am,” she verified, as much for herself as for her favorite prosecutor. “At least my passport says I am. I feel like I left part of myself somewhere over the Atlantic.”

“Yeah, your body clock. Sit down,” she said, gesturing toward an empty seat. “This isn’t Villa Italia, but the coffee isn’t bad.”

Anne shook her head. “I’ve already swallowed both Juan Valdes and his donkey since this morning. I was just hoping for something I can eat quickly.”

“You have five minutes to chat,” Kate assured her, checking her own watch. “You need sugar and carbonation. Sit tight.”

Kate returned with a huge soda filled with ice, as well as a cherry Danish that didn’t look half bad for something that had been sitting in the cafeteria since this morning. Anne picked at the filling with a plastic fork, hoping the few carbs would give her a boost to get her through the rest of the day.

Kate was appropriately curious about her trip, but aware of Anne’s exhaustion, kept her questions easy and then took up the conversational slack by filling Anne in on all she’d missed in the criminal courts over the past three weeks.

“Is it my imagination, or did the criminals rejoice my leaving the country by causing more mayhem?” she asked.

Kate laughed. “Just your imagination, I’m afraid. It’s a steady stream. Can you get a good sleep tonight or do you have plans with that young man of yours?”

Anne didn’t have enough energy to muster a smile. Normally, any mention of Mike made her cheeks hurt. She’d drifted through her last couple of days overseas and the whole trip home bolstered by their last instant-message interaction. He hadn’t seemed entirely back to his old self, but he’d contacted her—and he’d confessed that he missed her. These were both very good things. But even though she’d agreed to be the one to call him when she got home, she was still slightly disappointed that he hadn’t made any attempt at checking on her first.

“I think I just need sleep,” she said, pushing away her insecurities. “I’m not going to be very good company for anyone when I can barely form a coherent thought. And Pamela, of course, wants me to file both these updates this afternoon, even though three other reporters have been following the cases since I was gone.”

“And I thought my boss was an old taskmaster.”

“Trust me, my boss instructed your boss on the proper means to torture underlings.”

With Kate’s help, Anne got the quotes she needed for the articles, but not wanting to return to the office and face Pamela’s impatient glare as deadline time approached, she remained in the cafeteria in order to write after Kate left for a hearing. She returned to the office long enough to put the stories to bed, then headed home. By the time she finally made it through her door, she was too tired to think. She tossed off her clothes and stumbled into bed, her eyes shut before her head hit the pillow.

It was nearly midnight before she woke. Hungry, she rummaged in the kitchen before realizing she had nothing in the cupboard but peanut butter and crackers, which she washed down with a cup of instant hot chocolate. She took a quick shower and then went back to sleep, waking when her alarm clock rang at seven.

This morning, she found a Post-it note on her door.

Hope you’re home safe and sound. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday.
Meetings all day. Figured you were dead to the world by the time I
got home. Drinks tonight? Michael.

Anne’s insides warmed. A surge of adrenaline raged through her system, giving her the boost of energy she needed to punch through another busy day. She dug into her bag for a pen, jotted down a time and place and then jogged upstairs to adhere it to his door, where he’d find it when he came home.

Time swirled by in a cloud of anticipation. She finished work early, stopped by the market for a few essentials, and then went home to shower and primp. She’d missed Michael more than she’d expected to—honestly, more than she’d wanted to. She’d been looking for a man to share her life with, but years of fruitless searches had made her wary. It wasn’t wise to put too much hope in a relationship that hadn’t had much time to root.

But Anne didn’t have the genetic makeup required to move slowly and think things to death—not in her personal life. To live life, she had to grab it. And she was going to start by grabbing Michael with both hands and hoping she never, ever had to let go.

From her closet, she selected a filmy blouse in a swirl of blues and paired it with jeans. Because the weather was nice, she slipped her tanned feet into high-heel wedges. She spent a little extra time with her makeup and even spritzed a warm, amberbased perfume onto the pulse points of her neck and wrists. She grabbed her cell phone, purse, and jacket and was headed toward the door when a knock stopped her.

Glancing through the peephole, she saw Michael.

Excited, she opened the door. She launched herself into his arms, her body primed to experience the familiar comfort of his embrace and a moment later, perhaps, the much-anticipated taste of his amazing kisses.

She got neither. He hardly moved, bracing his hands on her back to facilitate putting her at a safe distance once she broke away.

“Hi,” she said, confused and a little annoyed. “What’s wrong?”

He slid his hands into his pockets. “Nothing, I’m just . . . I got home early and thought we could walk to the bar together. I don’t know. Maybe it was a bad idea.”

Anne marched back into her apartment, her rage increasing. She was still jet-lagged and reeling from his odd behavior while she was overseas. After their last exchange, she hadn’t expected to deal with his drama when she got home—not when he’d invited her out for a date.

This was not
her
Michael.

Her Michael was decisive, like the night he’d hugged her on the street corner when they’d first met or when he’d kissed her on her couch before they’d gone on their first official date. Her Michael did sweet things for her, like dispose of dead rodents and cook gourmet Italian dinners. Her Michael sent her funny e-mails and played basketball with her in discount stores and didn’t make fun of her excitement over watching
24
, knitting in a bar, or Syracuse basketball.

This guy certainly looked like the man she’d kissed so passionately before leaving for Israel and Egypt, but he wasn’t acting like himself at all.

“Michael, what the hell is going on with you? I’ve been gone for three weeks. Three weeks, I must point out, in which you barely spoke to me. Then you send me nice instant messages right before I come home, invite me out for drinks to welcome me back, and now you can barely stand to touch me?”

“Barely stand—? That’s not it,” he insisted, standing up straighter and meeting her gaze, though his expression was wholly unreadable.

“Then what is it? If you’ve got something to say, say it—but I’ll give you fair warning—if it starts with,
It’s not you, it’s me,
you can save it for someone else, understand?”

Thirteen

O
H, HE UNDERSTOOD
. Loud and clear. But no matter how she’d anticipated the direction of this discussion, he couldn’t change his mind. He’d thought long and hard about their relationship over the weekend and had made his decision.