Pressure Point (Point #2) (8 page)

“Spit it out. Just because you say something critical about your job doesn’t mean that you don’t appreciate it.” Zoe correctly guesses my thoughts in a more alert tone.

“You know my boss, Colin, right?”

She hums yes.

“At first, he was more boss than friend. He told me what to do, but in that, ‘if you feel like it’ way. Now, he’s a guy getting a paycheck, passing work my way when he doesn’t feel like doing it. When I started at Speck, I had two clients, and now I have six. That doesn’t include the one-off projects that Colin tosses my way when he doesn’t feel like working.” Using my palms to push up, I shuffle backward on the mattress until my head rests against the pillows. “The work’s not the problem.”

“Okay. Then what is the problem?”

“You sound like a therapist,” I tell her softly. “Two weeks ago, I had my performance review, and when I asked about opportunities for growth, Colin didn’t have an answer. His reaction was more along the lines of there are no ways that I can further my career other than taking on more clients. It ticked me off, you know? Speck’s been good to me, but I can’t do the same thing for the rest of my career. I have higher career aspirations for myself.”

Zoe’s shuffled next to me, giving me a sympathetic glance. “Of course, you do. You taught me about ambition.”

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline in astonishment. “Really?”

“Blake and I were talking about it the other night. I told him how you set career goals for yourself, and it inspired me to write some of my own.”

“Wow,” I murmur, still surprised. Pride spreads through me at her praise. “That’s a huge compliment, Zoe.”

She brushes off my words. Zoe doesn’t take compliments well. I wonder if either knows how special she is. Loving, thoughtful, charitable, Blake raised his sister to be as generous and emotionally supportive as he is to her.

“Do you want me to talk to Blake about a job? I’m sure that he could hook you up with something at the team, or even Uncle Stewart might have something for you.” Stewart is Blake’s father. After her parents had died, Stewart became a surrogate family member. Without an official title to give him, Zoe called him her uncle.

“No,” I respond the moment the offer falls from her lips.

“Why in the heck not?” Her brow scrunches in confusion.

“I appreciate the gesture, Zoe, I really do, but I don’t want to use your family connections to my benefit.”

“Using my family? That’s
so
not what’s happening here. I offered! It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

The thought of working near Blake terrifies me, but I’m not going to tell my friend that. A job in one of those nationwide brands would be killer on my resume, though…

“Okay, how about this? Katya is coming to town next week and I have a meeting with her. Let me test the waters with her first.”

Zoe’s lips tilt sleepily and she burrows against one of my pillows, platinum strands fanning out across the paisley blue print. “Good.” A minute later, she’s asleep and I follow not long after.

Sunday passes in a blur of cleaning and organizing my place. Zoe leaves in the afternoon to go prepare for her second week on the job. Monday slinks by uneventfully, another day meeting the needs of my clients, some of whom have grown to become my friends. Tuesday morning, I’m buried in the project planning for an integration when Violet interrupts my progress.

“Stell –” The urgency in Violet’s tone makes me snap to attention. The tasks rolling through my head for my client at Pendent Arena pause when I catch the fright etched across Violet’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

She clears her throat, her creamy pale skin looking more stark than usual. “Your friend Zoe works at Clarkes Elementary, right?”

Instinctively, I
know.
Something horrible has happened at a school. There’s one thing that comes to mind: terrified children running out of a vicious crime scene. My hands tremble on top of the keyboard.

Still, I ask the question. “What?” The word comes out raspy, terror-filled.

“School’s on lockdown because there’s a guy inside with a gun. At least, that’s what Twitter says. The Trib website confirmed,” she adds before I can ask if anything is more than social media verified.

The words are hardly out of her mouth before I shoot up, taking only enough time to free my purse from the file cabinet under my desk. “Tell them I had to go,” I blurt out to Violet.

I don’t wait around to hear her response; I’m sprinting through the glass doors of our office and jamming my finger into the elevator call button as if it will make it appear faster. Thankfully, there’s a yellow taxi parked outside our building, not surprising for the Loop, but I’m still sending up a silent prayer of gratitude when I slam the door shut behind me.

“Clarkes Elementary,” I blurt out breathlessly.

“Where is it?” Oblivious to the urgency in my voice, the driver drawls the question between responding to the person on the other end of his Bluetooth.

Hands still quivering with fear, I search for the address on my smartphone. I bark the address at him before I urge, “Hurry! Please, sir, it’s an emergency.” The guy must be wearing a pair of heavy boots because the car jerks forward and we’re cruising past the city blocks at an unprecedented speed. The tight corners and high speed doesn’t faze me. I’m too busy worrying about my friend.

She’s alone; she’s scared. I can’t leave her like this. I need to get to her. She needs to be okay.

By some standards, six years isn’t a significant time for a friendship. The length of time doesn’t matter to me. Since the first day that I met Zoe, I instantly bonded with her. When our friendship was long distance, we talked constantly—emails, texts, video chatting, the works. Zoe’s become like a limb, an essential part of me. If something were to happen to her…

No. Nothing will happen to her. She’s going to be fine. She has to be fine.

It doesn’t occur to me that I should call Blake to find out if knows what happened at the school. My thoughts zero in on my friend and her safe return to me.

The taxi comes to an abrupt halt, sending me flying forward in the seat. My head knocks against the protective glass sharply and I cry out.
Serves me right for not wearing a seatbelt.

“Police have blocked the road,” the driver tells me unnecessarily. The crush of marked cars and smattering of ambulances is clear as day. Reaching into my purse, I grab a few bills and push them into his waiting hand. I don’t wait around for change, shoving the door open and practically falling onto the curb. I right myself and run toward the first uniformed officer that I find. He stands in front of a horizontally parked police sedan, blocking the path toward the three-story red brick building. There’s a roaring sound rushing in my ears as I watch the SWAT team line up in a carefully choreographed dance.

“Miss?” the police officer prompts. I realize then that I’m standing next to him, my eyes racing over the exterior of the building like I have x-ray vision.

“My friend is in there,” I explain breathlessly. “Do they know anything? What’s going on? Who is in there? Has anyone been shot?” The questions roll off my tongue in a messy, desperate cadence.

“Unfortunately, we have no details at the moment,” he rumbles.

I’m not passed the point of begging, and just as I’m about to try again for more information, I watch in unchecked terror as the stealthy SWAT team bursts through the front doors of the schoolhouse.

“What does that mean? There were no gunshots. I didn’t hear anything. Did you hear anything?” Frantic energy crackles through my body like electricity.

The cop places either a restraining or reassuring hand on my shoulder, freezing me in place. “No loud pops are a good sign, girl. It’s going to be a while until we hear anything now.”

I nearly sag with relief at his words. He’s right. No gunshots mean… Well, it could mean anything. Zoe works in the library; maybe that was a good hiding place. Maybe she didn’t know there was a gunman in the school.

“Who is your friend?” the police officer asks calmly.

“Her name is Zoe Baker; she’s a librarian.”

The police officer, who I find out is named Mike and has two girls around my age, distracts me for a long time. God, I have no idea how long we stand there talking about mundane stuff. Minutes crawl by as I respond halfheartedly to his questions about how I know Zoe and what I’m doing in the city. Anxiously, I watch students file out of the school. Still, no Zoe.

Finally.

My friend wanders out of the school as if in a haze. Her complexion is ashen, eyes wide with anxiety, apparent enough from where I stand half a football field away from her.

“There!” I cry when I spot her. “Please—can I?”

Mike cocks his head to the side and mutters an acquiesce, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear him allowing me access to the crime scene. Not caring that I’m wearing pumps and a tight pencil skirt, I sprint across the pavement. Somewhere off in the distance, I hear the elastic on my skirt hiss in protest, but I ignore it, running at full speed to Zoe until I’m just a few feet away and my body slams into something hard, solid. The mass sends me reeling, stumbling backward a few steps.

“Stella.” The word is barked at me, his body wound tighter than a bow. His hands clamp around my upper arms to hold my flailing body still. He came from the office, I note ideally, still wearing a dark navy suit. The tie around his neck is yanked loose. The expression he wears doesn’t reveal anything, but worry lines etch the corners of his eyes. “Get her,” he rasps. “If I go to her, there will be photographs and the last thing she needs now is more media scrutiny. Bring her to the east side of the building. I’ll be waiting.” His grip on my sleeved arms tightens imperceptibly then he’s gone, weaving across through the chaos of police officers, crying children, and anxious parents.

I allow myself a second. One second to admire his confident gait. One second to appreciate his control in this uncontrollable environment. One second to fall in love with him a tiny bit more.

The second passes and I’m back in motion stopping a foot away from a dazed Zoe. Her arms are bent at the elbow, palms cupping her ears as if she can’t bear to hear the commotion surrounding her. Adrenaline courses through my veins, preventing me from latching on to my own terror.

“Zoe?” My voice is all but a whisper. I don’t want to startle her further.

Slowly, her eyes survey the scene, though they appear not to register what’s happening. I touch her bent elbow lightly with my fingertips to capture her attention. My touch causes her to blink a couple times and drop her arms to her sides. A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes from my mouth in a relieved puff.

“I…I…” comes out of her mouth in a weak stammer. Her unsteadiness sends me straight into action. Someone has to be the strong one, and right now, I need to be steadfast for my friend.

My arm circles around Zoe’s hunched shoulders and I yank her against my side tightly. “Stick with me. We’re going to Blake, and we’ll take you home.”

“Blake, Blake, that’s good. I need my brother,” she mumbles more to herself than to me. I don’t allow myself to be scared that she’s just a shadow of the friend that I’ve known for six years. My body moves automatically.

Using my shoulder and muttering excuses, I barrel us through the crowd as quickly as I can. I urge my friend forward, my steps sturdy. I have to hold it together. I won’t let Zoe down. Not now, not ever. She doesn’t have a mother to cry to, no father to cling on. Blake and I need to prop her up against whatever demons Zoe’s facing now. I won’t leave her side. With monumental force, I don’t allow myself to question what happened to Zoe inside the school. The story, however dark it may be, will come in time. Until then, I want to be the pillar opposite Blake. From what I’ve witnessed of my shaken friend, this won’t be easily forgotten.

Whatever she needs, I’ll provide,
I silently promise the heavens.
Please, please let her be okay. Let her move on from this and be okay.

I cast a quick look to my friend. She watches the pavement beneath our feet with abject attention. Yanking her firmer against my body, I double my speed. We cut around the side of the schoolhouse and I catch sight of a nondescript black SUV idling less than fifty feet away.

“Blake’s right there,” I press my cheek against Zoe’s as I speak, wanting her chilled skin to seep up some of my warmth. She nods against me. The back door flings open when we arrive and Blake extends one leg out. He hooks an arm around Zoe’s waist and we work together to assist her into the smooth leather bench seat. The door slams shut behind me after I hop into the backseat next to Zoe. A few moments later, Blake slams his passenger door with a vicious yank.

“Go,” Blake tells the driver calmly, and we sail away from the curb. Without a seatbelt, he shuffles across the bench toward the shivering Zoe. “I’m here now. You’re safe. You’ll always be safe. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

Blake’s cradling Zoe to his chest like she’s twenty years younger. He strokes her poker straight hair, continuing to murmur reassuring words that I’m not sure she hears. Needing to be close to her, needing my own reassurance that my friend is still in one piece, I reach out and tangle our fingers together. Her clammy hand falls limply in mine, but still I squeeze her. I watch as Blake shuts his eyes, still speaking soft words to Zoe.

If he can hide his fear from Zoe, then so I can.

For now.

Blake

Never let ‘em see you sweat.
The advice has always served me well. I’ve never had a hard time sticking to the manifesto Dad drilled into my head. Until now. The moment my assistant hustled into my office spouting off about a disturbance at Clarkes Elementary, my heart lodged itself firmly into my throat. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Then the fucking cops wouldn’t tell me shit and I had to hide in my car like some sort of private detective on a stakeout. My driver, Gus, waited with me until we spotted my sister stumble out of the school and then I couldn’t help myself. I took off like I was running for my life. Then I saw her.
Stella.
Of course, she came for Zoe. She loves her almost as much as I do.