The Broken Road (The Broken Series) (14 page)

“Well,
you aren’t going to find many republicans who support the expansion of
Medicare. Have you talked to Senator Jeffords’ or Senator Snowe’s staff? I
think you’ll stand the best chance of building bi-partisan support if you can
get them on board,” Ms. Feinstein added thoughtfully.

“I
agree,” Senator Rockefeller replied. “I’d like you to talk to Senator Collins’
staff too. Let me know what they have to say about co-sponsoring. Once CBO scores
the bill, we’ll regroup.” Senator Rockefeller rose from his chair. He patted me
on the back. Then he shook Ms. Feinstein’s hand and thanked us for our time.

I
gave the senator a curious look. I was quite certain it was I who should have
been thanking him. My legs were still shaking when I walked out of his office,
but I was so relieved I hadn’t made a fool of myself that I hardly even noticed.

*
* * * * *

The
next morning, I scheduled appointments with the legislative assistants working
on health policy, more commonly referred to as Health LA’s, for Senator
Jeffords, Senator Snowe, and Senator Collins. I e-mailed each of them a policy
brief, a bill summary, and a draft of my proposed bill.

I
was working my way through a pile of constituent mail requesting the senator’s
support for a number of health care initiatives when I spotted a postcard from
Boca Raton, Florida. I didn’t know anyone visiting Boca Raton, so I presumed I had
been given the postcard by mistake.

I
flipped the postcard over and found it was clearly addressed to me. Not only
that, but the message was written in French. I skimmed over the words.
Mon
coeur, j
e te suivrai jusqu’au
bout de la terre. Tu m’appartiens.

The
vast majority of words were unfamiliar to me, so I logged onto my computer and
pulled up Google Translate. I read the translated text, then slumped into my
chair. Michael had found me in DC. I read the words again.
My heart, I will
follow you to the ends of the earth. You belong to me.

I
stared at the card. Was Michael planning to follow me to DC? He had obviously figured
out where I was working. What was I going to do if he approached me? Dan wasn’t
here to protect me. The DC police didn’t know me, and I was quite certain the
restraining order from Montana wasn’t valid in Virginia or DC.

The
thought of facing Michael’s instability and his unwanted affections by myself
was making it difficult for me to breathe. My heart was pounding. My arms and
legs felt numb. I had never experienced a panic attack before, but I was quite
certain I was dangling over the edge of one now.

With
shaking hands, I scrolled down the list of contacts on my cell phone until I
found Dan’s name. I hit the call button and waited anxiously for him to pick up.
My knee bounced in time to the plea pinging across my mind.
Pick up. Pick
up. Please Pick up
.

“Hi,
darlin’. How’s your day?”

I
stilled. “Good. Well… not good. I don’t know, Dan. I need your help.”

Dan
took a deep breath. “Slow down, Krissy. Tell me what’s going on.”

I
glanced over the top of my cubicle. No one was around, but I lowered my voice
anyway. “It’s Michael. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s figured out where
I'm working. None of my friends would have told him. How did he find me?”

Dan
exhaled loudly. “Wait. What?”

My
eyes flitted toward the postcard. “He sent me a postcard from Boca Raton. The
postcard was buried in the constituent mail that was sitting on my desk this
morning.”

“What
did the post card say?” Dan asked. His voice was low and deadly, a warning that
the tension deeply coiled within Dan was seeking some release.

I
stared at the translation on my computer screen. “He said he would follow me to
the ends of the earth. Is that a threat? Do you think he's threatening to come
to DC? Oh, God. What if he’s already here? He’s clearly delusional. He won’t
take no for an answer. What if he forces himself on me?”

“Stop.
I want you to take a deep breath. Do it for me right now,” Dan demanded
sternly.

I
took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay...”

“All
right. This is what
I’m
going to do. I don’t think Michael is living in
Helena anymore. If he was, then I would have run into him by now. So I'm going
to put a trace on him. I have a number of contacts from my skip tracing days
who can help me locate him. If he’s still living in the U.S., I’ll find him. If
he’s not at a location where I can personally deliver the message, then I’ll
find someone who can effectively deliver the message for me.”

I
was almost too afraid to ask. “A message?”

“Yes.
A message… to stay the fuck away from you. It will be delivered in very few
words. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

My
heart stalled. I was more than a little concerned about how a man like Dan
would deliver a message like that. “Uh, yes. I think so.”

“Now,
this is what
you’re
going to do. You’re going to tell Rockefeller’s
office manager, his front office staff, and the security staff for your
building about this guy. You’re also going to tell your lease officer about
him. The more people who know about him, who can keep their eyes open for him
and warn you if they see him, the better. Do you have a picture of him?”

“No.
We only went on four dates,” I responded defensively.

“Do
you think he’s on Facebook?” Dan asked hopefully.

I
shook my head. “No. Michael is an old world kind of guy. I seriously doubt he’s
on Facebook.”

“Okay.
Don’t worry about it. I’ll find a picture of him and e-mail it to you. You make
sure that all those people I asked you to talk to get a copy of that picture.
So, now that you know what we’re both going to do, this is what you’re
not
going to do. You’re not going to open your apartment door without knowing who
is on the other side. You’re not going to leave your sliding glass doors open.
You’re not going to leave your apartment alone at night, and you’re not going
to walk Cade on any secluded trails. You stay near people. The more people the
better. Do you understand?”

“Yes,
Dan. I understand.” I didn’t like it, not one bit. In fact, I was seriously
questioning my decision to call Dan.

“Good.
I’ll contact you with any new information. You do the same. Keep your eyes
open, Krissy. Stay smart.”

“I
will… and, Dan?”

“For
you, darlin’, anytime.”

“Thank
you.” He was trying to avoid hearing it, but I was determined to say it anyway.

“Just
doin’ my job,” Dan responded before disconnecting the call.

I
set the cell phone on my desk and tucked the postcard into my top drawer. I
wasn’t crazy about advertising the insanity that was my life, but Dan’s advice
seemed sound. There wasn’t much I could do until he e-mailed the picture, so I
pushed Michael to the furthest corner of my mind and buried myself in work.

*
* * * * *

I
had no idea how Dan pulled it off, but I received an e-mail, with a picture of
Michael attached, the very next day. A promise was a promise, so I distributed
copies of the photograph and some cliff notes on Michael to my office manager,
the front office staff, and the head of security for our office building.

Thankfully,
it was Friday. Most senators had already left the Hill. Rockefeller’s staff
drew straws to see which half could go home early. I was among the lucky ones.

Although
it was early, rush hour was still a bear. I wasn’t about to complain, since I made
it home by five o’clock. Most days I didn’t get home until seven or
seven-thirty. When I arrived at my apartment, I found a sticky note on the door
informing me that a package was being held for me in the main office.

I
walked to the front office. I was pleased to see that Mickey was still there. We
were the only two people in the office so I perched on the chair across from
her desk. “Hi, Mickey.”

She
set her paperwork aside and smiled. She had a beautiful white toothy smile, the
kind people pay big money for. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate, and
her face was framed with long black and gold braids that fell halfway down her
back. She was short and very curvy, the kind of girl who causes whiplash. “Hi,
Kristine. It’s good to see you. Are you here for your package?”

I
was surprised Mickey remembered my name. There were hundreds of tenants living
in our apartment complex, and I had hardly seen her since moving in. I smiled,
then nodded. “Yes… and please call me Kri. Most of my friends do.”

Mickey
rose from her desk and retrieved the package from a locked room. She handed me
the box as she settled back into her chair.

I
glanced at the label. The package was from Dan. I wondered how had gotten a
package to me from Montana overnight. Nothing gets out of Montana in a day. I
gently shook the box. I couldn’t imagine what Dan would send. I chewed my lower
lip nervously as I contemplated whether he would have Michael’s ear or finger
cut off and mailed to me.

“Maybe
it’s a care package,” Mickey suggested.

I
began tugging at the tape. I was pretty certain it wasn’t a care package. Dan
wasn’t the kind of guy who sent presents. He was the kind of guy who showed his
love through service. I worked the last piece of tape off the top of the small
box and opened it. A single item lie nestled in the brown packing paper. I held
it up to examine the object more closely.

“Mace?”
Mickey asked. “Wait! That’s the good stuff.” She stood to take a closer look.
“Yep. That’s the kind that’s issued to police officers. You can’t buy that from
a store.”

I
studied the small plastic canister. I wondered how Dan had obtained it and
whether it was legal for me to carry. “Well, I suppose I should be thankful he
didn’t send me an Uzi.”

Mickey
looked a bit concerned by my statement, so I figured it was as good a time as
any to explain my situation. I had multiple copies of Michael’s picture, so I
slipped one out of my briefcase and handed it to her. I told her about the
proposal, the restraining order, and the postcard.

Mickey
eyed the picture. “Wow. This guy is hot… like a younger, more mysterious
version of Antonio Banderas.”

“Yeah.
Sadly, the guy is crazy.” I sighed because it really was sad.

Mickey
folded the picture in half and shoved it in her purse. “What are you doing
tonight?”

I
shrugged. “Nothing, really. I was able to leave work early for a change, but I
don’t have any plans. I don’t know my way around very well, and I’m not
comfortable being out after dark.”

Mickey
smiled. “Why don’t you join me and a few other tenants for drinks at TGI
Fridays? You can ride with me.”

I
perked up instantly. “Really? That would make this my first night out since
moving to DC. Do I have time to walk Cade and change out of my work clothes?”

Mickey
nodded. “Sure. Meet me back here at six o’clock.”

I
was already halfway out the door. “I will. Thanks for inviting me!”

I
hurried back to my apartment. I unlocked the door and dumped everything on the
counter. I apologized to Cade the entire time I walked him. I fed him dinner. Then
I tore through the clothes in my closet. I rejected several outfits before
settling on a short black skirt, a gray silk-blend sweater, gray stockings, and
tall black boots. The ensemble was comparable to what I saw most girls wearing
to work on the Hill. I ran a quick brush through my hair, refreshed my mascara and
lip gloss, and sprayed some Bvlgari perfume on for good measure. I left a light
and the television on for Cade. Then I loaded him up with treats.

Mickey
drove to TGI Fridays, which was only three blocks from the apartment complex.
She wore the same outfit she had been wearing at the office… a long bohemian
style dress in teal, orange, and red with gold jeweled flip-flops that showed
off her artfully painted toes. Mickey managed to snag a table in the bar just
as another group was leaving. We climbed onto the tall stools and ordered
margaritas when the waitress stopped by.

Mickey
glanced over the other bar patrons, then turned her attention to me. “So, if I
remember rightly, you’re from Montana. What was it like living there?” She took
a sip from the largest margarita glass I’d ever seen. The monstrous container
looked like it might hold the equivalent of four standard size margaritas.

“I
enjoyed living in Montana. People are friendly, we don’t have any humidity, and
it snows about eight months out of the year. We spend a lot more time outdoors
than you do here… hiking, skiing, boarding, snowmobiling, and snowshoeing. No
one has more than a fifteen minute commute, so there’s more time to play and to
have a personal life,” I noted wistfully.

Mickey
looked thoroughly unimpressed. “When I think of Montana, I think of cowboys,
Indians, and gold miners.”

I
chuckled softly. “We still have our fair share of cowboys, Indians, and gold miners,
but they’re a dying breed.”