Torn (28 page)

She felt alone.

W
ADE'S PHONE RANG.
He heard its echoing cry when he stepped out of the shower. He'd crashed for hours after he got home, and when the sun set, he'd finally managed to wake up enough to wash the hell of travel off his back.

He knew his machine would pick up the call, so he didn't hurry too fast toward the hallway, not until he heard Victoria's voice.

“Wade?”

He nearly fell, rushing with his wet feet and slipping over the tile.

She gave a little laugh, the sound transmitting easily from the speaker on his answering machine. “I know I just saw you but . . . I miss you. That's crazy isn't it? But  . . . but I was thinking . . . want to grab a drink? That's what normal couples do, right? They get a drink? How about we meet up tonight? At the place where you pretty much changed everything for me.”

He was surging for the phone.

“If you want to come, I'll see you there in an hour. If not . . . then I'll see you soon.”

He swiped for the machine.

But she'd already hung up. He started to call her back but . . .

Baby, I'm coming for you.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE BAR WAS
too crowded. The bodies too sweaty. The music was too loud. The laughter too fake. Victoria had noticed all of that before when she'd gone to Wild Jokers, but none of that had bothered her. She'd just wanted to get lost in the throng of people.

To escape.

She wasn't looking for escape this time. She was looking for him.

Victoria settled in at the bar. She waved to the bartender and he nodded, indicating he'd be her way soon. Then she glanced over her shoulder, looking toward the entrance. It had been almost an hour since she'd left that message for Wade. She needed him to walk through that door. Excitement bloomed inside her as she waited.

The bartender came back, took her order, and when she sipped her apple martini a few minutes later, the sweet taste rolled right over her tongue.

Again she looked back toward the door.

Warm hands settled around her waist, making her jump and sending some of that apple martini spilling over her chin and down the front of her top.

“Welcome home.”

The hands were a heavy, possessive weight on her hips, and she spun in her chair because the voice wasn't Wade's.

“Flynn,” she said, her eyes widening as she took in the blond male before her. The man she'd left the bar with just days before. They'd gone into the back alley . . .

And Wade had changed everything.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” Flynn flashed her a wide smile, one that made his green eyes gleam and his dimples wink at her. “Missed you while you were in Savannah.”

She and Flynn . . . they'd been lovers. Once. No commitment, no—­

Strings.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder and to the door. “How did you even know I'd gone to Savannah?” She hadn't mentioned that to him, had she? Hadn't she just said that she was leaving for a case?

He laughed. A rich, deep rumble. “You told me. When we ran into each other on my morning jog.” He took a seat on the bar stool next to her, but he leaned in close, crowding her with his body. “Though you didn't give me any more details. You and your mysterious cases . . .” His hand reached out and his thumb gently slid over her chin.

Victoria jerked away from his touch.

His brows shot up. “Easy. You just had a little bit of drink on you.” He brought his thumb to his mouth and licked away the moisture.

She shot off her stool. “No, Flynn, it's not happening.”

He laughed again. “What's not?”

Flynn had always been so easygoing. No pressure. And he was fine with no strings. She wasn't.

“I'm meeting someone tonight. The guy—­the guy from the alley.”

“Your
partner.
” His face darkened. “I didn't like the look of him, Vik. Too intense. Dangerous.”

No, Wade wasn't dangerous, not to her. “We're together,” she said flatly. She wasn't going to play around with some other guy while Wade was on his way.

Flynn nodded. “Fine, Vik, fine. As long as you're happy . . .” He took a bottle of beer and saluted her with it. “Good for you.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

Then Flynn glanced around the bar. “But if you're so together . . . why isn't he here?”

W
ADE RAN OUT
of his apartment. He was running too damn tight on time. Gabe had called, wanting a full update because Dace had contacted him . . . trying to tie up loose ends.

The call with Gabe had gone long. And now he was rushing to get over to that bar and meet Victoria. No other bozos had better even think of moving in on her—­

What the hell?

Wade stopped right next to his motorcycle. A motorcycle with very flat tires. Tires that hadn't just deflated—­close examination showed that they'd clearly been slashed.

His bike had been fine earlier. He'd checked it out briefly right after he got home.
Then
he'd crashed.

Now, though . . .

I can't get to Victoria this way.

Sonofabitch. He jogged toward the main street and saw not a single fucking taxi. He needed to call Victoria but—­

The cops in Savannah kept her phone.
She'd contacted him from her landline before, he'd seen her number on the caller ID. When he'd talked with Gabe before, Gabe told him that he was taking care of replacing both his and Victoria's smart phones. That replacement really needed to hurry the hell along.

He started jogging down the road. There had to be a taxi somewhere. This was Atlanta, for shit's sake. He'd find a ride, and he
would
get to Victoria.

V
ICTORIA GLANCED DOWN
at her watch. “It's only been an hour.”

“What?” Now Flynn sounded shocked. “You've been waiting on the jerk for an hour?” He hopped off his stool and reached for her hand. “No way. Absolutely not. You don't wait for some fool. Come on, dance with me.”

So meeting at Wild Jokers hadn't been her best idea ever. At the time, everything had seemed to start for her and Wade right there . . . and it seemed like—­maybe a fitting place to meet. She'd thought they could dance, get a drink, and then go back to her place.

“Dance with me,” he said again, flashing his dimples.

His dimples were cute, but he wasn't Wade and she was far past the point of being interested. “No.” She pulled her hand away. “He's not late. This is when he should be arriving, and I know he'll be walking in that door any moment.” She gave him a weak smile. “I am sure there are plenty of other women who would love to dance with you, Flynn. They're probably already lining up.” She put down her money on the bar top. There was a booth close to the door. She'd go wait over there. Victoria pushed her way through the crowd. She was wearing heels—­ones that were a bit higher than normal, and she'd dressed as sexy as possible.

For Wade.

For herself.

She wanted to look good for him. She wanted to let go, with him.

“Here you go.”

And Flynn was back. Only this time he held up a martini glass—­one filled with green liquid. “Your favorite,” he said, and he put it on the table in front of her. “My way of saying sorry for spilling your drink before.”

Her shirt was already drying.

“When Prince Charming gets here,” Flynn continued, “I hope you two have a great night. Really.” He gave a quick nod. “You deserve some happiness after the rough times you've had.”

Then he slipped away, vanishing into the crowd.

Her fingers rose and curled around the long stem of the martini drink. She stared into the liquid and wondered . . .

How did Flynn know about my hard times?

Her breath sucked in on a quick inhale as she glanced around, but he was gone. Long gone. Had he dug into her past, researched her the same way that she'd caught Wade doing that one night?

Or . . .

I don't remember telling him that I was going to Savannah.

She stood up quickly, suddenly ready to leave that too loud club. Her hand brushed against the martini, sending it falling across the table. A second spill in one night. She was certainly on a roll. Now her hands were sticky, covered in the drink. She hurried toward the bathroom, zigging and zagging around the crowd. She'd clean up and then she'd wait outside for Wade because something . . . it was off.

With Flynn.

With the way . . . he acted.

Did I tell him I was going to Savannah?

She didn't remember telling him, just as she hadn't told him about any hard times. They hadn't exactly been into deep conversations. She'd met him, they clicked, and yes, okay, so maybe she'd done a little research on the guy before they hooked up.

I wasn't going to walk away with a stranger.

She'd run his records at LOST. Flynn Marshall, age thirty-­three. A pharmaceutical sales rep who traveled frequently, had never been married, and had attended . . .

Northwestern University.

That one detail clicked in her mind.

He'd attended Northwestern, just like Troy North. They were around the same age. They even looked a bit alike, with that blond hair and similar height. Had they attended college together?

Why does that matter? Why?

Victoria pushed the bathroom door open. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Her high heels clattered as she made her way to the sink. No one else was in the bathroom as she yanked on the water and soaped up her hands.

Victoria felt as if there were a puzzle right in front of her and she was just missing a piece.

The water thundered into the sink.

Flynn . . . I told him I was leaving town, going on a case, but not where . . .

The first time they'd met, it was right outside her building. He'd been jogging and she didn't see him. He collided with her, and, right before she would have fallen to the ground, his hands had risen and he caught her. Then, that night, she'd gone to Wild Jokers, just wanting to escape from the darkness that seemed to surround her.

He'd been there. At the time, she just thought it was chance. A coincidence. Nothing more.

Now . . .

What if it wasn't chance? What if none of it was?

The lights flickered again.

The door began to creep open—­she heard the groan of the hinges.

In the mirror she saw a man's hand reach through that opening. A tan, strong hand. The hand went straight to the light switch on the wall.

And the bathroom plunged into darkness.

A
JEEP SLOWED
at the corner. Wade glanced over at it with a glare—­

Asher Young gave him a wide-­eyed look. “Uh, yeah, man, Gabe sent me over to deliver a new phone to you—­”

“I need a ride.”

Asher shrugged and motioned to the seat beside him. “I can do phone delivery. I can do rides, too.”

Hell, yes. Wade jumped into the Jeep's passenger seat.

Asher cleared his throat. “Just where are we headed?”

“Victoria.” Saying her name made his body tense.

“Right, Victoria's place. She's not there, though, just so you know. I tried to deliver her phone first and the place was shut down.”

“That's because she's at Wild Jokers, waiting for me.” And his ass wasn't there. “Someone slit the tires on my motorcycle, and I didn't have a way to contact her. I need to get there, now.” Because he didn't like this whole setup. No way to reach her. His tires fucking slashed.

Why slash my tires unless you didn't want me leaving?

And he'd only been going to one place . . .

To find Victoria.

But no one else had known that.

Right?

“Okay, okay, calm down . . .” Asher shifted gears and had the Jeep spinning around in the road moments later. “I'll get you there.” But his jaw was grim as he drove. “Slashed tires?” Asher asked, voice thoughtful.

“Yeah. And they were fine when I went into my place earlier. But I got a message from Victoria, asking to meet, and when I went out—­”

“Interesting.”

No, it fucking wasn't. “Drive faster.” Because the knot in his gut wasn't going away, not until he saw Victoria.

T
HE LIGHTS WENT
off and the last piece of the puzzle fell into place for Victoria—­too late.

She immediately tried to move to the left but—­

He's blocking the door. I know he is.

“Victoria . . .” Flynn's voice called out to her, sounding worried. Concerned. “Something's wrong with the lights . . .”

No, nothing was wrong with the lights. She'd glanced up in time to actually
see
his hand turn them off.

“I'm worried about you. I—­I saw you come in here, and you were weaving a bit on your feet.”

Only because I was trying to shove my way through a packed dance crowd.

But . . . she needed that crowd right then. She needed to get back outside to them. Screaming wasn't going to do her any good—­no one would hear her. She could hear the wild pounding of the music. Outside that bathroom, there was chaos. Enough chaos to muffle any scream she made.

“I think you had too much to drink . . .” he continued in that same, soft voice. “I saw your empty glass on the table. I know . . . you don't always like to drink too much.”

Empty glass.
No, she'd knocked that glass over. She hadn't drank from it. He thought she had, though. And he thought that she'd been weaving . . .

Pharmaceutical rep.
Dammit, he had access to so many drugs! He'd probably put something in her drink.

Not just mine.

“Victoria?” Now his voice was sharp. “Shit, have you already passed out?”

He hadn't seen her standing in front of the mirror. He'd put only his hand inside the bathroom when he turned out the lights. So he hadn't seen that she'd been standing there, perfectly aware.

She heard the rustle of his footsteps. He was coming toward her. Probably about to search the place for her unconscious form. The guy had tried to drug her, and she knew he wanted to take her away from the bar. She couldn't let that happen.

She had to think of a way out of this mess.

Unfortunately, there were only two stalls in that bathroom. One large sink. And one exit.

An exit that he still blocked.

“Victoria . . .” Now anger roughened his voice.

She had to answer. Had to say something or he'd know that she wasn't drugged. “F-­Flynn?” She made her voice stutter. “Something feels . . . wrong with me . . .”

His sigh swept toward her. “Too much to drink,” he said, voice back to being concerned. Friendly. “I suspected as much when I saw you stagger in.”