“Heard from Tristan?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two women, not knowing how much Monica knew.
Another involuntary smile graced Josie’s lips at the mention of Tristan.
“Yeah, I talked to him for a while last night. There have been some interesting developments.”
Alex assessed from Josie’s strained code language that Monica didn’t know anything.
“Okay, well, I’ll give him a call when I get back.”
“Where are you going?” Josie whined.
“Heading downtown. I’ll be back soon. Stay inside and out of trouble. For the last time, lock this fucking door!” he warned, pointing his enormous finger at her.
Josie huffed and waved him off. The door closed behind him and she scurried over, locking all three locks with an overdramatic flair before turning and crossing her arms in defiance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her safety, she just hated being told what to do. At some point, one of her shrinks had diagnosed her with oppositional defiant disorder. Of course, she’d argued that he was a quack with no logical explanation for this imaginary disorder. She’d told him to fuck off when he pointed out that she’d proved his point.
“Did he say to stay inside? What? Are you grounded or something?” Monica joked, wiggling her painted toes in admiration.
“Uh, kind of. Not really. Maybe a little bit,” Josie responded uncomfortably, tucking herself onto the sofa.
Monica looked up, suddenly aware of Josie’s conversational avoidance maneuvers. She’d come up against them more times than she could count.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m kind of in some trouble,” Josie answered, not meeting Monica’s worried gaze.
“Trouble? Like I stole a pack of gum trouble? Or I killed a hooker trouble?”
“Like we think we know who was responsible for my parents’ death and now he’s after me trouble,” Josie spit out.
Monica’s strangled gasp cut through the air and her trembling hands reached to embrace Josie. After the initial shock had worn off, Josie told Monica everything she knew. She hadn’t realized how much of a load she’d been carrying around by keeping the secret. When she was finished, she sat in silence, trying to calculate Monica’s reaction.
“Josie, we’ve got to go to the police,” Monica said.
“No! Monica, this is so far beyond the police. It would only make things worse. Tristan will figure something out. I know he will. I’ll understand if you want to leave. I mean, it could be dangerous to be here.”
Monica shook her head, knowing that she’d never bail on this girl.
“I could call Rob to come over?” she offered.
“No! You can’t tell anyone about this!”
“Okay, okay. I won’t say a word,” Monica promised, though it pained her to do so.
The rest of the evening was spent in nervous silence. They each kept to their menial tasks, Josie sketching Monica’s worried face and Monica filing her already perfect nails. When it was far past Monica’s bedtime, she bid Josie good night, promising to come over the next day. She kept her brave face firmly in place until she reached the bottom of the stairwell. Within seconds Monica was on the phone with Rob, begging him to meet her at her apartment.
That night, Rob held Monica while she cried for the unpredictable fate of her friend. As she dug further into his embrace she was racked with crippling guilt, because she knew across town, Josie slept alone.
Josie woke the next morning, still bothered by the late-night phone call from Tristan. He had forced casual conversation on her, but she could feel something was off. His voice had been tense. Not wanting to add any stress, she kept things light. Josie told him about her night spent with Monica and how she hadn’t hated the experience. After a few minutes, Tristan said he needed to go but would call to check on her soon.
She stretched across her empty mattress and ran her hands over where Tristan should be. The material was cool to the touch and saddening. Josie crawled out of bed and dragged herself to the kitchen, hoping that Alex would be by soon with some breakfast or coffee. In nothing but a tank and boy shorts, she felt a chill in her apartment. It was uneasy, like when a stranger’s eyes linger on you for too long.
With only one foot in the room, Josie froze. The sight of a man seated at her kitchen table had her feet bolted to the floor.
“Hello, McKenzi,” the man said, not moving from his casual place at her kitchen table. “Or should I call you Josie?”
Panic seized her, making every muscle in her body rigid. Her head felt fuzzy and she couldn’t quite focus on the man before her.
“How the hell did you get in here?”
Her eyes darted to the door, all three locks firmly bolted. Quickly, she tried to calculate the probability of making it to the door, getting the locks undone, and out into the hall before he could catch her. She was no genius, but it was obvious that the odds were not in her favor.
“You can’t make it,” he said, answering her thoughts. “Please, have a seat.”
Rob pointed to the chair opposite him, but Josie still hadn’t moved. He placed his hand around his gun and lifted it from the table.
“I said to have a seat.”
Josie let out a squeak and hurried over, falling into the seat.
“That’s better.”
“Who are you?” Josie asked.
“Who I am is not important. What is important is why I’m here. Do you know why I’m here?”
Josie nodded her head, her eyes flashing to the gun still in his hand and back to his face.
“Good, then we don’t have to worry with introductions. Go put some clothes on.”
“You won’t do it,” Josie said.
Rob cocked his head and smiled.
“Do what exactly?” he asked.
“Kill me. You don’t look like a killer. I don’t think you’ll do it.”
“Neither did your little friend in the park. Now, go get dressed.”
“Gavin? You bastard!” she shouted. “What did—”
“I’m not answering your questions. See this gun?” he asked, waving it between them. “This gun means I’m in charge. Now go!”
Josie stood and crossed her arms. She glared at him. If she was going to die, she was going to do it on her terms.
“Fuck you,” Josie spat. “I’m not going to do shit.”
Rob shot up from his chair, making her flinch. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her to the bedroom, throwing her down on the mattress.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” he said.
That’s when the nauseating panic and fear took over Josie. Flashbacks of unwanted touches and rough hands sent flashes of terror through her.
“Please don’t touch me. Just kill me,” she begged while tears soaked her shirt.
Rob looked away, his jaw clenched in anger and uncertainty. He admonished himself and raised the gun so she’d take him seriously.
“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m not here to kill you. My orders are to take you back to Moloney.”
“Anything, just don’t touch me, please.”
Josie’s broken words sent a jolt of guilt through him. The unfamiliar feeling left him with more fear than he’d ever experienced, fear of failure and perverse compassion.
“Get up! We’re leaving.”
She crawled from the mattress and wiped the tears from her face. As she crossed the room to her closet, she could feel his gaze searing her flesh. It felt invasive and so wrong. She managed to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt before heading toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Rob asked.
“I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
He took a step toward her, as if he would follow her into the small space.
“Are you going to help me change my tampon?” she said quickly.
Rob frowned and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.