Each step I took, it remained in place. By the time I got to the first step, I considered grasping the doorknob to the attic because the walls were beginning to blend into the floors. I wondered how much longer I could hold my breath.
The answer came soon enough when his hands shifted. “You feel so tight.”
My breath was still in my lungs.
His fingers began massaging into the knots that had to be spreading throughout my entire back by now. This was the time to tell him to please keep his hands off me. That I wasn’t interested in him in any way other than as a friend. Yet, I knew I had to be careful. Do it with tact. He held my future with his daughter in those hands.
“Michael,” I tossed over my shoulder, very unsure of what I was going to say and how I was going to tell him that not only was my heart in a thousand shattered pieces right now, but I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him.
The smell of something burning wafted through the air and had him rushing by. “Shit, I must have left the rice on.”
Relief whooshed through me.
I was wrong—things weren’t back to normal between us.
A very unsavory feeling struck when I began to fear this might just be the new normal.
DAY 32
LOGAN
It was hard not to wonder what would have happened.
If I hadn’t gone to the beach that day twelve years ago, if Emily hadn’t looked so innocent wearing shorts and a T-shirt when all the other girls were wearing bikinis, if I would have left when the guys wanted to leave, or if I would have just listened to them and not gone after her.
The problem was, in the parallel version of my life, everything would be different. I probably would have ended up like most of the guys I went to prep school with, James excluded. Unhappily married with two small kids, having dreams about girls on their knees and blow jobs that never came, and then waking up next to a Stepford wife in training who closed her vagina after her last pregnancy.
In this alternate future, I wouldn’t be sitting here staring up at the green-painted steel frame of an empty bunk in a place that smelled like perspiration and disinfectant for two fucking nights wondering about what might have been.
I also wouldn’t have met Elle.
So fuck the might-have-beens.
Deal with it, McPherson, I found myself saying. I was talking to myself now. But then again I had no idea how long they were going to keep me, and I had to find a way to keep my sanity because I really felt like I was going insane.
It’s not as if I didn’t know the law inside and out. I was well aware of my rights. None of that mattered in here, though. I was stuck with no communication to the outside world and no one knew where the fuck I was. I was about ready to lose my mind. I wanted to claw my way out of here so I could get to Elle. I couldn’t even think about what must be going through her head.
The South Bay House of Correction was a place I’d been to almost as many times as the Nashua Street Jail, yet I never knew they had an isolation wing for possible terrorist-linked inmates.
And here I sat.
Minutes ticked by.
Hours.
Days.
It had to be Monday morning by now. How much longer were they going to keep me here? The weekend was one thing, but how could they keep me under wraps during the week? Then again, I was in isolation in some unknown wing God knew where deep within the prison walls.
I closed my eyes and tried to push the ache in my heart out of my mind. I had to think. Use my head to get them to let me use a phone. Bribe the guards if I had to. Patrick’s goon squad had to be off duty by now. I might have a chance with a new crew.
“McPherson,” one of the guards called as he opened the door. “Get up.”
I did. I was done resisting. It wasn’t getting me anywhere.
Sure enough, new guards had taken over and none of them seemed to know or care who I was. They were just doing their job. I did the best I could to be whatever the hell it was I was supposed to be.
I was led down a hall, through a number of doors, around a corner, and through another door. It had taken two days, but I was finally sitting in the attorney’s room. The problem with this little scenario is that I had yet to be allowed to make a phone call.
A quick glance in the mirrored window told me I looked like shit. I ran a hand over the top of my head. The sons of bitches in processing decided to shave it before taking my mug shot. The ones in holding complained I was mouthing back, so my black eye was owed to that. But none of that mattered. What mattered was the tightness I felt in my chest because I hadn’t been able to contact Elle. She’d told me she was unable to have kids, and in truth, I didn’t see that as the end of the world, but I knew she saw it as a failure. And then I up and disappeared on her. I couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking. Actually, I could, and that’s why I couldn’t breathe. She probably thought I’d abandoned her. And there was nothing I could do about it.
The very thought was enough to bring me to my knees.
My gaze shifted around. Here I sat in my wrinkled orange jumpsuit, handcuffed, waist chained, and shackled around the ankles, waiting for someone to grace me with his or her presence. The million-dollar question was—who was it going to be?
FBI?
DEA?
Someone else entirely?
Voices carried down the hall. Someone was shouting at someone else. It was a female voice I heard getting louder.
Suddenly, the door burst open and the she-devil herself came waltzing in. She had a suit on, and her trademark red heels, but her face wasn’t plastered in that frown she always wore.
Today, she looked genuinely pissed. “Get those off him,” she barked.
Two cops came scurrying in and unlocked the chains and undid the cuffs.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said to me, looking truly upset.
I shrugged. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Out,” she ordered the two cops who were now standing beside me.
“Ma’am, protocol calls for us to stay with the prisoner.”
She narrowed her eyes at them. “If you don’t want me to put your balls in an envelope and mail them home to your wife, you’ll leave us alone. Now!”
They were out of the room in two seconds flat.
Agent Meg Blanchet with her red hair, red nails, and red shoes came and sat across from me. “I gave the orders on Friday for you to be placed under surveillance and then picked up Monday morning for questioning. The local cops assigned to tail you saw you packing your vehicle. They thought you were fleeing the country, so they picked you up Saturday.”
“I wasn’t fleeing. I was going to New York City for the weekend.”
“Not that I don’t believe you, but how do you explain the wire transfer of over five million dollars into one of your accounts?”
My brows popped. “My maternal grandfather must have released my trust fund.”
Dark brown eyes looked unexpectedly amused. “Well, whatever the purpose of the transfer, since there was no passport found in your possession, I don’t believe you were planning on fleeing the country. Unfortunately, an error in the chain of command delayed my notification that you had been detained.”
My anger was well past any explanation. “Tell me why I’m here and what this bullshit terrorist charge is about.”
“The terrorist threat charge had nothing to do with me. According to the local PD, a call was traced back to you. One in which you were threatening to burn the entire courthouse down if Flannigan didn’t get life behind bars.”
“When I was picked up, the officers claimed I was aiding and abetting a known terrorist. Now you’re saying I made a threat. Which bullshit claim is it?”
She shrugged. “Does it really matter?”
I shook my head. “No. I guess not. You know I’m smarter than that. Why would I ever do something so stupid?”
She held a hand up and ticked at her fingers. “Because Patrick had your grandfather killed and everyone is claiming he died of natural causes, even the facility he was living in. Because you were the one who arranged for the cover-up. Because you wanted vengeance.” She lowered her hand. “Any of those reasons could be why. Are you going to admit it?”