Gayle was working late, sorting through lesson plans submitted by the teachers and enjoying the utter stillness of the school when everyone was gone.
Her phone vibrated, and when she saw the number her heart jumped. It was her. Flash images of Dianna exploded in her mind—those dark eyes and the side of her throat, the shape of her lips, and the cool touch of her fingers.
She cut a look to make sure her office door was closed and then answered the call.
“Hi,” she said in a voice that was more hoarse and husky than intended.
“Is this Gayle?” asked a stranger’s voice. Accented. Asian?
“Who’s calling?” Gayle said, forcing herself to suddenly sound official. She double-checked the number on the display and it was Dianna’s phone.
“My name’s Patty Trang,” said the caller. “I own the tattoo shop on Boundary Street. You know the one?”
“I do. Why are you calling me on Dianna’s phone?”
“She’s here with me,” said Patty, “and we’re hoping you can come to my store as soon as possible.”
“Why?” asked Gayle, all of her defenses up.
There was a rustle and a new voice came on the line. “Gayle?”
“Dianna? What’s going on?”
“Gayle, I need your help and I need it right now. Can you get away? Are you home?”
“I’m at work, at the school…”
“Oh, really? Okay. Can you get away, though? It’s important.”
“What’s going on? You’re being weird and it’s scaring me.”
“I’m scared, too, Gayle, but … after the other night … after we … you know … do you trust me? Can you trust me?”
It was such a strange thing to ask and the practical side of Gayle wanted to end the call and block the number. Whatever this was had nothing to do with her, of that she was sure. And yet …
There was such a deep vulnerability in Dianna’s voice.
“Are you safe? Are you in trouble? Should I call someone? Nine-one-one?”
“No,” said Dianna quickly. “They can’t help. This is not that kind of thing.”
“Then what is it?”
“Please,” begged Dianna. “Please come over.”
Gayle had a dozen reasons to say no, all of them practical, sensible, and safe.
She said, “I’ll be right there.”