CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Daisy commanded her hands to stop shaking, but they wouldn’t obey. Stuck in the parking garage underneath the condo building in downtown Denver. She refused to leave the safety of her car until she could stop acting like a terrified little girl.

The decision to leave had not come easily. All day she’d wrestled with it, thinking of the suitcase she’d packed, sitting there, next to her front door. Not knowing if fleeing was the right move or if it would make Nathan suspicious and angry.

And what he would do with that anger.

Maybe going to Micah for help had been a terrible mistake. But he seemed like a good choice, didn’t he? Her neighbor and his boss Frank dealt with criminals all the time, plus they weren’t police, so she shouldn’t have to worry about Nathan finding out.

Not that she knew Micah well, or had any reason to trust him.

“Stop it,” she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Get ahold of yourself, Cortez. Stop being a baby. Go in there, get your suitcase, and leave. That’s all you have to do.”

And then, as if refusing a direct order, the tears threatened to spring from the corners of her eyes. She’d grown tired of this rollercoaster, tired of never knowing how she would feel from one minute to the next.

Screw it. If she couldn’t wait for the rollercoaster to even out, then she’d have to walk it off. Daisy pulled off her Novo coffee apron and dropped it on the passenger seat. She strutted across the parking garage, her knee-high boots clacking on the concrete, the sound echoing from several directions. Like a drumstick on a snare drum in a concert hall.

Once she was in the elevator, the anxiety leveled to a numb throbbing. Felt a little more like herself, whatever that meant. Daisy hadn’t felt like “herself” since she was thirteen or fourteen years old. Before everything started. Before her life got away from her.

She exited the elevator and her shoes sank into the cushy softness of her floor’s carpeted hallway. Such a nice building, in every respect. When she came in through the lobby, she adored the smell of the flowers. Different varieties every week. Lily-of-the-valley gave her the most pleasure, gardenias her second favorite. For some reason, she couldn’t stand daisies. Maybe because it would have been too obvious.

Daisy paused at her front door, felt something was off. She rolled her shoulders a few times and told herself it was nothing, only that same tiny demon crouched on her shoulder, warning her that everything was about to fall apart.

But when she pushed open the door, she found the demon was right.

A head poked out from the kitchen. Nathan.

His sharp black hair and sharper blue eyes burned at her, but the smile on his lips brightened the lower half of his face. He stepped out into full view, wearing an orange Broncos apron over his button-down shirt and tie. Ladle in one hand and a box of pasta in the other.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “You’re home a little early. I was hoping to have dinner ready for you, but I need a few minutes.”

She managed a meager smile, then lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave. Dropped her purse on the nightstand next to the front door.

Nathan gestured with the box of pasta to beckon her forward. She felt her feet moving toward him, but she didn’t want to do it. Wanted to turn around and flee.

Did he know? He could have had any of his cop buddies tailing her, had them find out what she’d said at Micah’s office that morning. She didn’t think she’d been followed, but it’s not like she had any experience looking for that kind of thing.

When she was close enough to touch, Nathan set the box of pasta and ladle on the kitchen counter, then he extended his arms for a hug. She folded into him, turned her face so he wouldn’t see her tears. His grip was firm and tight, and she remembered the way it used to make her feel safe.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was rude to you last night.”

“It’s okay,” she said, the words spilling out like water from a tipped glass. “I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”

He held her out at arm’s length and gazed deeply into her eyes. For a second, she felt that thrill of lust at the sight of his bright eyes and the neatly trimmed beard lining his cheek.

She wanted to ask him the names of the people that had been counting the money with him. Those cops. She couldn’t remember any of their names, but there was no way to inconspicuously draw that info from him.

His eyes drifted down to the packed suitcase next to the couch, the one she’d neglected to take with her when she’d left for work earlier. A clear sign of mistrust, packed up and ready to go.

He had to know she was going to flee. He probably already knew which friend she was planning to stay with. Nathan had a way of stealing the truth from her, sometimes with nothing but a glance.

“I didn’t think you were coming over,” he said. “I mean, that’s no excuse for how I behaved. I shouldn’t have made you leave.”

She tried to blink away the tears, to hide them. Nathan ran a finger along the underside of one of her eyes, catching a droplet. His smile seemed so warm and comforting. Maybe she was wrong about the whole thing. Maybe her paranoia was taking over.

“Truce?” he said. “I’m going to make a kielbasa and cabbage stew like mom used to make.”

She nodded because she didn’t think she could open her mouth without crying harder.

“How was your day? Did you make a meeting?”

She shook her head and gulped a jagged breath so she could speak. “No, I came right here after work.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze, a little harder than she would have liked. For a second, his smile faltered, and she saw malice in his eyes. A warning. You shouldn’t have seen what you did last night. You shouldn’t have been there.

Or, had she misread his expression? Thoughts swam in her head and she couldn’t make sense of anything.

Without a word, he returned to the kitchen and turned up the heat under a pot of water. “Dinner in about fifteen minutes.”

Now that his back was turned, she stumbled away from him, toward her bathroom. Closed the door behind her. In this enclosed space, the comfort of the close walls gave her some relief.

Daisy plucked a cotton ball from a glass jar and wiped dripping mascara from under her eyes. Her hand shook so badly that she smeared it, and had to use three more cotton balls to clean up her mess.

“Cortez,” she whispered to her reflection. “Is this happening? Are you imagining this?”

And the reflection had no answer for her. Maybe this had been a huge mistake and she should walk out there and tell Nathan what she’d done today. She could explain that it had all been a misunderstanding, and she’d call Frank Mueller’s office first thing in the morning and tell them to cancel whatever they were going to do. Forget the whole thing and let her get back to living the oblivious life she craved.

That itch came, that burning under her skin to escape. Numb the pain. Make the world blurry so she didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

She opened the cabinet under the sink and removed her prized possession, the monogrammed flask. She unscrewed the cap and sniffed, but it didn’t smell like alcohol. Didn’t smell like anything.

Daisy ran her finger over the raised monogrammed letters. Felt the reassurance of cold metal in her hands. She turned it over and over, letting the light bounce from the flask to her bathroom mirror.

How could she live like this?

“Babe?” came Nathan’s voice from outside the door.

She nearly dropped the flask but managed to grab the cabinet door and shove it behind the shampoo bottles. Too loud. She was so hasty that she bumped her head on the edge of the sink.

When she raised back up, the world spun for a second and she worried she might pass out. Her hands found the lip of the counter and she steadied herself.

The door opened behind her.

“Daisy?”

The edges of her vision blurred, but she could see Nathan’s face filling the middle. “Yes?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing.”

He stepped closer, squinted at her forehead. “Did you hit your head? You have a red mark there.”

“It’s fine,” she said as she angled her face away from him.

He slid next to her and put a finger under her chin to raise her face. “You know I don’t like it when you hide things from me. You can say anything as long as you’re honest.”

“I had a bad day at work. Customers were rude today. I leaned down to get out a roll of toilet paper just now and bumped my head. But, like I said, it’s fine.”

Again, he offered her that smile she couldn’t read. Loving, or devious. Maybe it was the same smile.

“You gotta be more careful,” he said.