The Confession (9 page)

I
made it to the lobby without a hitch, and searched frantically for Janelle. A minute ticked by. Then another. My heart rate climbed. Outside, two black taxicabs waited, and I looked past them to the walkway that led to the parking garage. I spotted her there, jogging across the street to the concrete building adjacent to the hospital.

Both cabdrivers were leaning against the sides of their cars and chatting. The first was younger, and hoping this meant he was a faster driver, I waved him down.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Residence Inn in Lakeland,” I said.

“All right.” He was pleased. The small residential town between Orlando and Tampa was a good fifty miles away, meaning a hell of a fare. “Do you have an address?”

“I don't.”

“That's all right, that's all right,” he said, all smiles. “I have GPS.”

The meter was already ticking.

“I'm in sort of a hurry,” I said.

“No problem.”

It may not have been a problem, but it still took a long time. Heading out of the city, we hit traffic. I didn't know if Janelle was stuck, too, but either way it was a while before we could pick up speed.

The cabdriver tried to chat with me, but I gave him only monosyllabic answers, and soon he gave up and turned on the radio.

My phone beeped with a text message.

Dad:
It strikes me as odd that the FBI couldn't wait until you were discharged.

I winced, and typed a quick response:
The world bends to their schedule.

Dad:
You ok?

Me:
I'm good. Love you.

Dad:
Love you.

I tucked my phone away and stared out the window, trying not to imagine what trouble Alec might be in right now. Maxim Stein was confined to house arrest. Reznik was dead. Trevor Marshall and Bobby Calloway were in prison.

But that didn't mean that he was safe.

We pulled into the parking lot of Residence Inn an hour and twelve minutes after I'd gotten into the cab. I prayed this was the right place as I stepped outside into the blazing August sun. Within seconds, my skin dewed with sweat.

Like many of the motels in Florida, the doors to the rooms all exited to the outside of the building, but no one was coming or going. The only movement was behind me at a bus stop, where two women sat on a weather-warped bench, a few feet apart. The sign on the overhang above them advertised a straight shot to Tampa, which made it a fairly appealing option after my hundred and sixty dollar cab fare.

I scanned the parking lot, wishing I'd followed Janelle to see what her car looked like. There were plenty of black, silver, and white rentals; any of them could have easily been a government car. Subtly, I started looking for any clues on the license plates, but realized I looked more than a little sketchy scoping out vehicles in my current attire.

I decided to try the lobby, and asked the desk clerk if anyone matching Alec's description had checked in. Luckily, she seemed not to have heard of him from the trial coverage, and offered me some complimentary hot chocolate in apology.

Perhaps she didn't notice that it was five thousand degrees outside.

At least she verified that there were no other Residence Inns in the area.

Worried that I'd heard Janelle wrong, I tried Alec's cell, but just like when I'd been in the taxi, it cut straight to voice mail.

“Where are you, Alec?” I wondered if this is what he'd felt when he'd been searching for me. Probably worse. I'd been gone for three days.

I walked around the lobby for a few minutes, purse in my small duffle. I smoothed out my hair and tried not to look like a bag lady. Ten different scenarios flashed in front of my mind. Alec handcuffed. Locked in a room. Beaten. I told myself I wasn't crazy—these things had all happened before.

I returned to the woman behind the counter, and maybe I wasn't as polite this time when I asked about Alec, because she told me to leave.

I returned to the parking lot. Twenty minutes passed. I considered knocking on doors.

I was just about to call him again, when a door on the first floor thirty yards away opened, and Janelle stepped outside.

Her hair was down and messy, and her blouse was unbuttoned at the top. She held her rumpled suit jacket over one arm, and dabbed at her lipstick with one finger.

“Don't make me chase you down,” came a muffled male voice from inside.

It took a full five seconds to realize what was happening, but when I did, it hit me with the force of a Mack truck.

Alec wasn't in danger. Alec was perfectly fine. He and Janelle had just met up for a quickie in this small-town motel. My head still wasn't right. Maybe the drugs were still in my system. Maybe they'd done permanent damage.

I wanted to disappear.

Which was sort of impossible when wearing candy-cane striped pajama pants.

I thought about ducking behind a car. I considered just turning and running into traffic.

“I have to go,” said Janelle. She giggled. I didn't know she was capable of such a sound.

I couldn't turn away.

A man stepped outside wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His pale back was dripping with water. He was thin, tall. A little lanky, actually.

This was wrong. Alec's skin was darker, his back more muscled. His broad shoulders gave way to a slim waist that cut into his sexy hip bones. I'd memorized his shape; I'd studied it on more than one occasion.

“Seriously, go inside.” She laughed. “Someone's going to see you!”

He lunged to smack her on the ass, and when she turned, I got my first good look at his face.

He had dark facial hair and glasses. Any doubt left was erased. That was
definitely
not Alec.

I sagged in relief. But a moment later it was replaced by a white-hot anger. Anger not for me, but on Alec's behalf.

“Oh God,” Janelle said. She'd seen me. She was staring straight at me, her face white as a ghost. “Anna.”

I was walking toward her. I hadn't meant to. I'd meant to turn around and leave. Find another cab, or catch the bus,
something
. Instead I found myself getting closer and closer, my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms.

“Stop,” Janelle told the man. “Go inside. Now.”

“Who is that?” he asked, concerned.

“Go inside,” she snapped.

He took a step to the side, and then retreated into the motel. He left the door open. I could hear him rustling around.

“What are you doing?” My voice shook. She made Alec happy, that's what she'd told me. And Alec had all but said he loved her the night of the fund-raiser. It didn't matter what I felt for him. Alec had a shot at something good, and Janelle couldn't ruin it.

“Anna, you shouldn't be here.”

“
You
shouldn't be here!” My vision compressed. The bag over my shoulder hit the ground with a dull
thunk
.

“I thought he was hurt,” I said. “I heard what you said on the phone.” I'd been wrong; she hadn't been talking about Alec. He was still at the trial. She'd been talking about someone else. The emotion in her voice had been for him.

“This isn't what you think,” she said, raising her arms as if to make sure I couldn't come closer.

I wanted to punch her. How could she be so stupid? She was in the FBI. She was supposed to be intelligent, and trustworthy, and at the very least covert.

She was hurting someone I loved.

“You bitch,” I said, between my teeth. “You don't cheat on Alec Flynn. You hold on to him and you never let him go.”

Her eyes flickered with regret.

“You weren't supposed to see this,” she said.

I scoffed, snatched my bag off the ground, and turned away before I did something really bad. On the road, a bus had just pulled into the station, and the women on the bench were gathering their things.

“Anna, wait,” said Janelle. “Let me take you back to the hospital.”

The man was outside now; I could hear them arguing behind me.

I kept walking, without looking back. I walked straight onto the bus and paid my fare by credit card. It was heading to Tampa, but at that point I really didn't care if it was heading to Fairbanks, Alaska. I wanted to get as far away from Janelle Jamison as possible.

I sat in a carpet-covered seat in an empty row and stared out the window, my mind churning with what I'd just seen. I felt like I'd been tossed into a washing machine and put on the spin cycle. An hour ago, I'd feared Alec was in danger. I'd thought Janelle had honestly cared for him. And maybe she did, maybe that's why she was so worried that I'd caught her. She thought I was going to tell.

I should have told him.

But the thought of breaking his heart again pressed me back into the Lysol-scented bus seat. He deserved better than her. Better than me, though I never would have betrayed him that way. When we'd been together we'd loved each other fiercely, fought like cats and dogs, and clung to each other when things got tough.

Right up until Amy had been taken.

Amy was okay now, as was Paisley. They were probably with Mike and Chloe. I thought of the picture Paisley had drawn. Their little family.

I wanted that.

I wanted Alec.

I wanted him so badly I could barely breathe. A piece of myself was missing without him. I wasn't whole.

I barely registered how far we'd come until we pulled into the station in Tampa. I got out with the other riders, who immediately ran to catch their connections, or headed deeper into the city. I followed them, my feet carrying me faster and faster. It felt good to walk after so many days in the hospital, and maybe it was a bad idea to be out here alone, but I needed the fresh air.

I cut across the business district to the Bay, and walked along the path past the cruise ports and the aquarium at Channelside. I kept going when I reached the shops, staying in crowded areas. The sky turned a rosy hue as the sun began its descent below the horizon. My feet began to ache, while my head echoed with the same question.

Amy's safety, or Alec's love.

I needed both.

But I couldn't have both.

Just before dark I ended up outside Alec's apartment building. I didn't know what I was doing here, or if he was even here at all. I didn't know if I could tell him about Janelle, or half the things that were running through my mind.
I love you. I made a mistake. Pick me.
I still hadn't decided if being with him was the right decision after everything that happened. I considered that I'd lost my mind and wondered if people who were certifiably insane still thought they were behaving normally.

Showing up at my old apartment dressed in pajamas and worn-out pink flip-flops after leaving the hospital before a formal discharge and stalking my ex's girlfriend was definitely crazy. It was impulsive, and stupid, and would probably warrant at least two restraining orders.

When it came down to it, I didn't care. I just needed to see him.

I needed to say good-bye.

I
entered the familiar lobby of the building where I'd once lived. Everything looked the same—the marble floor, the broad-leafed potted plants, the tinted glass windows. Even the handsome African American man in the beige uniform sitting behind the security desk.

“Anna?” Mike shot up, his face warped in a look somewhere between confusion and shock.

“Hi, Mike.” I continued in the direction of the elevators. I pulled my key chain from my purse inside the duffle bag. The shiny silver key to Alec's apartment was still on its own special ring. I hadn't been able to throw it away.

Mike was out from behind the desk like a shot. His hand found my shoulder and forced me to stop.

“What are you doing here?” He lowered his voice as a woman stepped off the elevator. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

“They let me go,” I said. I looked into his worried gaze and stepped closer. “I'm okay. I just want to see him.”

“Don't take this the wrong way,” he said. “But you don't look so okay.”

I followed his gaze down to my pajama pants.

“It's been a long day,” I said, feeling my conviction waver. I planted my feet and held strong, but the truth was my muscles were fatigued and my throat was so dry it was scratchy.

“Let me call someone to cover my shift,” he said. “I'll drive you home. Does anyone know you're here?”

“Excuse me.” A man trying to herd two toddlers waved at Mike. He looked, if possible, more frazzled than I did. “We're here to see Marie Browning. Do we check in with you?”

Mike's lips pulled thin. “Hold on, okay? Don't go anywhere.”

He had to know that wasn't going to work. The second he turned around, I walked to the elevator, still on the bottom floor, and pressed the button for the thirty-fourth floor.

My anxiety rose with each number that flipped by on the screen over the doors. Mike was right. I should have just let him call Amy or my dad to pick me up. Alec might not even be here, and even if he was, he might be here with Janelle. Surely she could have made the trip back to Tampa faster in a car than I could have by bus. The thought of facing both of them together made my stomach turn.

I ran through things I could say to him if he opened the door.
“Hi, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by,”
or
“Maybe I forgot to mention this at the hospital, but I'm moving to Kalamazoo,”
or
“Your girlfriend's a cheating bitch and it would be a huge help if you asked her not to file charges against me.”

I was still trying to think of a good reason to be here when the elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the hallway and walked to his door.

For a moment I stood on the threshold. I straightened, and tied my hair back, and took a deep breath. It calmed me, and gave me a chance to harness every last bit of strength I had left. I couldn't control what had happened to me after the fund-raiser, but I could control this. I could move on with my life and start fresh, and then hopefully someday my heart would finally heal.

I knocked.

No one answered.

“Come on,” I said quietly. Could absolutely nothing in my life go as planned?

I knocked again, and when there was no sound from inside, I fitted the key into the lock and opened the door. He wasn't home, and since he wasn't answering his phone, I could leave a note. I needed to know that I'd tried to close things up with us, even if he had already moved on.

I added trespassing on private property to my gold star day.

The door hinges squeaked a little as I pushed them open, and I was hit by a wall of warm air. The AC must have been off for a while.

“Hello? Alec?”

No answer.

I stepped inside, looking at the blank walls where I'd once hung up pictures. I cut into the kitchen, and was surprised to find two empty liquor bottles in the sink. There was one on the counter as well, turned over on its side with barely a drop left inside.

It brought back memories of the time I'd cleaned all the booze out of Alec's father's apartment, and that worried me. I hoped Alec hadn't drunk all of this himself.

My fingers trailed over the counter, and my body heated in the way it had the last time he was inside of me. I remembered a time we'd made love here, and against that wall, and on the dining room table. I remembered the way his mouth had lowered over every inch of me, finding that place between my legs that made me forget about everything but the wicked dance of his tongue.

It felt like we'd been happy here just yesterday.

My eyes were drawn to the nook between the dining room and the kitchen, where a shattered frame leaned against the floor. The pieces of glass had been kicked to the side, but not cleaned up, and as I squatted, I saw that it was Alec's college degree. The one I had framed and put up for his homecoming from prison.

What had happened here?

I glanced around the corner into the dining room, worried that I would see the rest of the place vandalized, but there was no other damage. It looked bare though, with only the essentials, as it had the first time I'd spent the night.

I walked to the couch, felt my way over the smooth armrest.

“Anna?”

Alec came crashing through the kitchen, wearing a black suit and that same sky blue tie, slung loosely around his neck. The glass from the broken frame crackled beneath his shoes. Crackled, like the sudden electricity that filled the air. Even now, even as I was preparing to say good-bye, I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him.

He stopped. His gaze flew over me, as if surprised I was still in one piece. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His soft, full lips parted. I could hear the smallest sounds—the rustle of his shirtsleeve against his side, the unevenness in his breath.

I tore my gaze away.

“I'm sorry, I . . .” I still had the keys in my hand and held them up. “I shouldn't have come in. I didn't hear you inside and thought I'd leave a note.”

I would have paid my life's savings for some kind of magic wand that would have taken me back to the point just before I stuck my key in the lock.

“What happened? Are you okay?” The concern in his voice made my heart lurch.

He touched my arm. He shouldn't have touched me, because it did more than warm my skin. It warmed the deepest places of me. The places that responded to him even when I was lost, and scared, and wandering. That centered me.

I jerked back.

He leaned closer.

I breathed, and was made dizzy by the dark, rich scent of his skin.

“I'm great,” I lied.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly. His gaze was too probing; he saw too much of what I wanted to keep hidden. I focused on his collarbone, on the tiny V at the base of his neck. His hands touched the tops of my shoulders and traveled down my arms. I trembled.

I came to tell you good-bye,
I wanted to say. I
willed
myself to say. But I couldn't.

Just one tiny kiss. One last kiss.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips against the small inverted triangle on his collarbone. Gently. Softly. Silently.

“Anna.” His voice was a broken plea. To stop or continue, I didn't know.

His hands had stopped their descent near my forearms, and I turned my head to the side and kissed his biceps, still covered by the jacket. Briefly, I thought of Janelle, but I refused to let her come between us. Not after catching her with another man.

We were close now, though I was unsure how that had happened, and when he turned his face toward me, the rough stubble on his jaw scraped against my cheek, making the heat rise to my skin. My hands roamed over the tensing muscles of shoulders, up his neck, to bury in his hair. It was silkier than I remembered, and as my hands fisted he gave a soft groan.

The sound tumbled through me, heating all the cold places, fighting back the darkness. Making me want more. His arms drew me tight against him, and as I shifted, and pushed him back against the couch, his breath released in one hard rush. He fell into the seat, and I climbed over him, straddling his hips.

I could feel him then. His hardness beneath my thighs. Too much clothing separated our most intimate places, and in a hurry, I reached between us for his belt to change that.

Just one more time.

“Wait,” he said. “You're not . . .”

“I'm not afraid.” It was a lie. All the pain and the fear and the need thrashed together inside of me, making my voice quake.

“Maybe I am,” he said. And then as I pulled his belt open and unbuttoned his fly, his lips parted and his eyes squeezed shut. His breaths were coming in harsh waves, and I placed one hand on his heart, just to feel it race. He looked up at me, and when I saw the uncertainty in his gaze, I was the one who said
it's okay.

My fingers brushed against the head of his cock, and he jerked. He grabbed my wrist, but didn't hold tight enough to stop me from reaching deeper. When my hand surrounded him, he grimaced, head falling forward. His open hands circled my back, rising up my spine beneath my shirt and then fanning out over my ribs. I freed him from his slacks, and he gripped the sides of my pants and started to tug them down.

When I helped him, he released the fabric, but held fast to my waist.

“This is wrong,” he muttered. His forehead pressed to mine. I could feel his breath on my lips and longed for a kiss he still hadn't given.

I closed my eyes. If he turned me away, if he made this thing that had always been perfect between us ugly, I would rip into a million pieces and there would be nothing left.

“Just one more time,” I said, and any argument died in his throat when I rocked against him.

His body tightened. He scooted to the edge of the couch. His arms surrounded me, and his hands moved down my back to my bottom to pull me closer. There was a rush of fabric, and a frenzy of hasty touches. A groan as my fingernails dug into his shoulder. The driving voice in my head:
take him, take him, take him.

“You want this?” he asked. “We're doing this?”

“Yes,” I said.

There were sighs and gasps as he readied me with his fingers, and then my muffled cry against his neck as he lifted me, and worked me down onto him.

It was rushed and desperate. Our rough breaths and the wetness of our skin were the only sounds. I was too weak to ride him so he took control. With his fist in my hair, he held my face against his shoulder and guided my hips with his other hand. We never separated more than absolutely necessary. He stayed inside me. Rocking deeper. Stretching me, and burning me, until every shattered piece unified for one singular goal and we shuddered to a finish in each other's arms.

Less than a minute passed before he pulled out. I gave a weak sound of protest as he slid from my body and tucked himself back in his pants.

“Jesus,” he said, pushing back my hair. “Anna, God. I . . . Are you . . .” He pulled me close again, arms trembling. He still hadn't kissed me.

“I'm sorry.” His voice trembled. “Christ. Fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”

I hated that he was sorry. I didn't think I could ever forgive him for saying those words right then.

“It's over,” I said, and I felt the weight of it now, punishing me for what we'd just done.