by Roni Loren
He glanced over to see what I was referring to. He shrugged. “Awards. Thank-yous.”
Thank-yous to a tech company? That seemed odd.
But when we rode the elevator up to the top floor, I realized quickly that Foster’s company was not your average widget builder. Along the main wall heading toward his office, there were photos of children and the occasional adult. All with their names and dates and times at the bottom. I paused at the last one—a photo of a little girl with very familiar blue eyes. I touched the letters on the frame. Neve Juliette Foster.
Foster stopped his stride and paused with me.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, my heart twisting in my chest as my fingers ran over the date. Age 5—Missing since July 1990.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “She was.”
I didn’t miss the past tense he’d used, and I leaned into him. “What are the other photos for? Are they all missing, too?”
He slid a hand onto my lower back, standing next to me at the wall of photos. “No, those are our happy stories. 4N creates devices and apps to help track children, so that if they disappear, parents can have a tool to find them. We’ve saved a lot of kids with it, and even a few Alzheimer’s patients who have wandered off. These are our successes. The people who we helped.”
I looked at him then back at the substantial amount of pictures, each smiling face shining back. Alive. Home with their families now. “My God, Foster, that’s amazing. I had no idea . . .”
His thumb stroked the base of my spine. “We put up the pictures to remind us why we’re doing this. And to get through the tough days. Because for every happy ending, there’s another child that doesn’t come home at night or another woman who disappears while jogging. People are victimized every day.”
I turned toward him, my heart feeling like it had doubled in weight in my chest. “Which is why you freaked out about me opening my door.”
He released a breath, his shoulders dipping. “Knowing what’s out there and seeing it on a daily basis makes me want to wrap you up in my arms and keep you next to me so that nothing evil ever touches you. That’s why seeing you exposed to any of it, like that asshole Gerald or that guy taking a photo of you, makes me a little crazy.”
I reached for his hand, saddened by what he’d been through and wanting to hug him, but knowing that probably wouldn’t be good to do at his job. I was truly awed at what he did for a living. I’d known he was still actively looking for his sister but had no idea that he’d dedicated his life’s work to it. No wonder he was so paranoid. If I had to face those horrible stories every day at work, I’d want to lock everyone down, too.
“I’m sorry you’ve seen so many ugly things,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“How about you come to my office so I can stare at a beautiful one instead?” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips.
I smiled, enjoying how easily he showed his affection, even in a public situation like this. On the way to his office, he introduced me to a few people and explained what they did. Everyone was very friendly, but I didn’t miss the curious glances, raised eyebrows, and the faint hint of whispering after we walked away. Apparently Foster didn’t bring women he was dating on tours very often. Good.
When we reached his office, he made quick introductions between me and his assistant, Lindy, who burst into a grin when he called me his girlfriend. Foster gave her a quelling look and Lindy tucked her lips inward, her eyes still smiling.
Foster ushered me past her desk and opened the door to his expansive office. Before closing the door, he called back over his shoulder, “Lindy, hold my calls for a while.”
“Yes, sir,” she chirped. “I’m on it!”
I crossed my arms, cocking my head. “So she gets to call you sir, too. I see how it is.”
He laughed and pulled me into his embrace. “They all do. Even Herb in accounts payable. Jealous?”
“Wildly,” I said, tipping my head back and looking to the heavens.
“Well, your patients get to bite and lick you. So I have my own jealousy to deal with.”
I leaned back in his hold, eyeing him. “Oh, you bite, do you?”
“On occasion.” He snapped his teeth together with a growl, then chuckled when I yelped in surprise. “But I’ve had my shots, I promise.”
“Good to know.”
“Now come on, I have something I want to give you.” He released me and pulled out the chair in front of his desk for me. I sat down, as he went around his desk and grabbed a small box from his drawer. He came back around to my side and perched on the edge of the desk.
“Now, Foster,” I teased. “I think it’s a little too early for a proposal. I mean, I know I’m spectacular in bed, but . . .”
“Hush, smartass,” he said, bumping my leg with his foot.
“Yes, sir.”
“So I know you heard about the symbol of a collar in your class and how serious being collared is. It’s like getting married.”
I nodded, my gaze darting down to the box with a small pinch of panic. He wasn’t going to collar me, right?
“We’re not ready for that step yet, but I wanted to give you something to mark our commitment to being together like this.” He opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a small Celtic knot charm on it.
I reached out and touched the links. “It’s beautiful.”
“We make these here. It’s a Home Safe anklet.”
I tucked my hand back into my lap, looking up at him. “What does it do?”
“In the charm is a small transmitter. If someone goes missing, it can either be activated by the victim or remotely activated by whoever is looking for them. It will send out a signal to help find them—like a remote GPS. This is how we’ve saved a lot of those people on that wall out there.” He lifted it from the box and handed it to me. “I would love for you to wear it. As a symbol. But also as an added safety device. I’d feel better knowing you had one.”
I stared at the anklet, guarded now and growing more and more uneasy by the minute. “It tracks someone. Will track me.”
“It’s not like—”
“God,” I said on a bitter laugh. “My father would’ve paid a fortune for this when I was a teenager. Instead of going through my cell phone records and having neighbors report in on me, he could’ve just sat at his computer and tracked my every move. How convenient!”
Foster frowned. “It’s not meant to be used that way. It can only be activated in emergencies. If it’s a false alarm, the customer has to call in and have it reset. Each only gets two resets before the person has to buy a new one.”
But my mind was already chasing the line of thought like a dog racing after a mailman. A customer would have to buy a new one but not Foster. It was his product, his company. He could probably activate or reset one whenever the hell he wanted. “You really lack that much trust in me?”
“Cela,” he said patiently. “This is not about me not trusting you. I care about you and want you safe. The chances of anything ever happening are slim, but I’d sleep better knowing that you had an added layer of protection.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, let’s make sure you sleep better. Doesn’t matter if I have to wear some device like I’m on house arrest. What if I’m late one day or want to go somewhere and don’t tell you? You could just hit a button and poof! know all my business? Or better yet. You could add in a feature like a dog’s shock collar. If I stray too far, you can just deliver a little jolt.”
“Forget it,” he said, pushing up from the desk and tossing the empty box on top of it. “You’re right. This is about trust. You not trusting that I’m doing this with good intentions and not to fucking stalk you. I’m not like your father.”
“And I’m not your sister,” I retorted.
“No, you’re no
t,” he said, full anger rolling off him now. “Because I’m actually trying to protect you. The day Neve was taken I was supposed to be watching her in the front yard. She was my responsibility. But she’d been annoying the hell out of me all afternoon, wanting me to play Barbies. I told her to go play her stupid baby games somewhere else. So while I was busy climbing trees with my friends, my baby sister was grabbed off the street by some monster. Because of me. My fault.”
I stared at him, stricken.
“So fine, be pissed that I want to protect you.”
“Foster—” I said, stuck tears slowing the words in my throat. “God, that’s not your fault, it was the—”
“No, it was mine. Just ask my parents.”
The words echoed through his big, modern office, pinging through my chest. His parents. The ones who’d left him alone, who’d bailed on him. Now I knew why. They blamed their son for something that some sick criminal did. My heart broke for him, right there in his office, little pieces falling to the floor.
He let out a long breath and sagged back onto the desk, his eyes haunted. “I need you to wear the anklet, Cela.”
I wanted to stay angry, needed to fight the idea of what the anklet represented, but I couldn’t bear the flat, empty look on his face. I went to him, lowering to my knees and laying my head in his lap.
He threaded his fingers through my hair, his voice grim. “I don’t know how to care for someone and not worry, angel.”
I wanted to reassure him, to take that pain out of his voice, but I couldn’t agree to something like this just to make him feel better. I lifted my head and took his hands in mine, meeting his gaze. “I am so sorry for all that you’ve been through. And I wish I could take that all away for you. But this is asking a lot—too much. I’ve spent my whole life under someone’s thumb, and I’m not sure I can ever put myself in that kind of position again.”
“Angel . . .”
“I need some time, Foster,” I said, the bleak truth bleeding through me, making my limbs feel heavy. “To think about all this. We’ve moved fast. And it’s been intense and fun and wonderful, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’m capable of being what you want and need. Maybe I’m not cut out for this role.”
His expression went stony and he stood, rocking me back from my kneel. “Of course.”
I shoved myself to my feet, his icy tone chilling me. “Foster, I—”
He picked up the phone, his whole posture closed off to me. “Lindy, please call a cab for Ms. Medina. She’s heading out. And give Bret a call, too, tell her to come by the office for a chat. Make us lunch reservations at that Italian place she likes.”
I blinked, icicles spiking through my chest. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you time, space, whatever,” he said, hanging up the phone and sitting down behind his desk. “I told you in the beginning, you could always pull the escape hatch. Frankly, you lasted longer than expected.”
The words hit me as well as if he’d slapped a palm right across my face. “So that’s how you’re going to handle this?”
He glanced up, gaze cool. “What? Would you prefer I tie you to the chair and demand you be with me? I’m not going to get on my knees and beg for you, Cela.”
“No, that’s my job, right?” I bit back, hot tears burning my lids.
“Apparently not,” he said, the bitter smirk the final dagger in this disaster of a morning.
I turned on my heel, before I did something stupid—like cry or throw a blunt object at his freaking head. “Thanks for the tour.”
I collected myself in the few steps to the door as best I could and strode out his door, offering a quick good-bye to Lindy and heading straight for the elevators. As I rode down to the lobby, every part of me was shaking—with anger, with grief, and with utter frustration. When I had said I needed time, Foster had looked at me like he’d already known it was coming. Like I’d been some forgone conclusion he was waiting out. I hadn’t been breaking up with him. I’d only wanted to be honest. But he’d cut me off so quickly it was like I’d never meant anything at all.
I’d stayed here for him. I’d taken the risk and put everything on the line.
And then at the first sign of strife, he hadn’t fought for me. Not one bit.
I walked through the lobby, only half hearing the receptionist inform me that the cab should be there in about ten minutes. I plunked myself on a bench near the front windows, wishing I could close my eyes and teleport back to my place. Hell, maybe I should teleport all the way back to graduation night and just stay inside and drink alone.
Unfortunately, no portal to the past or wrinkle in the space-time continuum appeared to save me as I sat there. And of course, the cab was late. Twenty minutes and the receptionist let me know the driver had gotten a flat and was sending another car this way. I pinned a polite smile to my face but groaned inwardly. Dallas wasn’t a place to have a lot of cabs rolling around anyway, especially outside of downtown, but I could’ve walked home faster than this. I should’ve just called Bailey.
A car pulled up a few minutes later, drawing my gaze upward, but it wasn’t a taxi. The shiny black Jaguar pulled into an empty spot, and a tall blonde stepped out. She seemed to move with utter confidence as her knee-high boots clicked purposely over the pavement. The runway-style walk caught the attention of a guy heading out to the parking lot, and he did a full one-eighty turn to watch her after she passed him.
I couldn’t help but watch, dread sinking and settling in my stomach. The woman perched her sunglasses atop her head, revealing kohl-lined blue eyes that appeared to be evaluating everything in their path, and stepped inside the main doors. The air seemed to part for her as she made her way to the front desk—like even oxygen was taken aback by her presence.
“Good morning, Ms. Avery,” the receptionist said, as if she interacted with the woman all the time. “Love that handbag.”
The woman returned the greeting with warmth, then cocked her head toward the elevators. “Is Ian ready? I know I’m a little early.”
Ian.
I wanted to vomit right there on the shiny marble tiles. This was the woman he was going to have lunch with, and she called him Ian. A name, which by his own admission, was only used at one place and for one purpose.
I turned away, closing my eyes. Part of me wanted to believe he wouldn’t be that cruel, that vindictive. But as the footsteps of Ms. Blonde and Gorgeous disappeared into the elevator, and my cab finally pulled up, everything that had been bright and glowing inside me these last few weeks shriveled and died.
I sank into the backseat of the cab, feeling like roadkill. The last time I’d ridden in a taxi, I’d been sandwiched between Foster and Pike on the way to a night of no-strings fun. This time, I wrapped my arms around myself, stared out the window, and sobbed.
THIRTY-ONE
Monday morning I sat outside Dr. Pelham’s office, watching her through the glass and waiting for her to finish a phone call. I’d spent the rest of the weekend after the fight with Foster holed up in my apartment, watching movies with Bailey and doing a chef’s tour of the junk food aisle at the grocery store. It was pathetic. I’d never felt so damn shitty. It was like having the flu without the chest congestion and fever.
But Bailey had informed me that I had every right to be miserable and mopey for a few days. According to her, it was breakup law. However, she’d also laid down the edict that by today, I had to get my shit together because it would be the first day of my new beginning. New job. New me. And, hopefully, in a few weeks, new apartment. Because God knows I couldn’t live next door to Foster anymore.
I hadn’t seen him since the day at 4N. And there’d been no sound from his side of the wall. So either he was out of town or he was sleeping somewhere else. Probably with blond amazons who wore fuck-me boots. My stomach rolled. I forced myself to sip my coff
ee, even though it tasted as bitter as my mood.
Dr. Pelham seemed to sigh as she hung up the phone and frown lines framed her mouth. She glanced over toward the glass, meeting my gaze, then waved me in. I got out of my chair, taking a deep breath to put on my professional face, and went inside.
“Hi there, Cela,” she said, shifting some papers around on her desk.
“Hi, Dr. Pelham, did you enjoy your cruise?”
She smiled, though it seemed a bit tight. “It was lovely. Thank you.”
“Well, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to talk about the pos—”
“I got your email,” she said, cutting me short and pressing her palms to the papers on her desk. “And I’ve been on the phone for the last half hour with Dr. Foreman.”
“Okay,” I said, a little unsure of what Dr. Foreman had to do with anything.
“When you didn’t take the job before I left for my cruise, I gave Dr. Foreman the go-ahead to hire from the other candidates.”
I stared at her, my thoughts going blank. “What?”
“Hon, last I had talked to you, you were planning to go home. And the position needed to be filled. If I had known you were truly considering it . . .” She shook her head, then pulled her reading glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose, clearly distressed by all of it. “There’s no one I wanted more on my team than you. You’ve been a stellar intern. But another offer has already been extended and accepted. I can’t undo it.”
“Another offer,” I repeated, the words falling from my lips like heavy stones.
“I’m so sorry, Cela,” she said. “I will absolutely write any recommendations you need to apply other places if you plan to stay in town. I know that Dr. Murphy over at Banks Street Emergency needs a—”
“Right.” I stood so abruptly that the gust I caused sent papers fluttering off her desk. “It’s fine. I should’ve . . . it’s my fault . . . I just didn’t . . .”