Tommy catches sight of me in a mirror and pauses to come closer, bringing my glassy eyes to his. “I know you haven’t really seen this side of me, but trust me when I say I’ve got this, okay?”
I nod, desperate to believe him.
“Good girl.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then takes out his phone and sends several short texts. “Hand me your phone.”
I open the lock and give it to him, watching as he adds a new contact.
“Sante is on his way over. Should something happen to him, I’m putting DiAngelo’s number in your phone as well. I’ll be with him. If you can’t get ahold of me, he’ll know what to do.” He hands the phone back, a harsh shadow darkening his eyes tothe same severe black as his wardrobe. “If all goes as planned, I shouldn’t be long. Remember there’s a gun in the nightstand if you need it. Do you know how to use a gun?”
I shake my head.
“I know Sante will be here, but I’d feel a whole lot better knowing you can use a gun. Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom. He gets out the gun from the nightstand and tells me it’s a nine-millimeter, whatever that means, and shows me how the safety works. He then demonstrates how to chamber a bullet and hold the gun when I shoot so that I don’t hurt myself.
I’m pretty sure in the heat of the moment I wouldn’t remember a word of what he’s told me, but I keep that to myself. “I’ll be fine. Promise.” The last thing I want is him worrying about me when he should be focused on his mission. I force a thin smile and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tommy. And please be safe.”
He stills beneath me for a fraction of a second before pulling back and kissing me breathless. “Tomorrow,” he says in a raw, raspy tone that reminds me of a ravenous bear eyeing a fresh kill.
I don’t have the capacity nor is there time to ask what he means bytomorrow. He arms himself with an arsenal of weapons I had no idea were here right under my nose. He even puts on a Kevlar vest. The gear would be sexy as hell if I wasn’t so worried he was going to need it. Anxiety thick as tar clots in my stomach by the time Sante shows up and Tommy leaves. All I can do now is wait.
Deciding to distract myself by unpacking paint supplies, I excuse myself to the guest bedroom. I suppose it’s my studio, now. All my tubs of paint and other accoutrements were already chaotic—I can only imagine what state they’re in after being packed by someone else.
The boxes and canvases are piled in a corner. The room isn’t large, but it’s plenty of space for what I need. I was used to working in a corner of my old bedroom, so having any dedicated space at all feels opulent. I even have the use of the entire dresser for storage, which can also house the pile of random items we unpacked with my clothes but didn’t need to be kept in the primary bedroom. Things like a set of poker chips and cards, an expandable folder filled with important documents, and a bag full of cross-stitching materials from a bygone era when I thought it might be a fun hobby. Those items and a few more sit on the bed along with the disposable phone Sachi got for me. I haven’t needed it since Tommy got me a new phone but didn’t want to get rid of it in case I needed it again.
I open it, surprised it still has charge, and see no new missed calls or texts. A tiny sliver of me had hoped to see something from Gran even though Tommy’s already located her. One little text would have done wonders to lift my spirits.
Sitting in the guest room looking at the phone brings back the memory of Tommy asking about who I was texting. I remember being surprised he knew I’d been texting but never had an opportunity to ask him about it. I swear that I didn’t use the phone in his presence—I was too scared he might take it away. So how could he have known?
I look around the room and wonder if Tommy could have been watching me. He installed a lock after that first night—could he have put in a camera as well? It doesn’t take but a minute of looking to spot the small device in the flower arrangement. In fact, I’m a little put out with myself for not noticing before, though I was rather distracted with life and death matters. Still.
As a touch of indignation takes hold, I search the bathroom, ready to pitch a serious fit if he installed a camera in there, but Idon’t find anything. Unless he has something behind a mirror or hiding in a socket, it was just the one.
In here. What about the rest of the house?
Does he watch me when I’m alone? I get his worry at first. He didn’t know me at all. But this man has decided he wants to marry me now. He can’t be ready to commit himself to a life with me while simultaneously not trusting me in his home.
Our home. He told me this was our home.
Exactly! Our home, and if that’s really true, I have just as much of a right to know what’s here as he does.
Between my bruised ego after meeting Carmen and the discovery of the camera, I decide to embark on an exploratory expedition. Unpacking can wait.
I take a quick spin around the living room, but I’m not comfortable snooping in front of Sante, so I wind my way back to the primary bedroom. If I still have the guts to keep looking when I’m done in here, I’ll take a peek at Tommy’s office, but for now, that feels especially taboo.
I go for the nightstand first because that’s usually a place for personal things, right? Journals or old letters. Not that I would read something quite so personal, but you get my drift. Aside from the gun, extra bullets in a box, a ChapStick, and a few odds and ends, there’s nothing of interest. I head to the drawers in the primary closet. My things went into the bedroom dresser because it was still empty since the closet has a whole chest of drawers within. That’s where Tommy keeps his things.
I open the top drawer. Socks in rolled bundles and a swatch of shiny pink fabric that catches my eye.
My heart lodges in my throat before I even have a chance to see what it is—I’ve already told myself it’s undies left by another woman. Carmen, perhaps?
Pain lances through my chest.
Why does this hurt so bad? How? We’ve only known one another for a little over a week, yet I feel so betrayed. It must be my emotions already on edge because of Gran. Surely, that’s it.
I can feel the slightest tremble of my fingers as I pull the item out from beneath his dark dress socks and realize it’s not lingerie at all. Not only that, but it’s familiar. It looks just like the pink scrunchie I keep in my purse. What are the odds he has the same pink scrunchie stashed away in his drawer?
I go out to the entry where I left my bag on a table and dig through it, trying to look casual. No scrunchie. The hair tie in Tommy’s drawer has to be mine, but why would he have it? And when did he take it? He could have taken just about anything of mine since I got here, but there’d be no reason. It’s all here already. But if it happened that very first time we met—the day I ran into him outside the police station—he would have had no idea we’d meet again.
Did he take a piece of me home with him? Why? I can’t fathom hanging on to something totally useless to me that a stranger left behind. He saw my address—had he planned to find me?
