I’ll be there. 15 minutes.
Don’t try it. Delete these messages.
I frown. Before I can stop myself, I type:Harry?
Three bubbles flash on the screen repeatedly as I wait for his reply. My legs feel almost weak as the message pops up on the screen:
Delete these messages. Now.
Damn it.
I do what he says. I delete the messages on my phone. But I have not aborted the plan. I can make it to the dog park. I just hope he waits for me.
I drop the basket I’ve been carrying on my elbow onto the ground. I peek along the edge of the aisle, making sure Camila isn’t in sight. We’re supposed to meet in about fifteen minutes. So that’s how long I have until she notices I’m gone. It’s plenty of time.
I tuck my hair behind my ears—I still can’t quite get used to how short it is. Why did I cut it? I had assumed it had something to do with the surgery I had after my head injury, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. I miss my hair.
I stride purposefully in the direction of the exit. Once I’m outside, I’ll turn left, and then it’s a five-block straight shot to the park. It’s funny how I remember it so well. I know how to get to the dog park, but somehow I can’t remember the man I am supposedly married to. There’s something seriously wrong with that.
I reach the sliding door, prepared to break into a sprintthe second I step outside. But just as the automatic doors slide open, a large hand closes around my arm like a vise. And then a deep male voice booms in my ear:
“Where do you thinkyou’regoing?”
Chapter 11
I freeze at the exit to the supermarket. The pressure of the hand grabbing my arm is intense enough to hurt—I may have a bruise tonight. There’s no chance of getting away. That’s for certain.
I turn around to figure out who grabbed me. A middle aged man is standing behind me, dressed in a gray uniform. He has a mustache and close-cropped gray hair, and muscles are popping out of the short sleeves of his uniform. His hand is still on my arm.
“I…” My mouth feels too dry to swallow. “I didn’t steal anything.”
I put that watermelon soap back. I’m sure I did.
“I never said you stole anything.” There is a gold ID badge pinned to the breast pocket of his uniform, emblazoned with the name Pete. “But are you supposed to be leaving here yourself?”
My mouth falls open. “Why can’t I leave?”
Instead of answering my question, he drags me by my arm over to the customer service counter by the back door. It feels like he’s about to rip my arm out of the socket. He grabs the microphone sitting on the counter, hits a button, and his deep voice booms out through the entire supermarket: “Camila Mendes to the front entrance. Camila Mendes to the front entrance.”
I suck in a breath, panic rising in my chest. My plan is disintegrating before my eyes. “What are you doing? Let me go!”
His hard, beady eyes look straight into mine. “If I let go of your arm, are you going to try to run?”
I want to run, but I’m not kidding myself that I’m going anywhere with this guy blocking the entrance. So I shake my head. The pressure on my arm eases up as he releases me. Christ, this guy is strong.
A few seconds later, Camila is racing to the front with her shopping cart. She’s frowning and there’s color in her cheeks. She abandons the shopping cart by one of the checkout lines and runs over to me, her dark eyes flashing.
“What do you think you’re doing, Tess?” she snaps at me.
“Nothing.” I raise my hands in the air. “I was just… I was shopping and this guy grabbed me.”
The burly guy, Pete, scoffs at me. “She was making a run for it. I stopped her before she got out the door.”
Camila nods. “Thanks so much, Pete. I appreciate it.”
He grins at her, obviously pleased that the beautiful Camila is grateful to him. She’s got him wrapped around her finger. “My pleasure.”
I jut out my chin. “Fine. I was trying to leave. What’s so awful about that?”
