I hated it. I liked his hair loose and wild, like it would be nothing to sink my fingers into it and control his head while I did whatever the fuck I wanted to do to his mouth. But that wasn’t my right anymore.

  “Why so dressy?” I tried to sound casual. He was a grown man with his own life. He didn’t have to eat dinner with me every night.

  Exactly, my brain said with a yawn. As I keep saying, you and Gray are not together anymore. You just don’t listen.

  “I’m going out with Dev,” he said, sniffing the air. “And just what are you cooking?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll turn everything off before I go upstairs.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that.” He tilted his head, looking at me expectantly. “Is everything okay?”

  I moved slightly in the doorway, to block his view of the dining room. “Of course.”

  “You weren’t cooking for me…were you?” His voice was hesitant.

  “No, of course not,” I said, trying to sound jolly. I winced. Okay, less like Santa hopped up on cookies and crack. “I mean, I made enough for two of course, but that’s because it’s just as easy to cook for two as one. And to pay you back for your hospitality.”

  “I hope you didn’t go through any trouble.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why….” This time when he advanced, I stepped in front of the entryway. Since he was still avoiding touching me if possible, that little move was akin to slapping police tape across the door. He stepped back hastily.

  “I didn’t go through any trouble,” I said firmly. “Go. You’ll be late. You look nice.”

  He smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

  And then the little sneak ducked under my arm. He moved so quickly that I didn’t have a prayer of stopping him. He inhaled swiftly as he took in the dining room table and went stock still. I turned slowly to see it through his eyes. Maybe I’d gone a little overboard.

  The table was set with nice dishes, and I’d made a big, bountiful salad to sit in the middle. I’d found a nice bowl for the bread, clean and ready with a folded cloth. I’d also jammed some flowers in a crystal vase. I’d cut from them from the garden behind the house. I didn’t know what kind they were, but they were a lovely light blue.

  Ok, I was a little past overboard. I was at the bottom of the ocean, looking up at overboard with a periscope.

  “No.” When I glanced over at Gray, his face was tight. “We’re not doing this again.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  I knew exactly what the fuck he meant.

  “We’re not doing us again,” he said, his face set in uncompromising lines. “I mean it, Chris.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  I nodded quickly. “Great.”

  He stood there for a few moments, staring at me like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle me or screw me against the wall. I could feel my lower lip sticking out in a pout and reminded myself that I was, despite all evidence to the contrary, an adult.

  “Weren’t you leaving?” I asked pointedly.

  He stared at me for a few more moments and then cursed. He turned without another word and disappeared down the hallway. I heard the front door slam so hard, he was lucky the glass inserts didn’t shatter in a million pieces.

  The oven beeped, and I stalked to the kitchen to pull the lasagna out of the oven—the lasagna I would be eating alone. It was just as well. It was all too easy to hole up here with Gray and forget that I was supposed to be finding out who I was.

  I stuck my hands in a pair of oven mitts with red-hot chili peppers on them and pulled out the steaming hot dish. I put it gently on the stove. I’d gotten the recipe from a blogger and so far, so good. And even if it wasn’t, the thick layer of mozzarella I’d sprinkled on top would cover a multitude of culinary sins. Under tips, the blogger had written that the lasagna had to cool a bit before cutting…so I’d have perfect squares. And I was going to have perfect fucking squares.

  I formulated a plan while I waited, one that involved Gray’s computer and Google Maps. I printed out an enlarged map of the area where my car was found and circled the four apartment buildings nearby. Then I added addresses and phone numbers. It was too damn bad my car was still in impound. That was going to make my day a lot harder than it needed to be. With a sigh, I added some bus route information. Plan in place, I folded up my map neatly and tucked it away for tomorrow.

  Then I headed back to the kitchen. I felt purposeful. Motivated. Okay, maybe I hadn’t left the house, but I had a plan, and that was more than I had.

  I stuck my fork in the lasagna and ferried some to my mouth, more than ready to add it to my list of accomplishments. Nope. Uh-uh. I swallowed thickly. Apparently, mozzarella was done covering my ass. But as I’d demonstrated, I knew how to make the best of a bad situation. I proceeded to eat half the pan.

  I decided to go to bed early.

  My brain processed that as “stare at the ceiling and pretend you’re not listening for Gray to come home.” I’d been worried that they would come back here at the end of their date, but this was worse. They’d probably gone to Devin’s place…maybe so they could make all the noise they wanted without worrying about a nosy guest with his ear to the door. They were probably fucking right now, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

  I rubbed my chest absently—it almost felt like a physical ache. As I’d mentioned to Gray before, it had been a long time since we’d been together, but it felt like yesterday in the scrambled fragments of my mind. I had to remember that this was weird for him, too.

  I blew out an irritated breath, determined to get some rest. It was almost two in the morning, and I had a busy day planned. Before I turned in for the night, I powered on the burner phone, charging on my nightstand. I scrolled through the contacts. Beelzebub. Chaos. Aunt Deb. That list made my choice easy about which number to try—it damn sure wasn’t the devil or someone named Chaos.

  I pressed the call button on the Aunt Deb contact and held my breath. Any hopes of having a kindly older lady answer were dashed as a man answered breathlessly. “Chrysalis?”

  I hung up quickly and gripped the phone hard. Fuck. Obviously, “Aunt Deb” was nothing other than a crafty contact name. I was tempted to call back, but I wasn’t sure if the person could track me or not. After a few seconds to deal with the disappointment, I put the phone back on the nightstand.

  Run and hide, baby. Run and hide.

  11

  It took two buses to make the sojourn to what was potentially my old neighborhood. After being in near seclusion for over a month, jumping feet-first back into humanity was testing my patience. The bus was smelly and stuffy and slow and way too crowded. No one seemed to have a solid understanding of personal space, and everything was too damned loud. I drummed my fingers on my thigh as the bus droned on.

  Most of the way, I sat next to an older woman who was knitting busily. A knitted beanie was crammed down low over her ears, only a few sprigs of gray curls poking out. Whatever she was knitting was the same pattern as her cap. I asked what it was, and she mumbled something I didn’t catch. She wasn’t a talker, and she didn’t smell, so she became my newest best friend.

  I had a few more things to add to my lists of likes—churros, Pepsi, and Bruno Mars—and a whole hell of a lot to add to my list of dislikes. I disliked people who thought a bus ride was the best place to bust out speakerphones, crying babies who wouldn’t give their harried mothers a break, and people who didn’t think bathing was necessary before crowding onto a bus. Bonus smelly points if that person had to stand the entire ride with his arm up, holding on to a pole.

  I got off early and decided to make the rest of the journey on foot.

  As I got closer to downtown, the neighborhood started to change. The houses grew smaller and closer together, and at some point, apartments took their place. All the buildings looked pretty much the same—tall and boxy, designed to house as many people as possible. Wrought-iron bars graced nearly every window and even some of the doors. Even though the air had some bite to it, there were still a lot of people walking about. After the serene quiet of Gray’s neighborhood, it was like sensory overload.

  I got started with Waterside Apartments, the first of the four buildings in question. The manager was a real people person. When I asked if she’d seen me before, she stared at me with dead eyes. Then she pointed at the sign that read, No soliciting.

  “I’m not actually—”

  She jabbed her finger at the sign again, and I sighed. Alrighty, then.

  The next building wasn’t much better. I couldn’t find any sort of management office in the third—only a number with a call button. No one answered the number that I called, and there was no way to leave a message.

  I huffed. Things were going just as well as I’d expected. The last building was called The Cliffs. I stared up at the boxy brown building, the paint fading and flaking down the sides. Clearly, the name was just to draw in unsuspecting renters. There wasn’t a few of anything, much less picturesque cliffs. I spotted the leasing office easily—there was a giant red sign that said, Vacancies available, no credit, no problem.

  I entered the tiny office only to find it full already. Two women sat in the only two chairs, one of them with a toddler on her knee. Two other kids were running around the small office, playing a strange version of freeze tag. I nodded at the women, and they sent me matching suspicious looks, so I turned away.

  They’d turned off the AC in deference to the weather outside, so it felt stuffy. I immediately unzipped my coat, looking around at the flotsam and jetsam adorning the walls. Other than an announcement board, pictures, flyers, and magnets with company logos ruled the roost.

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  I kept looking at the announcement board, wondering how long this probably futile exercise was going to take. But it wasn’t like I had anyplace else pressing to be.

  “Mr. Wells?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see this new Mr. Wells who thought he was going to skip me and the two women, only to find a redhaired, harried-looking woman looking at me. Wait a damn… so I was Mr. Wells? I had a feeling asking her what my first name was wouldn’t go over that well.

  The woman raised an eyebrow above purple cat-eye glasses when I just continued to stare mutely. I cleared my throat. “I, um, I lost my key.”

  She frowned. “That’s going to be a hundred-dollar fee for a copy.”

  I tried to look appropriately annoyed even though my insides were buzzing. I was in the right building, and I was going to get a key. I was finally going to get some fucking answers. “That’ll be fine,” I said. “Also, if I’m behind on my rent, I’d like to—”

  “You pay six months at a time,” she said, frowning. “That’s your arrangement with the landlord, at your request. If you want to alter that, I guess I could give Lenny a call….”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “Just the key will be fine.”

  By the time I got back outside, the neighborhood had livened up even more. Several guys were sitting on the back of an older car with gleaming polished rims. They eyed me as I headed for the entrance of the building. One of them nodded his head in greeting, and hesitantly, I nodded back.

  “Yo, fool, where you been?”

  Judging from the expectant look on his face, it was a serious question. “Around.”

  “Thought you got hemmed up,” he said a little suspiciously. “Some pigs were sniffing around your place.”

  “Nah. Just took some time off to visit family,” I ad-libbed.

  “There were a couple of other guys, too. Didn’t look like no cops, though.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Something I should be worried about?”

  He grinned, revealing a nearly perfect smile that was at odds with his rough-hewn appearance. “Yeah right. Like anyone would mess with you. Ain’t nobody ’round here that fucking crazy.”

  Oh good. My reputation as a psycho proceeds me. This day kept getting better and better.

  A young woman in ripped jean shorts passed by, capturing my new friends’ collective attention like a pack of dogs when a squirrel zipped past. Or in this case, when the squirrel sauntered past, casting an annoyed look over her shoulder. The guys began to engage in the time-honored tradition of wooing a woman by telling her all the dirty things they’d like to do “that phat juicy ass.” Because that always worked.

  I rolled my eyes and took that opportunity to head inside the building. I lived on the fourth floor, according to the apartment number, and of course, the elevator was out of service. I made the trek upstairs, then walked down the hall to 408. I stuck my key in the lock and then…froze. This was it. I was about to find out who I was—who I really was. Not to be dramatic as shit, but hang on while I took a moment to be dramatic as shit.

  When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I opened the door, almost holding my breath, and found… a perfectly benign living room. A beige couch. A glass coffee table. A couple of utilitarian chairs. This couldn’t be it. There was something here—I just had to look. I closed the door behind me with a soft click and wasted no time giving myself the dime tour of my apartment.

  I checked all the rooms and then rechecked them, poking around in closets and cabinets. Apparently, I was neat and tidy. Very tidy. I raised an eyebrow at a row of organized boxes and shook my head as I closed the cupboard door. Some things I could do without knowing about myself…like the fact that I liked to alphabetize cereal. I peered in the fridge and found a box of pancake mix and a few condiments, all expired, and two lonely bottles of spring water.

  The bedroom and bathroom were similarly situated—a few personal effects here and there, but nothing all that earthshattering. Some shaving products were on the vanity alongside an electric toothbrush on its base. I braced my hands on the counter and stared at myself in the mirror. I’d expected to find a home. Some answers. Not this bland, vanilla space that said absolutely nothing about who I was.

  At least I could grab a few things so Gray could stop trying to buy me clothes. I willfully ignored the fact that I could just move back into my apartment. Instead, I rooted around in the bedroom closet until I found a backpack. Then I loaded it up with boxers, jeans, and shirts.

  My wallet was in the nightstand drawer, which was a relief—that, I stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. There was a lanyard with a work ID with a nerdy picture of me wearing thick glasses. Carlton Wells. I rubbed my finger over the embossed name Worldwide Insurance before pocketing that as well.

  Then I headed back to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. The pancake mix caught my eye as I did, which got me thinking. I stared at the cheerfully colored box. I wasn’t a guy who woke up late on Saturday mornings, made homemade pancakes, and had a sleepy day in pajamas. I was probably off base, but once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop.

  I pulled out the box and opened the lid, only to find white powder. I gave the box a little offended shake. “Pancake mix,” I muttered with a scowl. What was pancake mix doing in a pancake mix box? Just what the fuck was that Mrs. Butterworth up to?

  I shook the box again, and a flash of something caught my eye as the powder shifted. Following my instincts, I dumped the box out into the sink. A cloud of flour dust came up, and I coughed as I poked through the mess with a wooden spoon. It took a few seconds for me to find the tiny vial of electric-blue liquid, only about half the size of a pen.

  “I knew it,” I murmured to no one at all as I pocketed the vial. Yep. I knew I was the kind of person to hide valuables in pancake mix.

  I went through the powdery mess one more time and unearthed a micro flash drive. It was tightly wrapped in a piece of plastic, probably to protect it from the flour. As I blew it clean, the hairs on the back of my neck tickled, giving me an involuntary shiver, and I knew I wasn’t alone.

  “Find what you were looking for, Chrysalis?” The voice came from behind me.

  My grip on the flash drive tightened. I slipped it in my front pocket before turning casually, only to find three guys standing in my living room, separated from the kitchen by an island. I found myself analyzing them instinctively.

  The speaker was the smallest of the three, and he was probably the real threat. He stood on the balls of his feet, ready for action, his body language agile and dangerous as a puma. It looked like he’d gotten his nose broken more than once. His two companions didn’t look like they were strangers to a fight, either. The biggest guy in the middle stood a little unevenly, which told me that his right side was probably weaker—maybe an injury, or just poor training on his part. The last guy was wearing a pair of clean white kicks, which spoke to his inexperience. They weren’t exactly the best shoes to have on in a fight. Hard boots were better. If you managed to land a kick, you wanted that motherfucker to feel it in his soul.

  Part of me realized that I should be nervous…terrified, even. I wasn’t. My heart rate was even, slow and reassuring, almost as if my body was more than ready to do whatever it had to do. Apparently, when others would get excitable and nervous, I got calm and cool as ice.

  It was like meeting a sociopath—only the sociopath in question was me.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked coldly.

  “Does it matter? You’re going to come with me nice and easy, and you’re not going to give me any trouble.” The biggest of the three pulled out a gun. “I’m under instructions for no hand-to-hand combat with you.”

  “You’re afraid of me?” I snorted. “You’re, like, twice my size, guy.”

  “That’s right,” he said amiably. He motioned me around the kitchen island, and I came forward, my gaze locked with his. “No quick moves, Chrysalis.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25