We Are Us

Chapter 52 New York City

The smell of leather invades my consciousness a half second before I realize it belongs to the hand—the very heavy hand—covering my mouth.

Stifling my scream.

Everything inside me is operating at double-speed. Heart pounding, blood racing, nerves jangling—and yet my body is stiff as a board. Scared stiff.

“Shh.” A hard whisper smacks my ear, breath hot and damp on my cheek. Adrenaline surges, sending every one of my senses into overdrive. The ambient lights of my darkened bedroom reveal a man with broad shoulders, smooth ta

The hand not covering my mouth presses into the pillow beneath my head causing me to roll toward him, the knee he’d set on the mattress digging into my hip.

There is way too much contact between us.

Living in Manhattan, it is impossible not to hear horrible stories of women being attacked in their own apartments. But usually, it happens in a ground floor bedroom without bars on the window, or a non-doorman building where anyone can press enough buttons and be buzzed right in. I am thirty stories up, in an apartment with an expensive, elaborate security system incorporating cameras, sensors, and high-tech locks. My own sister is just down the hall.

Oh my God, Sadie. I gasp, though no air makes it around his glove. But somehow, he must sense my concern because he says, “She is fine. It’s you I’m here for.”

This man—whoever he is—is not a common criminal, spontaneously deciding to rob or rape me. Tonight’s visit has been carefully pla

“I’m going to pull my hand away now. It would be a terrible shame to break that pretty little neck of yours.” His voice is smooth, cultured, his accent Spanish, but with a hint of British, too. He reminds me of someone I met at Worthington, who had been raised in South America but attended school in England.

Those dark eyes narrow, and I notice he has extraordinarily long eyelashes. I am a sucker for long eyelashes on guys, they can soften even the hardest features. But tonight, on this man, it only makes him look more menacing. I swallow heavily and his stare follows the bob of my throat. “A real shame,” he adds, the curve of his mouth sending another wave of unease rippling through my veins.

His hand lifts, just slightly at first, and my quick breath is the only sound in the room. His lips part, flashing teeth that have seen more than their fair share of coffee and nicotine but are perfectly even and straight. “I figured you for a smart girl. Glad you proved me right.”

“What do you want?”

“Right to the point, I like that too. Your husband is a lucky man.” He gestures at the empty space beside me before returning his focus back to my face. “Although not very smart. He obviously doesn’t appreciate what is waiting for him in his own bed.”

I shrink away from his appraising gaze, bile rising up my throat. He releases a soft chuckle, dragging a gloved finger along my thigh that had escaped from beneath my covers while I was sleeping. I am uncomfortably aware that I’m not wearing any underwear beneath my short nightie.

“Don’t worry, chica, this is a business call. Normally, I would deal with your husband, but he is not here. He is not anywhere that I can find him, and I don’t like not being able to find him. It makes me look bad, you see.”

I see. “You work with Tucker?”

“That surprises you?” A cluster of hair hovers above his lip, too small to be called a mustache. It sits, like a fat beetle, just below his nose, moving with each word. I can’t look away from it, wondering if it will be the last thing I ever see. “I don’t look like a business associate of your husband?”

I rush to backtrack. This is not a man I want to insult. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just—”

His throaty chuckle cuts me off. “I’m just teasing. Your husband and I have never met. He always did his job, so there was no need. But now he’s gone, and my bosses are concerned. And when they are concerned, they call me, and then I have to get involved. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes. But I don’t know where he is either.”

His hand continues its ascent, moving slowly up my ribs, along the curve of my breast, his finger sweeping over my exposed collarbone. “Now that isn’t the answer I was hoping for, chica. Are you sure you don’t want to think a little harder?”

A tear escapes from the corner of my eye, dripping down my temple. “I don’t know. Really. I’ve spent the past few days trying to remember what happened that night on the boat. But I don’t, it’s still a blank, and the doctor said my memories might never come back. Believe me, I want to find him as much as you.”

He cocks his head to the side. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“It is. If I don’t wind up in jail, I’ll live under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of my life, either as his co-conspirator, his murderer, or the stupidest woman on earth for not knowing what my own husband was up to.”

I can’t believe I am whining to a threatening stranger who has broken into my bedroom in the middle of the night… and yet the words keep coming. “His desk was cleared out by the time I came back from Florida. I’m looking for clues on Facebook and Instagram, for God’s sake.” Definitely not my proudest moment, but I had scoured Wren’s social media, hoping to find something to bolster the theory that she and Tucker pla

“And? What have you found?”

His eyes drill into me, finally halting the torrent of words pouring from my mouth. Even if I had proof Wren helped Tucker and is trying to frame me, I can’t sic this man on her. I wouldn’t wish this nighttime call on my worst enemy. “N-not much. Tucker traveled overseas all the time, to many different countries.” I pause, anxiety clanging against my ribcage. “But I suppose you knew that already.”

“Yes. I know this. The question is, in which of these places will I find your husband.”

Tentacles of fear race up my spine, clawing at the back of my neck. I remember reading somewhere that the key to making it out of a dangerous situation is establishing a rapport with your attacker. “What is your name?” I ask now.

He arches an eyebrow. “You pla

“No. Of course not. I—” I draw a shaky breath. “It’s just… we want the same thing, I think. Maybe we can work together.”

His lips twitch. “I’ve been told I don’t work well with others.” He looks down, and I curse my choice of nighttime clothing. My sweetheart neckline is showing way too much cleavage. “Then again, I’ve never worked with a woman before. Maybe I should reconsider.”

“No, no, that’s okay. It’s fine, really. No problem.” I am babbling. “This has to be some kind of misunderstanding, though. I mean, I’m sure Tucker didn’t intend to get your bosses upset.”

“Don’t talk about my bosses.”

I clamp my mouth shut at the implied threat, wondering if I’ve already said too much.

“Listen to me. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, chica. Your husband is a smart man, maybe too smart, although he has no common sense. Sometimes smart people are like that, they learn too much from books and not enough from life.” He scowls, shaking his gleaming head. “He was very good at taking money, especially money that came from places America is not supposed to take money from, looks like it came from somewhere else. A lot of money. But now, your husband is missing. And so is the money. Just because he cleaned it, doesn’t make it his.”