The Confession Read online

  “That was your decision, not mine,” he said, not unkindly. Just as a fact.

  I pulled back, and his hand dropped back into his lap. My decision? Maybe breaking up had been, but I hadn’t had a choice. Dating him had too much collateral damage. Besides, staying away from me, never even trying to make things work, dating Janelle, those things were all on him.

  “How did Maxim take those photos?” I asked, focusing on the real problem. “I thought he was on house arrest.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he give them to anyone else?”

  Alec’s voice lowered, and took on a dark edge.

  “I doubt it.” He hesitated. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

  “You didn’t take them to the cops? The FBI?”

  I didn’t want to have this conversation, but I still needed to know the answers to the questions.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s trying to blackmail me,” explained Alec. “He’s looking for leverage. If I drop my testimony, he won’t leak the photos. He knows I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect you.”

  The dedication in his voice was solid, as if we were still a couple. Maxim certainly thought we were, if he was trying to use me to hurt Alec. I turned toward him, feeling my brows pull together.

  “You’re sure that’s what’s happening?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Why me?” I asked. “Why not—”

  He interrupted me before I could say Janelle’s name.

  “You know why.”

  There could have been a dozen reasons, I realized. Because maybe Maxim thought I’d convinced Alec to go to the FBI, or because Maxim wanted to punish Alec and didn’t know we’d separated. But the way Alec said it made me wonder if Maxim’s information hadn’t been wrong at all. That he had hit Alec exactly where it would hurt him the most.

  “But . . .” I teetered toward the edge of panic again. “But you went to court today.”

  Maxim must have realized the threat didn’t work. He was going to leak the pictures.

  I buried my face in my hands.

  He touched my shoulder, gently, then pulled away.

  “I just met with the judge,” he said. “My lawyer’s restructuring things so that I can finish my testimony later. The judge and the prosecutor wanted to . . . make sure I was still on board.”

  I looked up at him, trying to imagine what that meeting must have been like. They clearly thought he was backing out—either getting cold feet, or lying about what he’d seen.

  “And are you still on board?” I asked.

  His answer was a one-shouldered shrug.

  “You’re doing this for me. To protect my privacy.”

  He breathed in slowly. “Max and I shouldn’t be in the same room right now.”

  The threat was obvious. I pictured Alec’s hands around his old boss’s throat. The darkest part of me felt a sick sense of satisfaction imagining Alec beating the shit out of him.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Let me worry about that part.”

  I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean.

  “Someone had to have helped Maxim.” He couldn’t have done this alone. My mind flashed to a car seat cushion, the image from my dream. Again I tried to focus on the night I’d been taken, but I couldn’t remember anything after leaving my apartment.

  “I wish I knew what his plan was,” I said. “That way we could be ready.”

  “He’s going to . . .” Alec paused, jaw flexing. “My guess is he’s going to try to say those pictures were taken before I went to the FBI.”

  “What? Why?” It didn’t make sense for him to admit that we’d been together while I’d been on record as a missing person, and then in the hospital with roofies in my system, but I didn’t understand why he’d want to claim we were involved beforehand.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” said Alec. “It could go a lot of ways. He could be threatening to implicate you as part of the case, or saying that I only turned him in because I’d found out you two were together.”

  A rage, just under the surface, broke free.

  “That’s bullshit.” My voice cracked. “This is all fucking crazy. You went to the FBI out of spite? Because you were jealous? He stole three days of my life and . . .” I couldn’t even find the words that described the violation I’d endured. “He did all this to make you look like a vindictive boyfriend?”

  The internal lights of the car shut off, hiding Alec’s expression.

  “Wait,” I said, shocked that he wasn’t as furious as I was. “You don’t believe that, right? You know the pictures are new. I never would have slept with him. You know that.”

  My words faded off at the end. Talking about this felt too intimate. I could feel my skin grow thin as glass, like even in this darkness he could see all my roiling emotions just beneath the surface.

  “You don’t have to explain,” said Alec.

  I faced him fully, turning in my seat. I grabbed the arm of his suit jacket. This was deeper than Alec simply thinking I’d been a bad girlfriend. If he thought I would have touched Maxim Stein, he didn’t know me at all.

  “You have to say it,” I said. “You have to say you know I didn’t do this willingly.”

  His teeth clenched, a flash of white in the darkness.

  “Alec, please.” In that moment, I needed this acknowledgment. I needed him to believe me. This one thing, I needed to be solid.

  “I know it,” he snapped, and though his tone had me releasing his arm, I was glad for it. I wanted him to be pissed. “I fucking know, Anna. Don’t ask me to say it out loud. It’s taking everything I’ve got to stop myself from driving to his house and ripping his fucking head off.”

  His fury was so sudden and consuming it filled the entire car. With a muttered curse, he shoved out the door and slammed it behind him.

  I sat there for another moment, staring out the driver’s side window to where he stood outside, silently trying to regain his composure. As ugly as this was, the first breath of relief rolled through me. Everyone’s pity isolated me. But Alec’s anger made me feel less alone.

  After a moment, he rounded the hood of the SUV and opened my door. When I stepped out, a car, nestled against the back of the windy drive, flashed its lights. The reporters’ ambush at the apartment still fresh in my mind, I turned, and found myself back against Alec’s chest.

  “It’s all right,” he said gruffly. “It’s just Matt. The FBI has him tailing me.”

  I recalled the freckle-faced man I’d met during my short stay in the safe house, months ago. I turned toward the now dark car, straining my eyes to try to make out his shape. I couldn’t, but when Alec offered a short wave, I followed suit. I’d really warmed up to the whole protective detail thing.

  I followed him up the dark wooden staircase on the exterior of the building, to a weathered door with a new security box. Alec typed in a code, and I followed him inside, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into.

  He leaned down to turn on a small lamp on a wooden end table, and the narrow room was bathed in soft yellow light. On one side was a sliding door that led to a narrow deck overlooking the bar’s outdoor seating area. On the other was a small kitchen, with a refrigerator, a microwave, and a stove. The countertop was cluttered with papers and plates. Against one wall were a threadbare couch and a garage-sale metal coffee table with a duct-taped leg, and both were cluttered with papers and half-empty mugs.

  “Interesting décor,” I said, motioning to the punching bag that hung from one of the exposed wooden support beams near the glass door.

  Alec rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “It’s kind of a mess.”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  He gave a shor
t, dry chuckle. “Come on.”

  He led me to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of plates and dumping them into the sink on his way. On one side was a door that led to a bathroom. The shower seemed newer than the rest of the place, with a glass door and beige tile.

  “This place used to be storage for the restaurant. Then it was Mac’s booze bunker. He turned it into an apartment a while back after he got sober,” said Alec. “All the rooms have been added-on.”

  That accounted for the strange layout.

  Across the kitchen was a small bedroom with a queen bed. The denim comforter, the lack of pillows, and the huge poster of an openmouthed bass hanging over the headboard made me think Mac probably hadn’t built this place with a woman in mind.

  “Is this all right?” he asked. I turned my head to look at him, hearing the concern in his voice.

  “It’s very nice. Thanks.” I swallowed. “Where will you sleep?”

  He turned toward a wicker chair in the corner, where some of his clothes were strewn over the arms. It was odd seeing things so messy—he’d never been that way before. His apartment before I’d lived there had been Spartan, at best. He gathered a couple of shirts and shoved them into a dresser drawer.

  “On the couch. Don’t worry about me.”

  I always worry about you, I wanted to say. I thought about the liquor bottles at his apartment. Combined with the mess here, it didn’t look like he’d been doing that well. You’d never tell from looking at him, though. His suit was neat, his face showing just a hint of dark stubble. His chocolate brown hair was shoved back in that careless, sexy way. But there was a strain in his eyes, something he was trying to hide by avoiding my gaze.

  “Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

  He stopped what he was doing, and bowed, just slightly, as if I’d punched him in the gut. I took a step closer. His jaw flexed.

  I put my hand on his, feeling the heat of his skin. Feeling the way he was trembling, as if he might combust at any moment.

  “Jesus, Anna,” he whispered.

  The tension coming off of him was blinding, as if I’d flung open the door and was staring straight at the sun. I gave a small gasp, feeling his pain, feeling his fear, feeling an anger so powerful it could destroy us both.

  And just like that, he slammed that door shut. He backed up, his hand sliding away from mine. I was speechless.

  “The washer’s downstairs behind the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll go get you some towels.”

  He retreated outside, closing the door behind him. I stepped back into the living room, taking a look around at the mess. No, something was definitely not right here. I thought about what Mike had said about the trial, all the shit they were putting Alec through. The reporters on the news that I’d seen while I was at the hospital, talking about his questionable past. A new fury rose up inside of me. I wished they would all leave him the hell alone.

  I’d wandered to the couch, and glanced down at the papers that covered one cushion and the coffee table. There were calendar pages, marked with dates of appointments over the last few years. Documents from different aviation companies. Copies of forms with Alec’s signatures from the apartment complex, and a restaurant, and another bar Maxim owned.

  My eyes were drawn to a piece of scratch paper that said CASA fund-raiser in Alec’s handwriting. It was circled, with the date just below it. I picked up the paper, chewing my bottom lip. Beneath it were other notes, things that took a moment to figure out.

  My work schedule at Rave. Amy and my dad’s phone numbers. The name and address of Barrow’s, the bar on Himes where I’d been taken. Some of this was from after my abduction, but not all of it. There was a copy of my work schedule from July, almost six weeks ago.

  The door opened, and Alec stepped inside, three towels under his arm. He took in the scene before him in stages. First surprise, then concern, then irritation.

  “What is all this?” I asked, the papers still in my hands.

  He moved closer and set the towels on the arm of the couch. One more step, and I could feel the energy crackling off of him. I felt my weight draw forward, so that I was standing on the balls of my feet.

  He took the papers from my hand, and gathered them with the rest of the pile on the coffee table. I watched his throat as he swallowed. He was still wearing that damn blue tie, slung in a loose knot below his open collar.

  “Why were you looking for me?” he asked quietly. “Why did you come to the apartment tonight?”

  He was standing too close; even through his jacket I could feel the warmth of his body. My eyes focused on his perfect lips, and for a flash I could almost feel them soften against mine.

  “I . . .”

  His eyes searched mine for truth. I couldn’t lie to him.

  “I was going to tell you good-bye,” I said. “It’s time for me to move on.”

  Fourteen

  Unlike the rest of the apartment, the shower was clean, and I drained the hot water tank soaking for a good long while. Nothing in my life made sense. I couldn’t reconcile my missing memories to those pictures. If an experience that insane had happened to me, you’d think I would remember something. I fantasized about ten different ways to torture Maxim Stein, and then became so frightened by the fact that he’d taken me, used me, without me even knowing, that I had to press myself into the corner of the shower stall and remind myself to breathe.

  Alec didn’t make any sense either. Why did he gather all that information on me? Was it simply because he’d been trying to figure out the details of my abduction? It seemed odd that he would need old work schedules. Or Amy’s phone number. Or my father’s. I remembered his phone call with my dad in the car. It was as if they’d spoken regularly; Alec had known the number the second it had popped up on his screen, and yet my dad had mentioned nothing about talking to Alec.

  I couldn’t get a read on his relationship with Janelle. It didn’t feel right that they were together, but I’d seen it, and Amy had verified it. Hell, the news was reporting on it, not that that meant anything. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with us either. He should have told me about the pictures. He’d known they were in his apartment and still had sex with me, and even though I understood the intensity of our attraction, that didn’t sit well.

  Making a move on him when I knew he’d been with someone, even if their relationship wasn’t exclusive, wasn’t my finest move either. Not that I was even capable of regretting it. It seemed I could regret nothing when it came to him.

  As the water began to cool, I stepped out into the steam and dried off with a towel Alec had brought from downstairs. I wiped off the mirror and examined my naked body. It looked the same as it had a week ago. There was no sign I’d been manhandled, no sign I’d been hurt.

  My body was still my own.

  And it was feeling things it shouldn’t have been.

  I’d been through something traumatic. I should have been recovering. I should have been wearing ten layers of clothes and swearing off intimacy for the rest of my life.

  But Alec was behind this door, and somehow, despite everything, he felt safe.

  I wrapped the towel around my body and leaned my forehead against the door. He was just beyond in the kitchen; I could hear the clatter of plates in the sink and the groan of the pipes as he turned on the water. He was mad at me, even if I couldn’t see him, I could feel it. That was another thing I didn’t understand—how he could possibly be angry at me for wanting to leave town after everything that had happened.

  I thought of the way his eyes had narrowed when I’d told him I’d come to his apartment to say good-bye. How the papers had crinkled in his grasp. Maybe it was wrong, but I was glad he didn’t want me to go.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. He turned when he saw me, standing before him with only a thin green towel around my body. I became aware of the droplets of mo
isture on my skin, and my long, wet hair stretching down my back. I remembered that he’d always liked my hair wet.

  His mouth opened, then closed. His gaze got stuck somewhere around my belly, lighting a fire right beneath my skin. He’d taken off his coat, dress shirt, and tie, and was just wearing a white undershirt, untucked from his slacks. Through the thin fabric I could make out the shape of his chest and the hard contours of muscle.

  The desire was sharp and demanding, tightening in the base of my stomach and making my breasts so sensitive, I had to wrap one arm over them. But I felt my shoulders hunch, and my brows pull together, because I shouldn’t have wanted him, not now, not after this day. I could still see my body draped over Maxim Stein’s, and yet it did nothing to dampen the yearning I had for the man before me.

  Something was seriously wrong with me.

  “You . . .” He shook his head and blinked. “I’m sure you’re hungry. There’s not much. I can run out if you want . . .”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  His jaw twitched.

  “You have to eat,” he said. “You’re too goddamn skinny.”

  I forced my chin up. Though I knew he was worried, it still felt like an insult. The space between us seemed suddenly too tight. The energy had changed, layering the tension with something darker.

  “I just want some water.”

  “You need more than water.”

  My shoulders rose. I stepped forward. “You’re right. I could always try a wholesale-sized bottle of whiskey. That seems to work out for you.”

  His eyes flashed with anger before he turned away.

  “Well you’re out of luck. I’m all out.”

  “What a shame. I’ve been on such a lucky streak, too.”

  His hands gripped the counter. For the first time I looked around the kitchen. The counters had all been cleared, the dishes washed. The papers on the coffee table and couch were all gone now as well.

  His posture sagged, and his hands ran down his stubbled jaw. The anger dissipated, leaving only defeat.

  Nothing broke me down faster than Alec’s vulnerability.