The Confession Page 13

  “I have to go out for a while. Are you okay here? I’ll ask Matt to stay.”

  Great. A babysitter.

  “Where are you going?”

  He gave me a tight smile. “Just some things to do in town. I’ll pick up some clothes for you.”

  “I’ll come,” I said, sliding out of bed. It would be good to get out for a while.

  “That’s not a good idea.” The way he said it made me pause.

  When I looked at him, he looked at the ground.

  I stood. “You’re not going to see Maxim are you? Because if so, you said I . . .”

  “I have to meet Janelle.”

  The air grew brittle. “Oh. Right.”

  I pictured her standing outside the hotel room, the half-naked man slapping her on the ass. Maybe he was going to end things with her. Or maybe Janelle wanted to meet him so that she could confess.

  Or maybe they were doing actual important FBI trial work and not everything was about me.

  He went to retrieve some clothes from the drawer.

  “You should stay inside. Keep the doors locked. The cable doesn’t work, but there’s a DVD player and movies. And no phone. There’s a prepaid cell in the drawer next to the kitchen sink if you have an emergency.”

  “Alec . . . I saw Janelle yesterday.” It felt sort of snitchy, but I hated the idea of him not knowing what he was walking into.

  “I know,” he said bluntly. “She told me everything.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.” He waited a moment for me to continue, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Alec already knew she was a cheater, unless she’d lied and tried to cover it up.

  “Did you tell her everything?”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I told her enough.”

  He didn’t tell her about the pictures, that had to be what he meant. But whether or not he’d told her about our night in his apartment, I didn’t know. Either way, I had the sudden sense that it was time for me to step out of his business.

  “Do you want me to stay?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to say yes, or give him permission to go.

  I wasn’t going to beg him to hang out with me. I wasn’t that desperate.

  I pulled my hair back and wound it into a knot. “I’m fine here. Go do what you need to do.”

  I think he knew I was lying, but that didn’t stop him from getting dressed, or leaving, with only a promise he would be back soon.

  * * *

  I changed into a pair of his boxer shorts and another T-shirt and wandered around the apartment. Any remaining calm had left with Alec, and now that I was alone, I was getting antsy.

  The view of the Bay outside the sliding glass door was beautiful. The restaurant was right on the beach, and the water stretched out until it met the shores of Tampa, ten miles away. I could see the high-rises in the distance that marked downtown—Alec’s apartment, the courthouse. I could even imagine the roads to Davis Island, where Maxim lived.

  Okay, the view wasn’t that great.

  My mind turned back to the pictures. Alec wouldn’t have taken them in the car unless he planned on showing Janelle, and he’d made it clear yesterday that he wouldn’t chance jeopardizing my privacy. They had to be somewhere around here.

  He’d cleaned up the clutter, and the stack of papers on the coffee table were all related to his court case. I looked in the entertainment center, and in the bookshelf near the worn punching bag that hung from the rafters. Nothing.

  I returned to the kitchen and opened the cabinets and drawers. No pictures—none of the papers I’d found yesterday that pertained to me either. He’d hidden them.

  I didn’t like that.

  I did find the prepaid cell phone, though. It was in a drawer, right next to a black handgun and a box of ammunition. Apparently Alec wasn’t messing around with security anymore.

  I turned over the bathroom, but only found a box of cleaning supplies. Completely agitated, I considered calling Alec to ask where they were. But I didn’t want to interrupt him and Janelle.

  When I first came to live with my mom and my dad, I’d accidentally broken a plate one night clearing the table. I’d gotten a pretty good read on my dad, but I wasn’t sure what my new mom would do. Those ten seconds waiting for her to react had been torture, but she’d just smiled, and handed me a broom, and said, “Things break. The good news is you can always clean them up.”

  There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to fix my life right now, but I thought I’d give it a try anyway.

  I grabbed the cleaning supplies, and I started scrubbing. I did the floors, and the sinks, and the shower. I dusted every inch. I fluffed the goddamn couch pillows. I cleaned the holy hell out of that apartment.

  Time passed, and my brain gradually slowed down. That was when I found the folder, hidden in a cardboard document box beneath the couch. When I opened it, I found the familiar envelope, the edges now bent from when Alec had shoved it in my duffle bag. Beneath it was a stack of folded papers. The schedules and notes I’d seen yesterday were absent; he must have found a really good hiding place for those, or thrown them away.

  I focused on the papers. The creases were starting to wear through in some places, and as I opened the first, I recognized my handwriting.

  These were the letters I’d written Alec when he’d been in prison.

  I wasn’t sure why he’d kept them, but as I read over them, the same longing I’d felt during those months he’d been away returned to me. God, I’d missed him. I still missed him.

  I didn’t understand the man who brought me into his home, who vowed to protect me and kept pieces of our time together, and who left to meet another woman.

  Putting the letters down, I opened the folder and reexamined the pictures. I tried to use a critical eye, and think about the kinds of clues my father would have searched for. The pictures were slightly grainy, so it was hard to see any markings on my skin that might indicate a struggle. My face was never shown until the final shot, and even then my eyes were closed.

  Maxim looked no different than the last time I’d seen him. His hair was the same length, his figure still trim. The balcony we were on was unfamiliar. It belonged to a hotel of some sort, and was obviously a penthouse or suite based on the size of the landing. The railing was straight iron, a glass barrier blocked the edge, and the wall was made of smooth white stone. A palm tree leaned in from the side. The photo was close enough not to show any of the surrounding area.

  It looked like half of the hotels in Florida.

  Maxim had done a good job. There was nothing to indicate the date apart from the dress I’d worn earlier to the fund-raiser, but I’d bought that dress on a sale rack years ago. I couldn’t prove I’d never worn it before that night.

  “Remember,” I told myself. I closed my eyes, and focused on the dream. My cheek against the car seat. Black stars.

  That was all there was.

  A knock came at the door.

  I shoved the pictures back in the envelope and jumped up.

  Before I walked to the door I put everything back in the box, and shoved it beneath the couch. “Who is it?”

  “Matt. I’ve got a special delivery.”

  Slowly, I cracked the door, and when I recognized the FBI agent from the safe house, I stepped back to let him in. He was wearing cargo shorts and a polo shirt, and his strawberry blond hair was a little scruffy around the neck. He lingered on the stoop, and handed me the paper bag in his hand.

  “Hi,” he said. “Smells bleachy in here.”

  I smiled. He was always the nicest of the agents. “I’ve sort of been on a tear.”

  “Got you a burger from downstairs.”

  I’d lost track of the time, but when I looked at the clock on the stove I saw that it was almost four. Alec had left hours ago.

  �
��Thanks. You can come in if you want.” A little company sounded good.

  “Hard to watch for bad guys from in there,” he said.

  I faked another smile. “Thanks for keeping an eye out, and thanks for the burger.”

  I locked the door behind him, and found myself back in the kitchen. I grabbed the phone, and while I picked at the food, called my dad.

  “This is Ben Rossi.”

  “This is Anna Rossi,” I replied.

  “There she is,” he said. “The one who gives me gray hair.”

  I smiled sadly. “I’m on Alec’s prepaid phone. I just have a couple minutes.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Alec filled me in.”

  “Did he?”

  He hummed thoughtfully. “Good to keep you out of this media circus for a while. You need to rest anyway.”

  Not exactly the answer I was expecting. Even if he didn’t know about the pictures—which I didn’t think he did—he was taking this all a little too well. The last time we’d had a real conversation about Alec, my dad hadn’t been crazy about his status as a walking tornado.

  “It’s hard work being such a celebrity.” I pulled at the ends of my hair. “Are you really okay with me staying here with Alec?”

  He thought about this a moment. “I’m more okay than if you were staying with a serial killer, but less okay than if you were sitting here in the car with me right now.”

  I thought about how hard all of this must have been for him. Somehow he and Alec had formed some kind of trust when it came to my safety. I didn’t understand it, but it was a relief all the same to know they were getting along.

  “That’s a pretty wide range,” I said.

  “Should I not be okay with you staying with Alec?” he asked, his voice thinning.

  There was the Ben Rossi I knew and loved.

  “No, Dad,” I said. “He’s been a perfect gentleman.” Almost too perfect.

  “If he’s not . . .”

  “He is, Dad. I promise.”

  He gave a stubborn humph.

  “You need to stay out of sight, all right? Promise me you’ll stay inside. No taking off.”

  My dad had never made me promise this, even right after I’d come to live with him, when he knew that I had a history of running. He’d always told me I could tell him if I felt like it, and to always remember his phone number, but never that I couldn’t escape.

  “All right,” I said quietly. “I promise.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  The question hung between us. He didn’t know about the pictures; if he had, he wouldn’t have been so calm. I was glad Alec hadn’t told him that.

  “I’m fine. What are you doing?”

  “Some very important investigating. I’m on a stakeout right now, in fact.”

  I imagined him in an unmarked rental car, binoculars raised to his eyes as he waited outside some seedy motel.

  “Exciting,” I said. “Where at?”

  I could hear the grunt of a dog in the background. He’d taken Mug. Of course he had.

  “The Keys. Your mom and I came here once before we got you. It was very romantic.”

  “Geeze,” I muttered. “Spare me the details.”

  He chuckled, and I couldn’t help but feel a little surprised that he’d left town so soon after I’d been in the hospital.

  “How’s the head?” he asked. “Any clearer?”

  “Not really.” My frustration was returning. The cleaning hadn’t helped.

  “Well, I’m checking in regularly with the boys in Tampa and Orlando. I’ll let you know if they find anything. Any word from the FBI?”

  I’d forgotten my last communication with him had been when I’d left the hospital early to track Janelle to Lakeland.

  “Nothing useful.” I checked the time, unsure how many minutes were left on the phone. “I should go.”

  “Call me soon,” he said. “And tell Alec if he even looks at you the wrong way, I’ll shoot him.”

  “Got it.” I set down the burger. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I hung up.

  I’d thought talking to my dad might help me feel better, but it had just turned the spotlight on all the pieces of my life that weren’t working. Alec was with Janelle. My dad was gone. And I had a black spot in my memory that blocked me from sending the biggest asshole in the world to prison.

  I went back to the couch and pulled out the box. A break had done nothing, I still couldn’t remember what had happened, or figure out where we were. If I knew what hotel it was, then at least I could see if they’d recognized me during check-in. Then I could pin him for the time, and line it up with my abduction.

  I hated Maxim Stein. I hated him for what he’d done to Alec, and I despised him for what he’d done to me.

  Before I knew it, I was at the punching bag. The first hit made my knuckles crack, and a bright shock of pain shot straight up my wrist into my shoulder. I shook my hand and hit it again. Harder this time, so that the bag swung a little. I tried my left hand, huffing out a breath as the impact bolted through my arm. The chains holding the leather creaked. I hit the bag harder.

  The pain felt good. It centered me.

  I hit that bag again and again. I kicked it. I pictured Maxim’s face in front of my hands. I pictured a night of black stars. I pictured myself, lying in a torn dress outside a Dumpster, weak and confused, and Alec’s silhouette in the dark, telling me he was sorry he’d fucked me.

  I tore off my shirt when I got too hot, and kept going. Soon the blood pounding through my ears was all I could hear.

  A hand came down on my shoulder, and I spun fast, and lifted my hands to block my face. Alec was standing before me, arms raised in surrender, and when the punching bag swung back it bumped me flush against his body.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t back away. He didn’t even lower his hands. I could feel his chest moving with each breath, fast, but not nearly fast enough to catch up with mine. Sweat dripped down my hairline and between my breasts, and my bra felt suddenly too constricting as my nipples hardened against the soft fabric.

  I watched his eyes darken, saw the surprise change to something more primal.

  Need. We both felt it. Too much thinking got in the way, and I was sick and tired of thinking when nothing but this made sense.

  My body acted of its own will. I rose on my tiptoes, and reached for his hair, burying my fingers in the silky strands. I pulled him down to me, and kissed him hard. I bit his bottom lip and he growled, and soon his mouth opened and his tongue rasped against mine. He tasted like night itself; frightening but familiar in all the best ways. The kiss deepened, made my blood pump faster. Brought every memory of what that mouth could do to the present. I wanted to feel him everywhere. I wanted him to make me forget.

  To hell with the consequences.

  Sixteen

  It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t touching me. His hands were still out to his sides, though they seemed to be working under different orders, because his body curved down to meet mine, and I could feel his hard length rub against my stomach as he moved.

  I reached for his fingers, trying to pull them to my waist, but he broke our kiss, and with a harsh breath, lowered his forehead against mine.

  “Slow down, Anna,” he said, voice husky. “Think about this.”

  “No more thinking,” I said. “I’m tired of thinking. I just want to feel good.”

  The desperation was making me tremble. I could feel the last of my control cracking apart. But the pictures were flashing in the back of my mind, images of my body doing things I wasn’t aware of. Things against my will. I pushed them aside.

  I had to push them aside. Maxim had taken three days. I refused to give him any more.

  “Close your eyes,” Alec said, taking a st
ep back.

  His rejection felt like a punch to the gut.

  “Goddammit.” I tried to turn away, but he caught me by the wrists.

  “Close your eyes,” he said again.

  I did as he asked, with the humiliation just beyond my reach, threatening to swallow me whole.

  His fingertips ran up my bare arm, sending goose bumps across my body. I shivered.

  “Does that feel good?” he whispered.

  I gave a reluctant nod.

  His other hand flattened over my bare stomach, and his thumb circled my belly button. His knuckles lowered to the waistline of the boxer shorts I’d taken from his drawer, and then rose to the bottom of my ribs. My body was electric, and each touch shot through me like lightning.

  “Does that feel good?”

  My gasp was answer enough.

  His jaw skimmed mine, and the tip of his nose brushed against my ear. I shuddered, and tilted my head to expose more of my neck. His lips touched my throat, just as his fingers trailed down the slope of my waist.

  I tried to wiggle closer. He held me in place with his hands on my hips.

  “Slow down,” he whispered.

  My body was caught in a tug-of-war. Too hot to back away, too cold from his slow pace. I hated his control in the face of my lust. He didn’t need this like I did, otherwise we could have already been done by now.

  “It’s just sex,” I said, wishing it was true.

  His hands tightened around my hips, then pulled away.

  “It was never just sex,” he said. “Not even the first time.”

  Though my eyes stayed closed, I could feel his gaze, heavy and intense, holding me in place.

  “I’m making a choice,” I said. “You’re not taking advantage of me while I’m vulnerable or something like that.”

  “Like Max did?”

  My eyes opened. My jaw locked down. Any success I’d had at pushing the images aside failed, and they came tumbling back.

  “Don’t do that.” I tried to steady my voice, and failed. “This isn’t like that. You’re nothing like him.”

  “I know that,” he said. “Do you?”

  The rage, still so close to the surface, broke through again.