Or, aha! Space aliens got tired of sucking humans up into their ships for experiments, so they stole Ryan’s phone in order to mindfuck me and analyze my responses.
Or aha! This is a badly conceived plan for some wild and crazy sexy times.
Or some other ridiculous idea. I know the idea must be ridiculous because there’s no reasonable explanation for the text.
None that I want to believe, anyway.
My gut twists as I remember all those sweet words he said to me. Trust. Surrender. Humbled.
And he called me smart?
What kind of bullshit is that? Because clearly I’m stupid and blind and ridiculously naive.
But am I? Am I really? I’ve always trusted Ryan without hesitation, knowing with absolute certainty that he’s a good man. Which means this isn’t possible. Ryan can’t be—
God, I can’t even think the word.
And who the fuck is F?
I expel a loud, frustrated breath, then shake myself. I’m going around and around in circles, and I need to get off this carousel of doom. Hell, I need to get out of this hotel.
And that’s when it hits me—the perfect distraction.
I snatch up my own phone and search my contacts for the number Gabby put in. I press the button to connect the call, then hold my breath, hoping she’s available.
“Jamie?”
“Hey!” My voice comes out with far too much energy. “Sorry, I’m just happy I caught you.”
“Me, too. What’s up?”
“Turns out my husband’s working and I’m sitting here bored in the hotel.” A lie, yes, but at least it’s a little one. “Any chance you want to grab that drink now and play catch up?”
“Oh. Well…”
I deflate. “You have plans.”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I got stood up. I’m actually in a cab right now. I was going to just head back to my hotel and drown my sorrows in whatever cheap wine is in the minibar. But your plan is better. Do you want to meet somewhere?”
“That would be fabulous.”
We settle on a nearby wine bar, and I’m just about to hang up when the call-waiting beeps.
It’s Ryan.
My first instinct is to take it. But I don’t. I don’t want to hear excuses and explanations. I don’t want to filter truth from lies.
I don’t want to have to fucking deal with any of it.
Honestly, right now, all I want is to get a drink.
And I’m going to do exactly that. With Gabby.
Chapter Six
I’m only a five-minute walk from the cute little bar that faces Hyde Park. But with getting dressed and out of the hotel, and then navigating the unfamiliar streets of London, she still beats me there. The place is Paris-themed, with an outdoor seating area, and I see her right away at a small table under a red awning. She has pale skin contrasted by hair so dark it’s almost black. It’s thick, with just a hint of curl, and her wide, slanting eyes are highlighted by perfectly arched brows.
She’s scanning the passersby, her expression intent. Since I assume she’s looking for me, I wave and hurry over, then slide into the spindly little chair with the woven wicker seat across from her. “This place is adorable,” I say.
A waiter approaches with a carafe of red wine, and I cock an eyebrow. “Great service, too.”
She laughs. “I went ahead and ordered wine. I hope you still like red. I remember you did in college.”
“Red’s great, and I’m impressed. I have no memory at all of what you drank.”
“What can I say? I’m a detail kind of girl. Any food?” she asks, looking first at my face and then off to the side, as if she can’t stop taking in the view.
I realize that I haven’t eaten in ages. “Actually, that would be great.” The waiter recommends the charcuterie and cheese plate, and we enthusiastically agree. Then, as he heads off to put in our order, Gabby leans over and draws me into a hug.
“I’m glad you called,” she says. “You have no idea. I couldn’t believe it when Nikki said you were in London, too. I’ve been—” She breaks off with a quick shake of her head, her finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Sorry. Not the time, not the place.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just, you know. Life crap. I want to hear about why you’re in London. Vacation? Work?”
“Honestly, I came to surprise my husband. But,” I say before she can ask me about Ryan, “what is it you’re not telling me?”
“What? Nothing.” Her face flushes as she takes the carafe and tops off her wine glass.
“Hey, whatever it is, it’s not my business. And I get that we haven’t even spoken in forever. But that doesn’t mean I never thought about you. Or stopped caring. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But just know that you have a friend if you need one.”
She meets my eyes for just a second before looking down again. “That means a lot. It’s—it’s just—”
This time, when she looks up, I see tears in her eyes.
“Gabby.” I take her free hand. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”
She shakes her head, and this time when she looks at me, I see fear. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is low, almost a whisper. “I’m scared, Jamie.”
“Can you tell me why?” I’m not usually a soft and gentle person, but my voice right now would soothe a rampaging bear. I’m terrified she’s going to bolt before I can find out enough to actually help her, and right now I don’t have any idea what the problem could be. Is she broke? Pregnant? Is her boyfriend abusive?
The only thing I do know is that I must be a truly horrible person. Because right now, I’m glad for the reminder that whatever is going on with Ryan, I’m not the only one with problems.
I squeeze her hand gently. “Come on, Gabs. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“I don’t think you can help me at all.” A tear clings to the end of her nose before falling with a plop onto the tiled tabletop. Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a breath. Slowly, she lifts her head. “I thought maybe I could tell you because—well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because even if you could help, I’m not sure if I should say anything.”
“Of course you should. And of course I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
She shakes her head. “They might find out.”
“They? Who?” I’ve gone suddenly cold, my body tense from the larger message in her words. “Someone is after you. Who?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” She wipes more tears away, then downs her entire glass. I take a large gulp from mine. Frankly, I need it.
“Listen, Gabby. You’re obviously scared. But my husband works in security. If someone is trying to hurt you, let me help. Tell me what’s going on.”
She bites her lower lip.
“Come on, girl. It’s me. You can trust me. You know that, right?”
She nods, looking miserable. “I have a confession,” she says, so softly I almost can’t hear her. “I already knew your husband did that kind of work.”