Dylan rises from the sofa and strolls over to me. He rests both hands on the sides of my waist and I turn my head. My morning breath, bird’s nest hair, and smudgy mascara cannot be a turn on. Not that I’m trying to impress.
Right. It’s truly not fair that he looks unrumpled.
“I’ll call you later,” he says.
“You don’t have to if you’re busy.”
“I’ll call you later,” he repeats with emphasis, as if I’m a stubborn child. He lifts a hand and brushes the hair from my eyes.
“Okay.” My chest flutters at his touch and the fleeting press of his hips against mine. I draw away from his magnetic pull and head out before I can change my mind.
My professors probably thought I paid rapt attention all day to their lectures. In reality, I wasted my time going to classes because I was only able to stare at the presentation. Usually an industrious note taker, I failed to even open my laptop during class.
It’s after lunch and I’m walking from the student center to off-campus parking when my phone rings. My heart dances a tiny jig in my chest and I smile to myself as I pull it from my canvas bag.
“Hello,” I say, my tone a little too enthusiastic for my liking, but I can’t help it.
“Hi, Emerson.”
I don’t recognize the voice and pull the phone away to study my display. A blocked number. Returning the phone to my ear, I frown. “Hi. Who is this?”
“You don’t know me.”
“Well, buddy, I don’t know how you got this number, but I don’t talk to strangers. You can take me off your sales list or database, or wherever you got my info.”
“If you’re smart, you won’t hang up on me. You’re lucky I’m patient.”
There’s a definite threat to his voice that does even more to rile me. “Oh yeah?”
“You’re getting others involved in what could be something so simple. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I stop walking. A few students move around me on the sidewalk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I want you to understand how easy it is for me to touch your life. I’ve been inside your home. I was inside your car just yesterday. I know the people you spend time with.” The calm voice pauses as if giving me time to absorb these words. “Gabby would be the first casualty. Or maybe Dylan or your mother.”
Blood is rushing through my ears, a roaring sound that interferes with my ability to think. “What do you want from me?”
“Your father hid something that you have—”
My knees feel shaky, the joints trembling. I step over to a poplar tree and lean against it. “I don’t have any money. I realize the investigators never found the—”
“I know you don’t.”
“Well, what the hell do you want from me?” My voice cracks at the end. A guy from one of my classes walks by and nods at me with a concerned look. I turn away from his questioning gaze.
“I want what belongs to me. Perhaps your father gave you a flash drive, the location of his backup files, or a place he’s hidden the code he stole.”
“I swear I don’t have anything. My father didn’t give it to me.”
There’s a long pause before he finally speaks. “Maybe this is true. If it is, then visit your father. Persuade him to give you the Eavesdropper code. Tell him we know he copied it. He’ll understand.”
“What if he won’t?” I drop my bag on the ground and tighten my fingers around my cell. “I don’t visit him, talk to him. He might not.”
“If he doesn’t, you aren’t trying hard enough. Or the people in your life are disposable. But I don’t think that’s the case. I’m offering your lives in exchange for something taken from me. “
“But—”
“I’ll be in touch. For now, arrange the visit with your father. Get the information.”
Gabby. Dylan. My mother and father. This man knows everything about my life.
Several seconds go by before I realize the line is dead and my caller is gone. I’m breathing hard and press one hand to my forehead. Think. Is this a call-the-cops situation?
I picture a scene from the last movie I watched where the killer waits for one wrong move by the heroine. Somebody always dies. Life is so much more complicated than books and movies. My stomach knots, and I suck in to fight off the sudden panic.
Dylan would know what to do. He knows my secrets. He could help me figure out if I should call the police.
I don’t have him on speed-dial, so I scroll through my contacts. When I find his name, my finger stops an inch from the phone icon. Of course he’d help me. He’d help no matter the cost to himself. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take today.
“Emerson?” A male voice interrupts my turbulent emotions. Toby steps in front of me.
“Hey.” I blink away what might show on my face. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
“Evidently.” Toby wears his usual smile, but there’s concern etched into his features now as well. “Everything okay?”
My brain functions on sloth mode as I attempt to deliver an answer. “Oh sure.”
“You don’t look like it is. Anything I can do to help? Your hands are shaking.”
“No. Bad day.” I glance at my cell. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Gotta go.”
Toby takes long strides to keep up with me as I power walk to the parking lot. “Want to study later? How’d you do on the stats quiz?”
“Wow. Sorry. I should’ve thanked you.” I slow my pace. “I made a B, all because of you.” My brain is on autopilot, coming up with words that seem, thankfully, normal.
“Good.” He nods. “I can tell you’re in a hurry, so I’ll call you later. I’d love to have you look at my interview stuff.”
I am an ass. An ass with life or death problems. “Yeah. Do. Call me.” I answer as cheerfully as I can. Then I head to the parking lot without another glance at him. As soon as I get into the car, I notice the bag from yesterday in my passenger seat. Echoes of the voice on the phone hit me in a Hiroshima blast: ‘I was in your car yesterday.’
The brown paper bag rests where I left it. I hold my breath as I carefully trace a finger along the edge and flip the paper up and open. It’s not a sandwich or snack from Gabby as I’d assumed yesterday.
There’s a piece of paper in the top of the bag. Extracting the note with two fingers, as if it will detonate, I unfold it. Your father stole something that belongs to me. I believe you have it.
The rest of the note contains instructions for logging onto a chat room at 8:00 pm. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead. A time I missed last night because I didn’t open this bag.
I pull out a photo lab envelope from the bottom of the sack. Inside is a stack of printed 4 x 6 photos.
Each photo represents a different part of my life, recent past through last week. I hold the first one with shaky fingers. Gabby is laughing as she gets into her friend’s car. The second photo is of me talking with Jenny as she drops off the baby. The third shows Dylan standing at my door.
Bile rises in the back of my throat and I breathe deeply through my nose, pushing it down, pushing the fear away.