Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A manda gripped the handrail as if it were her only link to safety. Halfway up the long escalator, she whispered, "Is he still watching us?"

Alan glanced behind them. "Uh-huh."

The last session of the day must've let out, because writers milled about on the second floor, sipping drinks and chatting in clusters along the wide corridor as if the world hadn't just stopped spinning. Alan must have felt her tense, because he maneuvered her onto the escalator going to the third floor. He watched behind them. "He's out of sight now."

"Thank God." Her whole body was trembling. "Thank you. I'm sure you don't even know who I am. I've seen your picture, but we've never met."

"Nice to meet you."

She heard a smile in his voice but couldn't look up from the moving staircase beneath her feet. "I'm sorry. I know this is weird, but I didn't know what else to do." She glanced at Alan. "I haven't seen him in years, and I couldn't get away. And he was sitting so close, and I didn't want to scream and cause a scene but he wouldn't move and I was trapped, and then I saw Brenda, and . . ." She gasped. "Oh, my God, he found me."

She couldn't get air. Squeezing the handrail tighter, she sucked in another breath, and another. She was suffocating. Her lungs burned, her vision darkened around the edges. Her knees weakened. If she passed out, she'd tumble backwards, down the long escalator to her death.

Alan wrapped his arm around her back and held her until they reached the third floor, where he eased her toward a sofa in front of the windows.

"Exhale," he commanded, lowering her to the seat. He kneeled in front of her and grabbed both her shoulders. "You're safe now. Exhale."

She blew out air and sucked in more.

"Again. Exhale. You have kids?"

She tried to nod. She couldn't get enough air.

"Pretend you're blowing up a balloon for your kids. Come on. Blow out."

She blew again and sucked in again.

"Do it again."

She obeyed, staring at her knees and blowing up imaginary balloons. In and out, in and out. How could a person forget how to breathe?

When she felt almost normal, she looked at Alan. Sweat beading on his forehead, he didn't even blink.

She eased her lips into a slight smile. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He sat back on his heels and wiped his brow with his jacket sleeve. "You scared me."

"Sorry. I don't know what happened."

"You were hyperventilating."

"Oh. That's a first."

He rocked to his feet and looked toward the escalator. She did too. No Gabriel.

Alan smiled. "You're safe now."

"Thanks to you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

Two dimples stood out on his cheeks, making him look innocent, almost childlike.

"Don't thank me. How often does a guy like me get to play the hero?" He took a seat on the chair adjacent to the sofa.

This floor was almost a carbon-copy of the one below, where the conference was taking place. Tall windows lined one side of the wide corridor. On the opposite side, doors led to conference rooms. The occasional seating area interrupted the industrial carpet with its multi-colored, geometric pattern. She could just make out the tune of the elevator music playing over the speakers. The area was deserted.

She looked back to Alan. "Don't you have to get to the thing?"

"I don't think there actually is a thing ."

She shrugged. "You were headed somewhere."

A tinny alarm sounded, and Alan fumbled with his watch to silence it. He pulled a small pill bottle from his coat pocket, shook a yellow pill onto his hand, and popped it in his mouth. After he swallowed, he smiled. "Don't worry. It's not contagious." He slipped the bottle back into his pocket. "I wasn't headed anywhere, actually. Brenda and I met to go over some quick edits, but we'd finished. I was walking her to her meeting with her agent. So, what was that about?"

Amanda sat back on the sofa and brushed her hair back from her face, trying to push away her anxiety. "Long story."

"You said he found you. Were you hiding from him?"

"Not . . . actively."

He cocked his head and frowned. "That's cryptic."

"Sorry. We used to date, sort of, a long time ago. "

He studied her for a moment, a grimace scrunching up his eyes. "Either you're older than you look or he's younger than he looks. Or . . ."

She said nothing.

"Ah."

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"What are you going to do now?"

Good question. "I would go home, but my agent and I have a meeting tomorrow."

Alan tented his fingers. They were trembling slightly. "Aren't you worried about that guy?"

She looked toward the escalator. Worried wasn't the right word. She didn't think a word existed to define how she felt.

Her phone rang, startling her. She reached into the pocket of her blazer and read the caller ID. It was Mark.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," she said. "You should go. I'll be?—"

"Answer your call. I'm not leaving you alone."

She nodded her thanks and answered. "Hello?"

"It's me," Mark said.

Mark's voice, in just those two words, somehow soothed her. Hadn't Mark always taken care of her, protected her? If he were here, she'd fall into his arms and . . .

No. She couldn't let herself think like that. Not anymore.

Alan must've sensed she needed privacy. He stood and walked toward the escalators.

Amanda watched his retreating back. "How are the girls?"

"They're fine. They're roller skating in the basement. How's it going there?"

"Fine. Just . . ." Her stomach knotted. "Just fine."

A short pause. "You don't sound fine. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She could picture the frustrated look on his face. She'd seen it a lot lately. "Did you need something? "

"Yeah. Madi's inhaler is almost empty. I have an extra at my apartment, but I wondered?—"

"In the cabinet, behind the basket with the medicines, there should be another one in a red-and-white box."

She waited. She could hear him searching her kitchen. He'd moved out a month earlier, and it still felt weird to think of it as her kitchen. She'd wavered over inviting him to stay at the house with the girls while she was gone, but it made more sense than having them stay at his apartment. He had beds for them in the second bedroom of his tiny place, but nothing for them to do. She'd tried to send over some toys and games. She'd even tried to give him an extra TV for the girls. He'd refused it all. He didn't need anything from her. Probably never had.

"Found it," he said, slamming the cabinet. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. It's just . . ." She sighed. He was still her husband, and if nothing else, he would want to protect her. And after nine years of marriage, she trusted his judgment. Plus, he was tenacious enough to badger her until she fessed up.

"Just what?"

She braced herself. "I saw Gabriel Sheppard."

"What?"

His shout didn't surprise her, but she winced anyway.

"Are you okay?"

That sudden shift—from anger to concern—niggled at a raw place in her heart. She pushed the feeling away. "I'm fine."

"Did he see you?"

"I was sitting in the lobby. We talked."

"Oh, honey, you must've been terrified. Are you all right?"

Her eyes stung with tears. She squeezed them shut until they stopped burning. Why was Mark being so nice? She'd expected anger, not kindness. "I guess. He wanted to know what happened to me, and I told him . . . I wasn't sure what to say, so I told him I'd met somebody else."

"How'd he take it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But he saw my name tag. He?—"

"Your name tag? So he knows how to find you?"

"He knows my pen name, he knows my last name is Johnson, yeah. But not your name." She turned the name tag and looked at it. "Oh, no."

"What?"

"I forgot. Everyone's name tag says where they're from."

"Just Massachusetts, or . . . ?"

"It says Norwell."

He muttered something she couldn't make out and then spoke into the phone again. "You think he'll try to find you?"

She remembered his final words as they ascended the escalator. See you soon. "Yes."

Mark must've read something in her voice. "And?"

She swallowed. "He sort of asked me about the memoir?—"

A flash of movement. Amanda looked up in time to see Alan dart across the small space. "He's coming."

"Who was that?" Mark asked.

Her heart pounded as Alan rushed toward her. "Up the escalator?"

"Come on." Alan grabbed her bag in one hand, her arm in the other, and pulled her across the corridor. He yanked open a door and pushed her into a small conference room. Long, thin tables were set up in rows , chairs lining the backs of each. Alan threw her bag on a table.

"Stay here. I'll get rid of him," he said.

"What's happening?" Mark's voice was demanding and frightened.

"Gabriel's coming up the escalator, and Alan?—"

"Who's Alan? What's going on? "

Her voice wobbled. "He helped me get away from Gabriel."

Mark must've heard her fear. He softened his tone again. "I'm sorry. I wish I were there."

She did, too. In a blink, she imagined her husband beside her, his arms wrapped around her. Mark wouldn't let Gabriel near her. In fact, Gabriel wouldn't dare approach if Mark were at her side.

"I need to speak with her for a moment." Gabriel's voice filtered through the closed door, sending a vibration of fear through her, as if he'd plucked a guitar string along the length of her spine.

She scanned the room. A door near the front warned her it was for authorized personnel only . But if she had to escape, she wouldn't hesitate. She grabbed her bag and took a couple of steps toward the door so she could hear better.

"She doesn't want to see you," Alan said.

"Mandy?" Mark said. "Are you?—?"

"Shh," she whispered. Mark quieted.

"Fine," Gabriel said. "Tell her this isn't over."

"Why don't you leave her alone?" Alan asked.

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

Amanda could feel tension rising between the two men through the closed door. A moment later, it swung open, and Alan stepped inside. "He's gone."

She made her way back to the table and slumped into the chair, relaxing muscles she hadn't realized were clenched. "Thank you."

"Let me talk to him," Mark said through the telephone.

Alan was about to step out the door.

"To Alan?" she asked.

He turned, tilting his head to the side.

"Why?" she asked.

"Please? I just want to get his impression. "

A conversation between Alan and Mark? For some reason, that didn't seem like a good idea. "Isn't my impression good enough?"

After a beat, Mark said gently, "Your impression is very important, but you're not impartial. I'm assuming he is, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you two friends or . . . something?"

Alan hovered near the door. She smiled at him. "We just met."

"Okay, then he's impartial. Can I talk to him, please?"

She covered the mouthpiece with the heel of her hand. "My husband wants to talk to you. Do you mind?"

Alan's eyebrows rose, and he glanced at her left hand. "Your husband?"

"Yes. His name is Mark."

"Sure."

He walked over, and she handed him the phone. "He's a little . . . intense."

"If you were my wife, knowing what just happened, I'd be intense too."

She released her grip on the phone, and Alan lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"

Mark stopped mid-pace when he heard the man's voice. "Hi. I'm Amanda's husband, Mark. And you are . . . ?"

"Alan Morass."

He resumed his pacing. "How do you know my wife?"

"Uh, I don't really know her," Alan said. "She just looked like she needed help."

"What do you mean? "

"She was sitting in a chair in the lobby, sort of trapped by this giant man."

"Giant? How big is he?"

"Gosh, six-four, six-five."

Mark stopped again. "She told me he was big, but I didn't realize . . ." He let his voice trail off while a visual of the scene filled his mind. "What do you mean she was trapped?"

Mark made his way into the living room and dropped onto the sofa, imagining the situation as Alan described it. Amanda's biggest fear was that Gabriel Sheppard would find her one day. She'd always said she didn't know what she was afraid of exactly, swearing the man would never hurt her. But Mark's gut feelings had saved him often enough in Afghanistan. If her gut was telling her to be afraid, there must be a reason.

"So then we got out of there," Alan finished.

"Where are you now?"

"Conference room on the third floor. It's deserted up here, and she needed to calm down."

"I see. And he followed you?"

"Apparently."

Mark didn't like Alan's snooty tone, but this stranger was all the help he had to protect his wife. "What do you think, Alan? Is he aggressive? Should she be afraid of him?"

"Gosh, I don't know."

Mark stifled a sigh. He was wasting his time.

Alan continued. "He said he just wanted to talk. He didn't seem angry or anything, at least not until I told him I wouldn't let him talk to her."

"Thank you for doing that."

"Of course."

Smarmy. That's how he sounded. Mark definitely didn't like this guy. "So, you're not really sure if Sheppard's a threat or not."

"How would I know that? "

The defensive tone prodded Mark's suspicions. "And what exactly are you doing there?"

"I'm an editor.” Mark could hear the irritation in the man's voice. “It's a writers conference."

"Are you there with my wife?"

"Like I said, we just met."

Mark ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to stay calm. He lifted a quick prayer and changed his tone. "Sorry. I should be thanking you, not questioning you."

Three heartbeats later, Alan said, "You're welcome."

"Can I speak with Amanda again?"

"Here she is."

The sound was muffled, and Mark couldn't make out what they were saying to each other. His adrenaline pumped as if he were in a firefight. Unfortunately, the target was two hundred miles away.

First, Amanda had kicked him out, and then she'd run into Sheppard. And now she'd been rescued by another man. Could things get any worse?

"Was that really necessary?" she asked.

"I wanted to get as much information as possible. Your friend wasn't very helpful. You started to say something about the memoir?"

"Oh. Uh . . . apparently, Gabriel knows."

He censored the word that popped into his mind. "How?"

"I don't know." Her voice traveled higher. "It's like . . . he always knew what I was thinking."

"That doesn't make any sense. Someone obviously told him."

“You really think so?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

"I'm sorry, but I can't see how else he'd know.” He kept his tone even. She was scared enough without him making it worse. “What did he say? "

"Um . . . he said 'don't do it' and told me to remember my promise."

“Which was?”

"That I'd never tell."

"What'd you say?"

She sniffed. "Well, I denied it, but, like I said . . ."

Mark's stomach lurched like it hadn't since airborne school. "You're sure he knew?"

"I . . . I could never lie to him."

Unfortunately, she didn't have that problem with Mark. "This is exactly what I was afraid of, Amanda. You can't publish?—"

"I knew you were going to say that."

He glanced at his watch. They'd talked . . . what? Three minutes before she'd gotten angry. These days, that was a record. "I want you to come home."

"Roxie and I have a meeting tomorrow."

"I don't care. I don't want you there by yourself, not if Sheppard's there. And if he knows about the memoir?—"

"I'm not by myself."

"Right, you have Alan ."

"I don't need your sarcasm right now. And that's not what I meant. I'm usually with my roommate, but she went back to the room to sleep off a headache. Besides Susie and Roxie, there are lots of people here. As long as I stay out of the lobby?—"

"Can you do that? What were you doing there today, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in meetings or something?"

Amanda sighed audibly into the phone. "You know what, Mark? I didn't tell you about Gabriel so you could give me the third degree."

"I'm not. I'm worried about you. I care about you."

"I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"Of course you should?— "

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

She sighed. "What?"

He unclenched his fist and splayed his hand on the arm of the chair. "Why don't I drop off the girls with Chris and Jamie and grab a flight?—?"

"No. Absolutely not."

Her words were worse than any physical blow. "I just want to protect you."

A pause. "I'm sorry." For the first time in a long time, she actually sounded sorry. "I know you're worried. I'm sharing a room with Susie. There's nowhere for you to stay. And I really will be fine."

He stared at his splayed hand. "Fine. Whatever. Just . . . please be careful. I know you don't think he'll hurt you, but if what Alan says is true, it sounds like he was already aggressive with you. If he knows about the memoir, you could be in danger."

He could picture her brushing her hair away from her face while she contemplated his words.

Finally, she spoke. "I'll stay away from the lobby. I'll use the buddy system. Will that make you feel better?"

"I guess so." As long as she didn't decide to be buddies with Alan.