The Confession (12 page)

Behind him rose a narrow tendril of smoke.

“Something's burning,” I said.

He glanced back and swore. The pan clattered as he lifted it off the stove.

My nose scrunched as the smell reached me. I joined him in the kitchen, smirking as he scraped a blackened pancake off the pan into the sink.

“Nice job,” I teased.

He shot a glare my way. “I was distracted.”

“It's a good thing this shirt isn't any smaller then. You might have burned the whole house down.”

“If that shirt was any smaller, you wouldn't have made it halfway out of the bedroom.”

He stiffened suddenly, and then bit down on his top lip.

“Forget I said that.” He went back to scraping the pan.

I liked flirting with Alec. It made everything feel less serious. So when he took that away, the weight on the center of my chest grew heavy again. I rubbed my knuckles just below my collarbone to ease the pressure.

He put the pan back on the stove, turning his back to me. Part of me wondered if I should return to the bedroom. The other part wanted to wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head between his shoulder blades.

“I missed something,” he said.

The statement took me off guard, and it wasn't until a moment later when he looked down at the pan and the bowl filled with batter, that I realized he was talking about the food.

The way he was looking at me made me wonder if he hadn't intended it to mean more, though.

“Cooking spray,” I said. “Or butter. That way the batter won't stick.”

He nodded, and went to the fridge for a stick of butter. I leaned against the counter while he made pancakes, my stomach rumbling as the smells began to fill the small apartment.

He didn't pull out two plates, just one. But he did put an extra fork on the counter. As he poured syrup over the stack, my mouth watered.

“Ladies first,” he offered.

We stood side by side, too far apart to accidentally touch, but too close not to be aware of each other's movements, and ate pancakes at two in the morning. Maybe he thought I wouldn't notice that he only took one bite for every three of mine. Maybe I thought he wouldn't notice the way I stiffened when he reached across for the syrup.

The whole Feed Anna plan had been sneaky, and I was too hungry to object.

When we were done, he left the dishes in the sink, and turned off the lamp on the side table in the living room. Darkness swallowed us, and only the light of the moon outside the sliding glass door lit his silhouette as he moved toward me.

My heart was pounding as he took my hand, and led me into the bedroom.

I
was following Alec Flynn into a room with a bed.

The pull was undeniable. I wanted him, and from the looks of it, he wanted me. But things weren't that simple. My feet began to slow, but though my grip on his hand loosened, he didn't let go. He turned to face me.

“Alec, I . . .” I needed a moment to think. I was in a strange place right now. It wasn't just that I'd been through the wringer this past week—he and I had a history. I'd ended our relationship; we'd spent time apart. He might have found someone new, but it didn't look like he was thinking about her now. Had he brought me here thinking this is what would happen? That fucking at his apartment would begin some kind of affair? Why hadn't I considered that when he'd parked the car outside?

Because I trusted him.

“I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears,” he said.

I gave a short laugh, which caught in my throat as his thumb slid along the side of my hand. Warmth blossomed there, and traveled up my arm, making my whole body tingle.

“It's all right,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to try anything.”

I exhaled slowly, feeling a piece of my anxiety chip away. I wished I could tell him how confused I was by everything I was feeling, but I didn't know where to start.

He moved again, and I followed.

I'd drawn the curtains over the window, but he opened them now, revealing the black night sky. It was different out here, on the opposite side of the Bay. Without the lights from the city, the sky was darker, the moon brighter.

“All white stars,” he said.

Another worry slipped away.

He pulled back the blankets. In silence, I climbed in, but he didn't follow. He pulled the covers over me.

Then he lay down on the side of the bed, and rested his head on the pillow, so that he was staring at the ceiling. For a long time I listened to him breathing, aware of every rise and fall of my own chest, and the thickness of the blankets between us.

“I wish I could face him,” I said. “Maxim, I mean.”

I hadn't meant to bring him up now, but couldn't help but feel his presence, or at least his actions, as much a barrier between Alec and I as the covers on the bed.

“I took flying lessons once,” Alec said. “I thought it would help me get over my . . . thing.”

Thing.
Otherwise known as fear of flying. Apparently men didn't admit to things like that out loud.

“It didn't work,” he said. “It only helped me hate it more.”

I tried to picture Alec in the cockpit of a plane, and nearly laughed. It was like trying to imagine a fish driving a car.

For a long time we were quiet.

“You can sleep,” he said finally. “No one's going to hurt you.”

His words made me feel safe, though they weren't necessary. I hadn't been afraid since I'd stepped into this apartment.

The warmth of his presence descended over me. It made my eyelids heavy and my body relax. The darkness made me brave, and it was in that drowsy place between sleeping and awake that I reached for his hand and pulled it over my body. His chest pressed against my back, and his fingers wove between mine. He adjusted his position to move closer. He nuzzled back my hair with his chin.

I thought he might have kissed my cheek, but maybe I dreamt it.

*   *   *

We slept halfway through the morning, until the beep of Alec's cell in the other room woke me. It was the longest I'd slept in months, and when I rolled onto my back, Alec's arm tightened around my waist.

I smiled. He was still exactly where he'd been when I'd fallen asleep, stretched behind me, with the blankets layered between us. I turned so that I was facing him, my face just inches from his. His eyes were still closed, his hair messy. His perfect lips slightly parted.

There was a certain kind of safety in Alec's arms now, in knowing that I could look at him without him looking back. It felt like a secret in the making; a one-sided confession. With him lost in dreams there would be no expectations.

I couldn't help myself; I traced his bottom lip with my finger.

“Anna,” he murmured, and the sound of his voice, husky with sleep, moved me. I inched closer, very much awake now. His hand, now around my back, lowered, and I sighed as his warm skin found the place where the fabric had ridden up.

I swallowed, and froze as he closed the space between us and gently pressed his lips to mine. His fingers spread on my lower back, and his eyelids blinked open.

He sat up fast enough to leave me dizzy.

“Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

I pulled up to my elbows. It was too late now to pretend I'd been dreaming.

He was facing away, and his hands disappeared in front of him as he adjusted himself. His body wanted me, even if his brain was saying no.

I knew the feeling.

“How'd you sleep?” he asked, still looking away.

“Well,” I said. “Really well, actually.”

“No dreams?”

I slumped. “No.”

“How do you feel?”

“Can you look at me at least?”

After a moment he half turned, and looked over his shoulder.

“I'm fine.” I sat up, and pulled my knees to my chest. “You don't have to worry. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Sweetheart, I've done enough wrong things to last a lifetime.”

I looked down, hating how coarse his voice had become. “You've done a lot of right things, too.”

“But you're not here because of any of them.”

He sat up, and strode out before I could answer. I hated that he'd woken with storm clouds over his head when minutes ago I'd felt a peace I hadn't experienced in a long time. Now the force of the previous day shoved me back down against the pillow. Maxim Stein had touched my nearly naked body. He'd shown Alec and I he could do whatever he wanted, and he'd driven the wedge between us even deeper.

I had a sudden urge to see the pictures again, to find something on them that proved they were taken over the last weekend. When I did, I was taking them to the police and the trial wouldn't even matter, because Maxim Stein was going to jail for the rest of his life.

Alec returned to the door of the bedroom a few minutes later, cell phone in hand.

“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.”