“Who’s the lawyer, Cara?”

  “What?”

  “The lawyer, who is he, and what did you give him?”

  “I gave him the journals.” No reason to let Jerkface know that Steph is the lawyer we’re talking about. He would just see her as one more vulnerable female, and drag me to see her, and then we’d both be found with our legs all akimbo.

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what else did you give him? We read the journals. We read them together. There was nothing there. There has to be something else.”

  “Fine, you know what? I did find something else. It was a key.”

  “A key to what?”

  “A key to the toilet paper holders in the bathroom at the condo complex.”

  “Shit.”

  “And in the toilet paper holders, we found eight memory cards. Do you have any idea how much data can be held on eight memory cards? Enough to put you and everybody else in jail. So, if you want to add to that, go ahead.”

  “Me? Everybody else? You still don’t get it, do you, Cara? I’m the one that has been trying to help. To help you and her, you stupid…” Lightning crashed outside, so I didn’t have to hear exactly what he said, but the message was pretty clear.

  I couldn’t shut myself up — not the first time I’ve had that problem. “Yeah, my knights in shining armor often run my ass over in front of my parents’ house and break into my apartment and hold me hostage.”

  “I’m not holding you hostage.”

  “Then I can go?”

  “No!”

  “Then you’re holding me hostage.”

  “No, you’re in protective custody.”

  “Does your boss know about that? From what I saw in the parking lot, I don’t think he knows about your plan. Are you telling me that you’re saving me from the chief of police? Some kind of corruption that goes all the way to the top?”

  “I told you to stay out of it. I begged you to stay out of it. But you just wouldn’t listen. You know what this is going to cost me? Everything. You know what this is going to cost my family? More than that. You couldn’t just stay out of it.”

  “What’s going on, Joe? You just told me that nothing on those memory cards can hurt you. Then you tell me that this is going to ruin you and your whole family. That doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe you need someone to help you think all this through. Maybe I can help.”

  When he didn’t say no, I went with the assumptive close and kept on talking. “If this isn’t about police corruption, what is it about?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve ruined everything. It could have all ended. We finally could have been free, but you just had to get in the middle of it.”

  “I didn’t just happen to come into the middle of it. I was invited, remember? You’re the one that contacted Billy and had Billy contact me, aren’t you? I honestly thought I was starting a new business. I honestly thought I was doing a good thing for a good person.”

  “You were.”

  “Yeah? Then how did we get from helping a dead cop, to lying to a priest, to holding me here against my will?”

  “You want to know, Cara? You really want to know? You want to know how you ruined the life of a good cop, a great woman, and what the ramifications of all that could be? Fine, sit your ass down. I’ll tell you all about it. I don’t really give a shit anymore.”

  I jumped up on the counter, mostly because in an emergency situation, it’s easier to spring off a counter than to jump up off furniture, but also because I had my pork chops nice and close if I positioned myself there, and if push came to shove, and it just might, ol’ Jerkface would be wearing pork chops and boiling veggie broth before all this was over.

  When I jumped up on the counter, I got a glimpse of the doorway. There was my neighbor. Standing with his arms loose at his sides, unbelievably relaxed looking.

  I tried to figure out why he was just standing there, listening… Oh, listening, duh!

  Jerkface saw me see my neighbor.

  Crap!

  My brain seems to go in spurts in emergency situations. Some thoughts come really quickly, while some things seem to move in slow motion.

  I thought that Jerkface would attack. Wasn’t sure if he would attack my neighbor or me, but I figured one of us was about to get bounced off a wall.

  Instead, he ran. Full force. Straight into my living room windows.

  I gasped.

  I waited for the crash of glass and the blood spurting from his many cuts. I figured most of the cuts would be arterial and I’d have blood all over my light beige carpeting, not to mention the walls, and possibly the ceiling. I’d be cleaning for weeks.

  He bounced off.

  Knocked him clean on his ass, which was good, but my neighbor was already in motion before he’d bounced and couldn’t stop his movement mid-move, so he kind of jumped over him, spun around, was ready to do one of his fancy ex-spy moves, but by then Jerkface had already scrambled across the floor and out the door.

  My neighbor went flying after him.

  I jumped off the counter and ran out into the parking lot, splashing all over the place, almost mindful of the fact that I not only was going to add to the lake that is now my living room carpet, but also had just put myself right back in danger. I say almost mindful, because although it crossed my mind, it didn’t slow me down.

  Idiot.

  Wherever Jerkface and my neighbor ran off to, I didn’t see them.

  I went back into my apartment, locked the door, and tried to decide if I should be calling 911.

  I figured that my neighbor had it covered last time, so he probably had it covered this time. There is just something about my neighbor that demands that he be left alone to do what he knows how to do.

  I have to do something constructive when I have nothing to do but panic. It was either clean, throw up, or call my mom.

  I went about finding my most grody towels to clean up the mess on my carpet. I’d have to go over to Mom and Dad’s and borrow the Shop-Vac so that I could suck up the water if I couldn’t find enough absorbency within my four walls. Then I’d have to explain why I needed to borrow the Shop-Vac. All things being equal, it was easier to just figure out how to clean up the mess in-house.

  I guess I could always absorb and throw the towels in the dryer, but yuck, I’d have to wash them first. Cleaning up a spill in Florida isn’t like cleaning up a spill somewhere else. It is always humid here. You can wash a glass and put it on the counter on a towel, but the next morning, it is still gonna have little droplets of water inside. Things just don’t dry here. The thought of all those little microbial critters doing the cha-cha and God knows what in my carpet was more than I could take.

  I’d just thrown two bath sheets and a beach towel on the big puddle — how can one man drip so much water? — when there was a knock on the door.

  I remembered to look out the peephole. It was my neighbor.

  Yay, he wasn’t dead in the nature area, a future entrée for an alligator.

  I opened the door. “You didn’t check for our signal.”

  “Our signal?”

  “Five fingers.”

  “I figured by now one finger would probably be more appropriate, and it probably isn’t Mr. Pointer. I’m so sorry I keep getting you in the middle of all this. How did you know he was in here?”

  “Saw his car in the back of the complex over by the car washing area. I went over there so I’d have some shelter when I was rearranging tools in the back of my work truck.”

  “That was lucky.”

  “No such thing as luck.”

  “Of all the people you know, I should be the one to say that. You know what they say about Irish people. If it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all. That’s why I really don’t understand St. Patrick Day t-shirts, claiming the luck of the Irish, but that’s a whole other conversation. What happened to Jerkface?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “We should watch his car.”

  “It’s gone.”

  “He got to it before you did? He must move pretty fast ‘cause you went flying out of here. I’ve never seen anybody move as fast as you guys did.”

  “He went toward the mailboxes. I figured I’d cut him off at his car, went straight there, car was already gone. He had to have had someone waiting for him.”

  “A getaway driver?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you see anyone in the car?”

  “No, but to be honest, I didn’t really check it out. I saw the car and ran for here. That probably tipped off anybody that might be watching. They probably had some kind of plan.”

  “That seems pretty involved. Plans and backup plans.”

  “Some of us just do that kind of thing naturally.”

  “I’m so sorry I got you in the middle of this again.”

  “No problem. I thought I’d hear the story when you did, but we spooked him. Did he tell you anything at all?”

  “He pretty much said that he’s the poor misunderstood victim in all of this and that he’s trying to help me, and I’m just too stupid to know it.”

  “Yeah, sounds like a sociopath. I’m gonna go call his boss.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cara, why did you let him in? Are you trying to be a hero?”

  “I didn’t let him in. I was cooking dinner, and he was just standing there.”

  “Doesn’t look like he kicked in the door. I can’t imagine that he stood there and picked a lock with all the activity we have in this complex. How the hell did he get in?”

  “I have no idea. My sister got me a maid lock, but I always forget to put it on, and besides, when A.J. gets home, he just about breaks his shoulder when the thing hits its limit.”

  “How long have you known A.J., Cara?”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “I’m just saying. You haven’t known him very long. All this stuff has been going on since he hit town. Maybe we should take a look at him.”

  “He’s Suzi’s brother, not some whack-job. I really appreciate your looking out for me, but A.J. is not a part of all these problems.”

  “Well, you have a key, A.J. has a key, who else has a key?”

  “My mom… Oh, crap! Teagan stole the emergency key from my mom. She gave it back when A.J. and I, well, anyway, she gave it back. I was going to give it back to Mom, but then I decided not to. I’m trying to remember if Jerkface has been in the apartment since Teagan gave me the key back. I can’t remember where I put it.”

  “The chances of him grabbing the key, even knowing what the key was for, are pretty slim.”

  “The key is marked, ‘Cara’s Apt.’ Crap. I’ll look for it.”

  “Until you find the key, or maybe even after you find it, you should still change the locks. You need to use that maid lock, Cara.”

  “I will.”

  “Cara?”

  “I will!”

  “Where’s A.J.? I don’t like the idea of you being here alone. We didn’t catch the guy yet, and he’s getting more and more bold.”

  “I don’t know where A.J. is. I’ve been texting him all day, and he hasn’t answered.”

  “How often does that happen?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you know what his plans were?”

  “He didn’t mention anything special. He was going to spend the day sorting pictures and doing any corrections that needed to be done. He doesn’t believe in doing much with Photoshop, but once in a while, things need to be altered. I’m not sure what he was going to do after that.”

  “Is there anybody else you can call? You should check on him.”

  “I don’t think he would be very happy about that.”

  “If he’s lying on a floor somewhere with his head bashed in, he isn’t gonna be happy anyway.”

  “You really think…”

  “Cara, I don’t know what to think, but I think that you should check on the people that are close to you, at least the ones that this whack-job knows about, and one of them is A.J. What about your sister? You guys are always together. Have you heard from her?”

  “I talked to her a couple of times today.”

  “Call her and tell her to watch her back, whack-job is on the loose, and he’s escalating.”

  “I will.”

  “Cara, go text your boyfriend. Better yet, give him a call, and if you can’t raise him, we need to do something about that. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter one more time, and then I’ll come back here. Don’t open the damn door without my signal.”

  “If I can tell it’s you, why do we need a signal?”

  “’Cause he carries a gun, Cara. There’s a chance that someone could have a gun in my ribs. I wouldn’t lead him here, but if he got on top of me at the door, I wouldn’t give you the signal, and you’d know something was wrong. Then you would do the right thing and not open the door.”

  “Got it. But if I didn’t open the door, he’d probably shoot you.”

  “It would give me a second, and a second is all I need. Go call A.J. And Teagan. And anyone else you think might have come to his attention.”

  The thought crossed my mind that he knows where my parents live.

  He also thinks my mom has a gun and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Which might mean that she’s safe or might mean that he would go in guns at the ready.

  Crap.

  I called A.J. No answer. I left a voicemail asking him to call me right away.

  I called Teagan. She said she’d be careful, but she’d be with Jessie, and she wasn’t worried.

  I called my mom. It’s really hard to tell your mother that you might have placed the whole family in danger through your own stupidity.

  Mom was quick to point out that I’d done nothing wrong, that I was doing a favor for a family friend, and that it wasn’t my fault that someone had tricked that friend.

  It made me feel better, only because nothing bad had happened yet. If someone in the family were hurt, I’d never forgive myself.

  I tried to call Steph, maybe some legal advice would be a good thing, but she was in a meeting. I left a voicemail saying that Jerkface had gained entrance into my apartment, I wasn’t sure how, that my neighbor had run him off, but that I didn’t know where he went, and that I was a little more than a lot worried.

  I freaked myself out thinking about Jerkface showing up at my brother’s wedding. If he ruined it for them, I’d never forgive myself.

  I had a long talk with myself. What’s all this crap about me never forgiving myself? I didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t my fault. Why am I taking responsibility for the actions of a person I have no control over? That’s just stupid.

  I’ll take responsibility for what I do, but I’m not going to take responsibility for what Jerkface does.

  I walked into the kitchen to put on the kettle, right about the time that my pork chops all but burst into flames. I’d completely forgotten about them. All the liquid had cooked out of the electric skillet, and the pork chops were doing a really good imitation of shoe leather.

  Crap.

  I threw my once beautiful pork chops in the garbage, filled the skillet with water and added a couple of drops of dish soap, turned it on simmer, and let it clean itself. This time I remembered to set the timer on the microwave so that I wouldn’t ignore the skillet and burn off all the liquid a second time.

  I texted A.J., still no answer. Since my neighbor had planted an evil little seed in my brain, I sat and daymared — that’s like a daydream but a bad one — about A.J. being locked up in a basement somewhere being tortured simply because he lived with me.

  I talked myself back to sanity, or as close to sanity as I get. There are no basements in Florida; our water table is about six inches down. Of course, that doesn’t mean they weren’t holding A.J. somewhere other than a basement, but really, what is the likelihood of that? And the truth is, basements do exist in Florida, they are just rare and expensive, and what are the chances that a rich person is going to grab A.J.?

  I took a deep breath.

  I made myself a quick cup of tea. When I’d finished that, I set another to brew while I changed my clothes, yet again, since it didn’t seem my clothes were going to dry any time soon.

  I tried A.J. again.

  My neighbor texted and said there was nothing to report.

  I decided if I didn’t hear from A.J. by sunset, I’d call my brother, in his official capacity as a cop, and ask if the police could do something.

  I tore the apartment apart looking for my emergency key.

  No luck.

  I put the apartment back together.

  I called Eddie Wacherson, a locksmith, to come change the locks on my door. I was probably supposed to have the apartment complex do it, but I trust Eddie. I’ve known him since we were kids, and I didn’t want to deal with the front office of the complex. Since the place has been taken over by a new management company, the office staff sucks.

  Eddie offered to come straight over, but I told him tomorrow would be fine.

  I couldn’t call Teagan.

  Steph hadn’t called me back.

  I was officially worried about A.J.

  I couldn’t call Morgan.

  The apartment was clean, so I didn’t even have anything to scrub. It was a low point, that’s for sure.

  My phone was in my hand. I was just about to hit the call button, having already chosen my brother from my contact list, when A.J. banged on the door.

  I ran, undid the stupid maid lock, and let him in.

  “How did you know that stupid lock would be on?”

  “It’s always on when you feel threatened or paranoid, and your voicemail made you sound both.”

  I might have snapped at him a little bit. “If you knew that, why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I just got your message when I was at the mailboxes. I figured it would be just as quick to park the car and come in. What’s going on?”

  “You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been calling and texting you all day long, and you never answered.”

  “I told you I would have my phone off all day.”

  “When did you tell me that?”

  “When I texted you this morning.”

  “I didn’t get it.”