“I can’t believe you hooked up with a guy named Jerry.”

  “I never hooked up with him!”

  I hold back a grin. She’s so easy to get riled up. I kill the car and hop out, going around to help with her door. She stands in front of me, narrowing her eyes. “You hired a guy named Jerry.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  We walk slowly toward the food truck. At this time of night on a weekday, it’s pretty slow. We wait behind one person before placing our orders, then step to the side under a young tree with a black grate around the roots.

  My hand’s in my pocket, and I watch the woman in the window preparing our food. Raquel puts her hand on the small tree and kicks her brown heel along the side of the grate.

  “Do you know any of the people here?” She tilts her head and looks up at me.

  “No.”

  “I just thought since you were such good friends with the family.” She’s teasing, but my frown is firmly in place.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “You could’ve brought me some of your chicken.”

  “I gave it to Marley.”

  “Oh.” She lifts her chin and looks away, toward the bridge. “He’s really good when it comes to social media marketing. After that… incident, I didn’t know what to think of him.”

  “He does a good job.” When he’s sober. I don’t want to think about that right now.

  The woman in the truck waves to me, and I step forward, taking our bags and leading Raquel to a nearby picnic table under a lamp. I open them and hand over her chicken breast sandwich with fries and the same for me.

  Both pieces are red from the spices, and we dig in pretty quickly. It’s a quarter to ten, and I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m hungrier than I realized. I’ve taken three bites and my lips are on fire. Across the table, Raquel has torn a few strips from the breast of her sandwich and is neatly putting them in her mouth and wiping her fingers.

  I stop and sit back, watching her.

  Her eyes meet mine. “What?”

  “Are you eating it or dissecting it?”

  “I’m not devouring it like it’s my first meal in a week if that’s what you mean.” Her feisty tone is back. I missed it. “Oh, look. You can smile,” she adds, and I realize my face has relaxed into a grin.

  “It’s the chicken.”

  “Oh, sure.” She tears off another small strip and carefully puts it in her mouth then wipes her fingers on the napkin. “And you expect me to believe you can make it this good?”

  “Maybe not this good.” I take another bite, wiping my face with the napkin, and she huffs a laugh.

  Our eyes meet, and hers are so beautiful when they sparkle—when she’s happy. The streetlight shining down on us makes her hair gleam gold. It shows the freckles on her cheeks. Everything about her is still so appealing to me.

  I remember touching her nose with mine, touching her lips, burying my face in her soft hair. These thoughts must be tamped down. She doesn’t want that, and I’m her boss.

  I put the sandwich down on the paper plate in front of me, wiping my hands. “Why did you study languages?”

  She shrugs. “They came easy to me. I learned French then Spanish then Italian. It was like a game. They just… clicked in my brain.”

  “You’re very smart.”

  “I like to read.” She blinks up at me again and smiles.

  My hand automatically goes to my pocket for a cigarette, but I stop, shifting in my seat instead. She doesn’t seem to notice.

  “And you didn’t want to go to New York or Chicago?”

  “I might’ve gone to Chicago.” She leans back, taking a sip of iced sweet tea. “Not New York.”

  “I thought all the career girls wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw.”

  She rips off another strip of chicken and shakes her head. “I don’t want to cut my couch in half to get it in my apartment.”

  “Is it a nice couch?”

  “Not particularly. But it’s mine.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She wipes her fingers and seems to be done. “After my parents passed, I wanted to be close enough to drive to Savannah.”

  “You could’ve gone to Atlanta.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Have you been to Atlanta lately? It’s a mess. The traffic is a nightmare, the people are rude…”

  The food truck closes its window with a loud, metallic roar, causing us both to turn and look. I check my watch. “It’s ten.”

  “Oh.” Her hand is on her chest. “I guess it’s time to head back. My car’s still at the office.”

  She could come back to my place…

  We stand and toss our trash before walking to the curb. In the car, she’s quiet again. The stereo system plays country music softly, and the streetlights glide in white stripes across her legs and hands. I want to reach over and touch her, but I don’t.

  My jaw tightens, and I’m frustrated I got so close to her. I’m frustrated she pulled away. I should have been the one to see it was a mistake. Too many people telling me what I should be doing, how I shouldn’t be alone. I need to keep my own counsel on these things, especially in view of the past.

  “Didn’t Taron leave?” Her voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I blink up ahead, seeing his dark gray Tahoe.

  “Yes.” I parallel park behind it in front of our building then get out and walk around, helping her out and walking with her into the lobby.

  Taron is there, pacing, his eyes panicked. “I tried calling you.”

  Lifting my phone I see four missed calls. “I left it in the car while we ate. I didn’t check it—”

  “We need to go.” He glances at Raquel briefly then pulls me closer. “It’s Marley. I got a call…”

  My stomach plunges, and I’m moving with him before he even finishes speaking.

  “Is everything okay?” Raquel calls from where I left her standing by the elevator.

  I pause, remembering how I’d intended to walk her to her car. “Can you get home okay?”

  She gives me a small smile. “I’ve done it every day since I started.”

  Nodding, I hold up a hand. “See you tomorrow.” Then I follow Taron out the door.

  We’re in his truck, and he does a wide U-turn across four empty lanes of traffic. I’m holding onto the dash, gripping it hard. “What happened?”

  “Police called.” His voice cracks, and I feel my insides slipping.

  “And?”

  He clears his throat, focusing on the road ahead. “They got a call through general dispatch. A male reported an apparent drug overdose at Marley’s address. He gave them my number to call.”

  “General dispatch?”

  “It’s like he wanted it to take as long as possible for help to arrive.”

  “No.” It’s a sharp groan from the pit of my stomach. My stomach that is turning in on itself, pulling my insides with it. “Is he—”

  “They told me to come now.” His face is tight. His voice is tight.

  The air is tight, and we stop talking. The wheels hum on the pavement on this short drive that feels like an eternity. He parks illegally in front of the apartment building I’ve left Marley at so many times. Two cruisers are parked along with us, and we both jump out, slamming the doors and jogging into the lobby. Taron punches the elevator button repeatedly until it finally opens.

  My heart is beating painfully hard against my sternum. We’re rising higher, but it feels too slow. Everything feels too slow. Finally we’re at the top floor, and we dash toward the open door where a detective stops us in the entrance.

  “Hold it. You can’t come in here.” He’s a shorter man than me, and his hands are in the center of both our chests. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue tie and a gun and badges are on his belt.

  My insides are coming apart. All I can see is that fucking plastic baggie I should have taken out of here. I should’ve flushed it. What was it? Heroin? Fentanyl?

  “Detective…?” Taron asks.

  “Sanchez.”

  “Detective Sanchez, this is our friend… He’s more than a friend. He’s a brother. We were in the military together.”

  Sanchez nods. “Are you Taron or Patton?”

  “Taron Rhodes.”

  “Mr. Rhodes, I’m sorry. Your friend consumed a fatal dose of narcotics…”

  A roaring noise fills my ears, and I walk away from the words of Detective Sanchez telling us our friend is gone. My insides are tearing apart. Until…

  “He’s alive?” Taron’s voice breaks through.

  EMS streams off the elevator guiding a gurney. They push past us into the apartment, where the cops are already wrapping yellow tape over the doors. I guess it’s a crime scene now.

  “We’re taking him to the ER. They’ll check him for any physical effects, brain damage, stroke.”

  They wheel him out, holding us back. A clear plastic mask is on his face, and his skin is gray. He looks dead already. I reach out to touch him, but they don’t even stop.

  How could he do this? Again? A flash of rage hits me deep in my stomach, turning into burning pain in my chest. I should have done something, a fucking intervention. Anything.

  “Can we see him?” Taron asks.

  “I’m going to recommend a 72-hour hold. Once he’s stabilized, he’ll meet with a psychiatrist, who can determine whether an involuntary committal is in order.”

  Taron looks at me, his face stricken.

  “Do we have a say in any of this?” My voice sounds rough.

  “Not really.” Sanchez looks like he wants me to try and give him a hard time.

  He looks like he’s bored and disgusted with this whole scene. He thinks we’re a band of playboys whose partying has gotten out of hand.

  He couldn’t be more wrong if he tried.

  I reach for Taron’s shoulder. “Don’t let this get in the media.”

  He nods, and I head for the door.

  I need to get out of here so I can breathe.

  I’ve never lost a man. I’ve never left any of us behind.

  Everything has changed, and we’re facing a monster I can’t control. This isn’t an enemy I can track down in the jungle and blast to kingdom come. Riding the elevator down, my hands are in my hair, my fingers curling into fists.

  The fighting never stops for us.

  We never escape what happened in that hut.

  But I have to keep going. I can’t stop until there’s nothing left to win.

  17

  Raquel

  Only Sandra and Dean are in the office when I arrive. Taron’s office is dark, and it looks like Patton isn’t here either.

  “What happened?” My voice is quiet as I stop at Sandra’s desk, not that anyone is around to hear me.

  Sandra shrugs. “Marley falls off the wagon. They go running.”

  “Oh.” I nod. Somehow I think it’s more than that.

  “If you ask me,” she leans closer, “he could use a little tough love.”

  “Maybe.” I never know how to respond to that. Tough love has never been a part of my emotional makeup.

  Marley is a troubled guy, but he seems nice. I know he’s smart and a hard worker. If I were his lifelong friend, I’m pretty sure I’d be there if he needed help, too.

  I went running after Renée. I still check on her almost every day.

  Still, the way they left last night felt too abrupt. Patton and I had been inching our way back from Sunday, then it all went off the rails when Taron appeared. They were clearly alarmed, and I’m sure it was more than just falling off the wagon.

  In my office, I pace around, trying to decide what to do. Yesterday was a huge success landing the two Abu Dhabi clients. When he left, Taron said he’d contact Remi first thing today.

  Chewing my lip, I sit in front of my laptop and review the files, reading all of Taron’s notes and hoping I’m not overstepping my bounds. Patton’s the boss, but they’re always saying we’re all partners here. Take the initiative…

  With a deep breath and a little prayer, I type up a letter to Hastings and Key informing them we’ve landed the Abu Dhabi accounts and Dubai is in the works this week. I play it off that Taron is so busy working our UAE angle, he asked me to let them know. I close by saying we hope to hear from them soon and look forward to doing business with them.

  It’s perhaps a little too pat and way more ingratiating than Patton would be, but I’m the new kid. I have a feeling it’ll be exactly what they need to hear. I hit send and CC Patton and Taron.

  That done, I click over and sort through the database of commercial listings Taron showed me. I spend a few hours saving properties that look like what we want to offer—high end, luxury, security guards, and imposing entrances. Our clients are powerful companies, and they like their offices to exude a feeling of power.

  I spend another hour reading the trades, looking at Dubai companies expanding or doing business in the U.S. I mark a few that might be in need of temporary office space. It’s after lunch when I finally hit the wall.

  I’m out of my seat, walking around the office. I was supposed to be working with Taron all week on this, but with him not here and no information on how to proceed, I’m stuck. I’ve worked both sides of the coin, clients and properties. I don’t know what else to do.

  “I’m going out for a late lunch.” I stop at Sandra’s desk and look over my shoulder to be sure Patton’s lights are still off. “Call me if the guys come in.”

  “Oh, Patton said they might not be in today. He said things are a bit dicey.”

  “That’s it?”

  “They don’t tell me much about these things.”

  Hesitating, I look back the way I came. “Did they give you any messages for me?”

  “Sorry, hon.”

  “Well… just let me know.”

  It’s a gorgeous fall day, blue skies, no clouds, light breeze. Since it’s early afternoon, the lunch crowd is gone, and I decide to stroll down 12th Avenue toward Sevier Park. I’m not really shopping for anything, but it’s fun to look in the windows of the boutique stores as my mind wanders.

  Last night when I got home, I kept thinking about dinner, our conversation, Jerry. Is it possible Patton sent Jerry to LA because of me? Why would he do that?

  He asked me about the incident on the boat, but I didn’t tell him anything. Yesterday morning, Jerry was in my office wanting to know what I did for the holiday weekend, which of course, I didn’t say. Only Renée knows what happened Sunday night—besides Patton and me.

  It’s possible Patton noticed how close he kept getting to my backside. I almost couldn’t get any work done for keeping my rear end covered. I can’t say I’m not glad Jerry’s gone.

  Inhaling the cool air, I realize I’ve walked all the way to the “I Believe in Nashville” mural. Patton wanted to know why I stayed in Nashville. I suppose I could have gone to Chicago. I like Chicago better than New York or LA or Atlanta… But being close to Renée was so important to me, and my advisers said this firm would be a great place to get started.

  As long as I don’t fall in love with my boss.

  Seriously, Rocky?

  Okay, I’m not in love with him, but I can’t deny Sunday was pretty monumental. I’ve never felt that way… I want to feel that way. He treated me like I want to be treated, and I really wish I could follow up on what happened, what could still happen. I feel it every time we’re together.

  Exhaling a deep sigh, I stop at a food truck and get a small order of fried okra. My mamma used to make fried okra every Sunday. It was her favorite dish, but fried was the only way I’d eat it. Okra is a hairy, slimy green vegetable shaped like a small penis. But you chop it into cubes and deep-fry it, and you’ve got a delicious snack.

  Taking out my phone, I check for any word from Sandra. I don’t see any. I stroll through the park, under the huge oak trees, past the concrete walls covered in fuzzy green lichens. Fresh, earthy dampness is in the air. It’s not like the beach, but it’s still comforting in the middle of this city.

  The sun is starting to set when I return to the office. I need to get my things and head home. Worry has my stomach so tight, I didn’t even finish my snack. I really do care about Patton more than I should. But how do I make these feelings stop?

  That’s something they don’t teach you in business school.

  Sandra and Dean are gone when I arrive back at the office. I punch in the security code and go inside, thinking I’ll gather my things and head back out. Taron’s office is still dark, but I see the light shining from under Patton’s door.

  I hesitate outside it, leaning so close my cheek almost touches the wood to see if he’s in there.

  I don’t hear anything.

  Glancing toward my office, I see my light is off, and it appears I’ve gone for the day as well. I rub my hand over my tight stomach wondering if I should knock or go away. Something in me pushes me forward. Stretching out my hand, I tap softly.

  The door opens on its own—I didn’t even notice it wasn’t closed all the way. Only his desk lamp is on, and across the room I see him. His back is to me, and his hands are spread, palms flat against the back table. His head is hanging forward.

  My heart aches at the sight of him. I can’t see his face. I can’t hear anything, but it’s a totally defeated stance. I’ve never seen Patton Fletcher this way, like he’s at the mercy of some invisible force.

  He doesn’t move, and I know he doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t want to startle him, but I can’t stay away. My feet move of their own accord, and I close the space between us. When I’m close enough, I reach out my hand and gently place it on his back.

  His long, lean body stiffens, and he lifts his head. “What is it?”

  “It’s just me.” My voice is quiet. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He clears the thickness from his voice, but when our eyes meet, I see he’s far from fine. His dark eyes look so tired.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  His smile is grim, and he glances down at the papers in his hands. It looks like a letter, and I see a business envelope on the table in front of him with his name handwritten on it. He folds them and puts them in the envelope.