I eyed him curiously. There was no mailing label with my name on it or his address. No return label, either.
“How do I know this is safe to open?” I asked.
“Trust me.”
“Right.” I tugged on the sealed flap and dumped the contents onto the table we sat at in the visitors’ lounge. A slim Samsung flip phone lay before me. Looked to be of the disposable variety. Pre-paid minutes, no contract, not easily traceable.
My breath suddenly came in heavier pulls. I reached for the phone and flicked it open with my thumb. It was fully charged and had a decent signal, despite our being in a canyon. I pressed the button for text messages, but there were none. I selected the contacts’ list, but it, too, was empty.
My gaze returned to Mr. Conaway. “I don’t understand.”
He was already on his feet, prepared to leave. “You will.”
I watched him go, wondering if he thrived on all this cloak-and-dagger stuff when it came to Dane.
All it really did for me was wear on my nerves. I had a phone now, but I still couldn’t call Dane. I had to wait for him to call me. And that was pure torture.
I didn’t bother programming the Samsung or adding my dad’s or Kyle’s number. I suspected it was meant strictly for one line of communication—from Dane to me.
Anxiety rippled down my spine, and I found myself staring at the damn thing more often than not, willing it to ring. I even checked the volume numerous times, to make sure it was cranked up. And I never went anywhere without the cell, even leaving it close at hand on the vanity when I showered.
The phone became a bit of a nemesis, but it convinced me further that I was right about Dane being alive.
Kyle asked where it had come from, and I told him the truth. He rolled his eyes and went back to pruning the shrubs.
I met with my OB-GYN and my counselor, as usual. The latter was a bit trickier to deal with because I had to contain my excitement when I was normally very reserved.
“You’re showing excellent signs of improvement, Ari,” she commented with a smile.
I’d barely spoken to her when we’d first started the sessions, since I could hardly function, let alone carry on a conversation. She’d been extremely patient, commiserating yet encouraging me to work through the stages of grief with her. Not the grief of losing a husband and the father of my baby—she had no idea about that. As far as she was concerned, I was upset over losing my boss. Someone I’d worked so closely with, and of course there was the trauma of what I’d been through. Not to mention the prospect of being a single mother.
I felt a little deceptive now that I fabricated more mourning, but it was necessary, as was the case with Mikaela. I couldn’t do anything that would jeopardize Dane’s covert work.
Kyle and I attended the service for Dane in Scottsdale. A harrowing experience, despite clutching the cell in my hand and believing it would ring at the right time. Mikaela looked fabulous, even as she got choked up while delivering the eulogy. It tugged at my heartstrings, too, because I had to outwardly share the belief of the masses that Dane was no longer with us.
I was emotionally drained by the time we returned to the retreat. Kyle took pity on me and didn’t harp over the fact that Dane still had not called. I mentally harped enough in that vein.
We had dinner and watched TV. That very evening, another indictment was announced. I crossed the name off the list I hid under my mattress. As I wandered aimlessly about my room, a sense of foreboding and a dangerous air encroached on my optimism.
The third indictment would no doubt have the remaining two members on-edge. Although they would have heard Dane hadn’t survived the blast, surely they’d find it suspicious that Hilliard, Avril, and now Anthony Casterelli had been targeted by the FBI and the IRS.
Did they wonder now if Dane really was dead?
Technically, in my mind, he’d only been missing, since his body hadn’t yet been found. But I’d learned that all news reports—from the very beginning—claimed he was dead. As my mother had picked up on,
which had motivated her to come to the hospital to jump on the lawsuit bandwagon. Not just presumed dead. Did the FBI have something to do with that?
If the others started to ponder this and pick it all apart, the way I had … That would not bode well for Dane.
Or me.
I sat on the bed, an ominous sensation moving through me, like snakes slithering under my skin. I shivered.
What if they came looking for me?
But no—I shook off the thought. How the hell would they find me?
I was pretty much off the grid at this point. I’d only been back to the house once since Kyle had told me about the rehab retreat. And though the reminder of metal flashing in the sunlight, through the trees, crept into my brain, no vehicle had pulled out when we’d left the house before visiting Mr. Conaway.