Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

“Wear this, Ms. Green. You need it to use the elevator to go down. Just swipe it over the magnetic sensor beside each locked door to open it. Please be back in two hours, and keep your phone on in case we need to leave earlier.”

“Sure.” Oh God, he looks all serious and earnest, and I hate myself for lying to him.

I really hope he won’t get in trouble because of my little stunt. I also hope they will see the note I left for Hawk in my seat on the chopper when they get back without me.

“Take care, Ms. Green. Remember not to tell anyone where you are staying.”

At least I can promise this much.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” I say and turn around quickly, to hide my burning face. “See you in two hours.”

And I hurry away as fast as I dare, hoping it doesn’t look like I’m running, which is what I want to do.

***

I try calling Dorothy again, and again it goes to voicemail.

What the hell, huh?

I’ve managed to traverse vertically the Jordans’ tower of glass and steel, and now I’m standing tucked inside the entrance of a clothes store, trying Dorothy again.

“Come on, come on.” I can’t go to my apartment, in case it’s being watched. I’ll have to meet her someplace else, at a coffee shop or something.

My cell vibrates with a text message, and I disconnect to read it.

It’s from Dorothy. It reads, “Can’t talk right now. Really need to see you. Meet me at Starbucks on York road? Lots to tell you.”

“I doubt it’s more than I need to tell you,” I huff, though I’m kind of worried. Dorothy never gets into trouble. She’s the careful, quiet one of the two of us.

I send back a “sure” and almost immediately my phone starts trilling with a call. Frowning, I lift it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Layla? Babe, where the hell are you?” God, it’s Hawk. My stomach twists. “What the hell are you doing? Come back, I—”

I press disconnect, and the back of my throat burns with tears. “Screw you,” I whisper and step out onto the street to hail a cab. “Screw all of you rich boys.”

Biting into my trembling lower lip, I climb into the first cab that stops and give the cabbie directions. Then I lean back in my seat, exhausted.

My phone keeps ringing, so I mute the sound. Glancing at it, I discover ten text messages waiting, from the same number Hawk called me.

I turn my phone off and shove it into my purse, because right now I could scream and throw my phone out of the window. I’m shaking, and my eyes burn.

Hearing his voice has broken me a little bit more, and I’m in so many pieces I don’t know how I can go on.

***

The cabbie leaves me right outside the Starbucks in the half-empty parking lot. I pay him through the window, and he drives away.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I glance around, feeling an itch between my shoulder blades, as if someone’s watching me.

Weird.

I walk toward the entrance of the shop, when someone steps out from a parked black car and grabs my arm.

“Please come with me, Layla,” he says, and the use of my name throws me for a moment, the shock locking my muscles.

“Who are you? Are you with Dorothy?” He nods, but he’s dragging me to the black car, and I dig my heels in, my brain ticking again. “Stop. Let me go. Help!”