In cursive, at the bottom of the photograph, are a few hastily written lines:
I’m sorry for playing both sides of the field & not working on your divorce fast enough.
Please accept the contents inside as my formal apology.
I press a finger against his swollen cheek, feeling guilty for ever pushing him into Ryder’s orbit.
The more I stare at the picture, the more bruises and pain I see.
What in the actual fuck…
Trembling, I lift the photo and see the other “contents” inside the box: The house key I left behind on Nate’s dresser, other side-view pictures of Ryder and me at Crafts & Notes, and a check that totals all the hours that Mr. Walsh ever billed to me.
The note at the bottom reads, “A refund for insufficient service.”
There’s a bloodstain on the edge of that, too.
I drop the box to the pavement, sending everything crashing to the ground.
I’m not sure how Ryder found Mr. Walsh to “handle” him mere hours after he left me last night, but I’m not sticking around to find out.
I’m getting the hell out of here.
“Hey, Miss?” a deep voice calls out from across the parking lot. “Miss?”
Shit. I stoop down to pick everything up, rushing to tuck everything inside.
“Need some help with that?” A man in khakis and a striped blue and white shirt stands in front of me. “I am your neighbor after all.”
“You won’t be for long.” I swallow. “I mean, no. No need for any help with this.”
“Suit yourself then.” He holds up his hands in a playful surrender. “I, uh, I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything suspicious around here today.”
“Not that I can think of.” I notice blood on my old keychain and suck in a slow breath as I push it deeper into the box. “Everything looks beyond normal to me.”
“Are you sure?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Some random guy showed up to detail my car a few hours ago. Then he said, ‘Don’t even think about talking to your next-door neighbor.’”
I look around, wondering if someone can see that he’s not following that advice in the slightest.
If Ryder’s watching me right now…
“Then again—” the guy says, shrugging, “I guess things could be worse for me.”
“Yes. Things could be a lot worse for you.”
“Okay, true reason I’m here.” He steps closer. “I may be overstepping, but I’ve been trying to get your attention since I saw you move in.”
“Oh?” I’m unsure of what else to say.
“You’re honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’d love to have you over for coffee sometime.”
“Sure,” I say. “That would be great.”
“I’ll look out for you, then.” He winks at me. “Come over whenever you want. Any night this week would be perfect.”
“Will do.” I offer a fake smile—knowing I’ll never show up on his doorstep—and wait for him to walk away.
Getting inside my car, I set the “gift” on the freshly vacuumed floor and a wave of panic suddenly washes over me.
The article copies from the library… Did Ryder take those?
I frantically slide my hand under the passenger seat, rummaging around for the bag.
My fingers grasp the shoulder strap and I pull out the bag to unzip it.
All the copies are still there, untouched.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I crank the engine.
There’s nowhere I have to be, nowhere I can think to go, but I press my foot against the pedal and follow the road.
When I hit the main street, Ryder’s name crosses my dashboard via phone call.
I answer before it can make it through a complete ring, but I don’t utter a word.
“Hello, Autumn,” he says, his voice deep. “Are you there?”
“Yes, Ryder.”
“How are you this morning?”
“Slightly terrified and beyond confused.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sounds genuinely concerned. “Is there something else that I need to come over and assist you with?”
“I think you’ve done more than enough.” I shake my head. “Why did you do that to Mr. Walsh?”
“Because you said that you wanted me to handle it.”
“I said I wanted your help.”
“And I gave it to you.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Would you like me to take it back?”
“I don’t want you to hurt anyone else on my behalf.”
“I didn’t lay a single finger on your lawyer, Autumn,” he says. “I’m not a violent man.”
“But someone who works for you is, right? Is that what you’re implying?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Who are you, really?” I ask. “Member of the mob? Mafia boss?”
“Vampire.” He lets out a low laugh. “I like that theory of yours the best.”
“Now that I consider it, I’ve never seen you in the daytime.”
“You have an appointment with your new lawyer at five o’clock.” He ignores my comment. “The ink on your divorce papers should dry right after.”
“I have a job interview with another company later this afternoon.” I’m determined to read every article in my arsenal long before then. “I’ve decided to keep my options open.”