Page 92 of Bad Situation

Andrew is in a suit even though I told him to feel free to dress down, even throw on a pair of jeans or sweats. I don’t care what he wears as long as he’s by my side. I guess his special agent days were a lot more proper than Eli’s whose uniform seems to be jeans and maybe a button down.

Andrew shakes his head and looks over to me. “You’re paying me no matter where we are. Though, I don’t like you out in populated public spaces.”

The caffeine makes my foot bounce double-time. “Does this mean we can’t go shopping on Michigan Avenue?”

My bodyguard only gives me a glare and one word. “Funny.”

Interesting. He doesn’t look amused nor does he know me. When it comes to shopping, I’m dead serious.

But I don’t want to be dead so I nod and look out my window—the Midwest is racing below us through the clouds. I check my phones again and besides a slew of emails from work, nothing. Not one thing from Eli, which makes me even more nervous.

As we’re over halfway to our destination, all of a sudden, it’s not just the Sour Patch Kids I’m regretting.

*****

We pull up in front of a house that’s small, with white paint that is faded and chipping. I wouldn’t call this inner-city Chicago, but the area is definitely old in a way it’s not up-and-coming or a hip place to be. The chain link fence framing the postage stamp of a front yard is corroded and on its last leg. I check the address I found and look back up to the house. The middle seven is hanging upside-down, looking as lethargic as the house it represents. But the numbers painted on the curb shine through, clear as day. This is it.

Andrew kills the engine and starts to get out of our rental.

I reach over and grab his forearm. “Wait. I want to go by myself.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not going up to that house without me.”

“Trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen.” My bucket of nerves rattles and threatens to dump itself over my head, Nickelodeon style. “Well, not that kind of bad anyway.”

“Says every stupid-ass girl in every teen horror flick ever made. Your corporation is paying me to keep you safe. I’m protecting the CFO, who just happens to be you, and it’s my job to make sure it remains you, so it really has nothing to do with what you say. You’re lucky we’re here to begin with. It’s much easier to watch over you in the office.”

Wow. I guess Michigan Avenue is really off the table. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Talking isn’t my job. I don’t want to man-handle you. But if you don’t cooperate, I will.”

“Fine.” I’m in heels and don’t feel like being man-handled either. “But the next time we go somewhere and I suggest you wear something more casual, consider it an order. You might as well be a polar bear in the desert. I’d appreciate it if you could at least blend in next time.”

He has the nerve to hitch a shoulder, effectively shrugging me off.

Whatever. I need to get this over with before I throw up from a lack of real food. I move to get out of the car, my high-heeled Prada boots the color of caramel whisking me through the rickety fence and straight to the unknown.

I take a big breath and swallow away my fear, rapping on the door three times.

A TV is blaring through the thin walls and I hear a child’s voice announcing their visitor.

My heart twists and my stomach turns but, before I have a chance to run for the car or hide behind Andrew, the door swings open.

I lose my breath. Legit, it leaves my body and I have nothing left.

A woman stands there, staring at me through the ripped screen of the storm door, but I only have eyes for the little boy standing at her feet.

Dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion so similar to the man I’ve been having copious amounts of sex with, it’s uncanny.

“Who’re you?” Eli’s mini-me asks.

“Yeah,” the woman echoes and I look up to her. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Chapter 26

Hurt

Eli

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