Page 12 of Finding Amanda

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"What are you going to do now?"

Good question. "I would go home, but my agent and I have a meeting tomorrow."

Alan tented his fingers. They were trembling slightly. "Aren't you worried about that guy?"

She looked toward the escalator. Worried wasn't the right word. She didn't think a word existed to define how she felt.

Her phone rang, startling her. She reached into the pocket of her blazer and read the caller ID. It was Mark.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," she said. "You should go. I'll be?—"

"Answer your call. I'm not leaving you alone."

She nodded her thanks and answered. "Hello?"

"It's me," Mark said.

Mark's voice, in just those two words, somehow soothed her. Hadn't Mark always taken care of her, protected her? If he were here, she'd fall into his arms and . . .

No. She couldn't let herself think like that. Not anymore.

Alan must've sensed she needed privacy. He stood and walked toward the escalators.

Amanda watched his retreating back. "How are the girls?"

"They're fine. They're roller skating in the basement. How's it going there?"

"Fine. Just . . ." Her stomach knotted. "Just fine."

A short pause. "You don't sound fine. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She could picture the frustrated look on his face. She'd seen it a lot lately. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. Madi's inhaler is almost empty. I have an extra at my apartment, but I wondered?—"

"In the cabinet, behind the basket with the medicines, there should be another one in a red-and-white box."

She waited. She could hear him searching her kitchen. He'd moved out a month earlier, and it still felt weird to think of it asherkitchen. She'd wavered over inviting him to stay at the house with the girls while she was gone, but it made more sense than having them stay at his apartment. He had beds for them in the second bedroom of his tiny place, but nothing for them to do. She'd tried to send over some toys and games. She'd even tried to give him an extra TV for the girls. He'd refused it all. He didn't need anything from her. Probably never had.

"Found it," he said, slamming the cabinet. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. It's just . . ." She sighed. He was still her husband, and if nothing else, he would want to protect her. And after nine years of marriage, she trusted his judgment. Plus, he was tenacious enough to badger her until she fessed up.

"Just what?"

She braced herself. "I saw Gabriel Sheppard."

"What?"

His shout didn't surprise her, but she winced anyway.

"Are you okay?"

That sudden shift—from anger to concern—niggled at a raw place in her heart. She pushed the feeling away. "I'm fine."

"Did he see you?"

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