Page 6 of Crushing Clover

Not a motel employee, then.

“I didn’t know anyone was looking for me.”

He exhaled through his nose, as though I were vaguely funny. “Annika wants to speak with you.”

“Annika?” Shit. This was so much worse than getting kicked out of the motel. Why the hell was Noah’s old supplier looking for me? The woman was terrifying.

“Get in the truck. I’ll take you to her.”

I slid out of bed on the far side, all too aware I was trapped. I could lock myself in the bathroom, but there hadn’t been a window in there.

Nerves had me twisting my fingers together in a fair approximation of what my stomach was doing. “But Noah isn’t selling anymore—and what does it have to do with me? We’re not even together.”

“It’s in your best interest to cooperate.” He moved his jacket aside to show he was armed. I stared at the gun in its holster.

Was I still having a fucked-up dream, or was this really happening?

“You getting dressed, or are you going in your nightgown?”

I glanced down at my oversized shirt with the picture of a cartoon bunny wearing a nightcap. Probably not my best look.

He let me use the windowless bathroom to both pee and change in private, which was more consideration than I was expecting.

“What’s this about?” I asked as I got into the silver-grey pickup.

“Don’t know. None of my business.” He threw my bag in the back and got behind the wheel.

What a shitty fucking month. It could end anytime now.

Clouds stuffed the sky like a bulky, grey duvet. It was still light out, but most of the rush-hour traffic had dissipated. My stomach growled, but that was the least of my problems.

The building he brought me to had a sign out front advertising space for lease and the price per square foot. Aside from a coffee shop that was already closed for the day, the building didn’t seem to have any other tenants. He rolled to a stop and put the truck in park directly in front of a store with windows tinted so dark there was no seeing inside.

He grabbed my backpack, and I trailed inside after him, my empty stomach trying to eat itself with anxiety.

“We’re here,” he announced to the empty store.

The space had once been a clothing boutique but it had been completely stripped, other than the mirrored changerooms on the right wall. Our movements were reflected back to me, like an amusement park’s not-so-funhouse.

Annika, a middle-aged French woman I’d unfortunately met before, appeared from the back storage area. Today, she worea smart black skirt-suit and kitten heels, and her dark hair was swept up in a tidy bun. She regarded me with her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised.

“Clover. Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’d hoped we wouldn’t meet again.”

“No offense, but I’d hoped that, too.”

The situation had been scary, but she’d let me negotiate payments, and I’d made them faithfully. I wouldn’t consider her a friend, but she had been reasonable. I’d gotten the impression she’d sort of liked me—probably because I hadn’t made trouble.

She sighed. “Miss Clark, Noah owes us a metric shit-ton of money. More than the last debt you paid.”

Fear trickled through me, and I started to sweat, despite the air conditioning.

“But he stopped dealing,” I blurted.

“He came to see us when you left town for work. Now, our product is gone, and the money has magically vanished. He says someone stole it—probably you.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“No. The idiot probably used most of it himself, and he was also seen handing it out at a club like it was Halloween.” She sighed. “He probably figured you’d bail him out again.”

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