Page 12 of Velvet Betrayal
“I want you to wear clean clothes someone else doesn’t wear,” he said. “Who they belong to, I mean…how much does that matter?”
“I was hoping for a Target run, but sure. Fine.”
Digging up some dignity, I made my way upstairs, blanket trailing behind. Rosie didn’t even stir as I crept past her room.
I had to be quiet—Rosie was still asleep—but it became clear fast that she was crashed as I opened the closet door.
The closet was ridiculous—cashmere everywhere, nothing under $200, half of it black, half of it never worn. I grabbed the softest hoodie I could find and a thermal shirt that dwarfed me, then dug around until I found a pair of leggings, Marshalls tag still attached. I ripped it off with my nails, resisting the urge to bite it off with my teeth.
No underwear. Figures.
I really needed to go on that Target run.
The walls in the master bedroom were a pale, elegant blue. Adriana’s perfume, or maybe just the echo of her, clung to the walls with an odd, sour persistence. I could imagine her here, perched delicately at the vanity, winding her hair into a high, strategic bun, aligning her features for crisis or conquest. I wondered if she even liked Kieran, or if he was just a family obligation.
More and more I had begun to realize that in the world of Callahans, love and utility were never more than one step apart.
I checked for my phone again, which of course, was pointless. Kieran still had it. He wasn’t going to give it to me.
The urge to run crept up strong. I could sprint past the kitchen, grab Rosie, drag her out to the car, and try to snake down the mountain before someone cut the power or jammed the ignition.
But what would happen then?
I’d end up on the evening news, a Missing White Mom story with an ethnic twist, maybe even a helicopter over Route 8. Except it would be worse, right? Not just a Missing White Mom.Missing White Latina District Attorney. The press would have a fucking field day.
Fuck.
So I did the only thing I could do. I went back down to the kitchen.
Kieran was waiting, two mugs of coffee already on the table. The light was watery, we’d slept through the storm—thin, mean rays slicing through the blinds.
He looked tired and smug at the same time, but less like a kidnapper now…so that was good, at least.
Little victories.
“I thought you’d stay with her,” he said.
“Would you have let me?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
His mouth flattened. “You always have a choice.” He slid the mug my way. “If you think I’d keep you here by force, you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”
If I’d had more willpower, I’d have upended the coffee straight into his lap. But my hands were already curling around the mug, drinking in its heat. “Thank you for the clothes,” I said.
He laughed. “They look better on you anyway.”
I caught myself almost smiling. “Can I have my phone now?”
Kieran set his mug down, hard. “Not yet. There’s still a chance they could triangulate, even off a cold ping. Give it another day.” He stared down into the dark of his mug as if it contained a message from the future.
“What’s the plan, Kieran? How long are we going to be here for?” I asked.
“The plan is to lay low. That’s it.”
I sighed deeply. “That can’t be the fucking plan, okay?” I asked. “I have to go home. She has to go home. She has school…a family. I have a job. I have friends. You have—”
He interrupted. “A job that will get you killed if you keep pushing it. Rosie is out of school right now. You’re technically onvacation. But even if you weren’t, Rosie doesn’t need school right now. She needs you alive.”
I set the mug down hard enough that coffee splashed over the rim “I can’t just hide. You know that. Have you met me?”
