Page 71 of Flare Up
“Wren?”
Her blood froze in her veins, and she couldn’t move. It was only one word. It could be anybody, really. But how many times over the years she’d been with him had she heard Ben Mitchell say her name?
Most people would have said “hello?” again after a few seconds of silence, but he just waited. It felt deliberate. Creepy.
Forcing herself to calm down, she did her best to mimic the accents around her without going too far. The names in the appointment book blurred in front of her, but she focused on one. “No, this is Kristen. Can I help you?”
“Is Wren around?”
It was him. She kept breathing. She wouldn’t let him hear her fear. “She quit yesterday. Just took off. Do you need an appointment?”
There was a clicking sound and then dead air. She’d been clutching the phone so hard, she had to force her fingers to unclench to drop it in its cradle.
“Kelli,” she called out as the stylist walked by.
She detoured to the desk. “What’s up?”
“Is there a way to find out what number just called here? I didn’t even look at the caller ID when I answered.”
Kelli hit some buttons on the phone and then shook her head. “It was blocked. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She gave her a very tight smile that felt as fake as it probably looked. “Thanks. I forgot to get the woman’s number when I made her appointment.”
“You’re sure? You don’t look so hot.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d lied, since they knew about her ex and she’d have to tell them eventually, but she lied again. She just needed to process the fact this was actually happening.
Ben had found her. And she didn’t know where he was.
“I’m sure,” she lied again. “It’s just hot in here.”
“Let me get my client under the dryer and then you take a few minutes. I’ll cover for you.”
She nodded, her mind preoccupied with Ben.
It didn’t mean he was in Boston. If all he had to go on was a Wren Everett working at a salon, it was far more likely he was sitting on his couch in Virginia, calling the salon’s number until he got her on the phone. Maybe Grant could have the police in Virginia check on him again and make sure he was still there.
He didn’t know about the market or Mr. and Mrs. Belostotsky. He didn’t know she was living with Patty and Carter. There was no reason to believe he knew about Grant.
But it meant he hadn’t forgotten her while he was in prison. It meant he’d thought about her enough so he’d typed her name into a search engine. And then he’d called the salon until she answered the phone. He hadn’t moved on.
She’d have to tell Grant.
He would tell her not to worry. He’d probably give her the same reasonable explanation she’d given herself. But that’s how Grant was wired. He didn’t worry about problems until they were definitive problems. And he didn’t want her to worry, so he’d downplay it.
It was dangerous to underestimate Ben.
Wren took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d let fear drive her once and it had been a disaster. She needed to stay calm and think about how to handle this.
And she definitely had to tell Grant.
* * *
Even a dusting of snow seemed to send cars careening into each other nowadays, so Grant wasn’t surprised they’d just gone back online after the third MVA of the morning when the tone sounded.
Commercial kitchen fire. Possible cardiac arrest. Then the address was read off and they all froze for a second, trying to process what had sounded like the address for Kincaid’s Pub.
“Dad.”
