“Better?” he asked.
Of course I wasn’t. Regardless, I pressed my lips together and nodded.
“Good.” He stood up. “Then I have your commitment to stop the infantile tactics?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
“If your page is a flaming ball of devastating terror, then yes. We are absolutely on the same page.”
“I know this isn’t easy, Dakota, but this will all be over quickly. If you do as I say,” he added.
“Really?” Because I might do just about anything to make this nightmare go away.
He grinned, and I wondered if it was because he’d found the secret key to gaining my compliance. “Yes.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Perhaps a few more days. Perhaps a few weeks.”
“I’m not going to your house or anywhere alone with you,” I blurted out.
He growled something under his breath. “It’s not sa—” Again, he stopped himself.
“I don’t feel well,” I pushed. “I need to stay here and rest.”
He tilted his head and scratched the black stubble on his jaw.
My cell rang on my nightstand, and I practically dove for it. It was my mother. “Hi, Mom.”
“I just heard. Why didn’t you call me? Are you all right?” she asked, frantic and panting.
“Fine. I’m completely fine. I promise.”
I heard her let out a slow breath. “Thank God Santiago was there.”
I looked at Santiago, who now stood like a sentinel, arms crossed again. “Yeah,” I replied. “Lucky me. Are you coming home?”
“There was an accident on the freeway; they’re bringing in fifteen people, and we’re down two nurses today. Can you hang tight for another few hours? Santiago can stay with you until I get there, right?”
Ugh. “No, Mom. Don’t come home. I’m fine. Really.” Not really. Please come home, my tone said.
She hesitated for a moment. “All right. But if you change your mind, call me.” Sirens soared in the background. “I gotta go, baby. I love you.”
I put down the phone and sighed. I was on my own, I realized. I needed to take control.
“If you really mean it,” I said, “if you’re not here to hurt me, then prove it. Back off. Let me stay home here where I feel safe.”
He sucked in a deep, slow breath almost as if he didn’t have the will to continue arguing. “I’m warning you, Dakota, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, so don’t leave this house. Don’t do anything stupid. And if you run, I’ll find you. If you run, there will be consequences. For everyone. I’ll pick you up on Monday for school.”
“Why do you have to pick me up?”
“I promised your mother. She doesn’t want you driving just yet.” He turned to leave.
“Thank you, Santiago,” I blurted out, surprised by my own unexpected burst of gratitude. “Thank you for stopping that lunatic who broke in.”
He nodded and stalked from the room, leaving me alone, swimming in my own desperate thoughts.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monday.
Confined to my house and turning down several shopping invitations via text from Mandy, I spent the weekend arriving at three very important, rational conclusions.
One: If Santiago wanted to harm me, he would have done so by now. No, that didn’t mean I trusted him, but I didn’t feel as petrified as I probably should have. In any case, once fear is removed from a situation, it does allow you to see things differently, which leads to my next point.
Two: When something generally doesn’t make sense, it’s because you don’t have all the facts. So that’s what I began doing, looking for facts, answers. But Santiago Asturias was a ghost. I’d found hundreds of people with the same name, but not the Santiago Asturias. Maybe that wasn’t his real name. After all, I’d invented that, too. What I found odd, however, was being unable to find the website from where I’d nabbed his photo. There was no trace of this man anywhere: Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google Images. Nada.
Three: I was on my own. My mother had stayed at the hospital the entire weekend due to yet another shortage of nurses, and my father’s phone was turned off. Voicemail only. And strangely, each time I tried to call someone other than my parents, the signals on both my cell and landline went all screechy. When I dared to look outside, there was Santiago. At one point, maybe out of boredom, I actually saw the guy mowing the front lawn and trimming the trees. Strange, to say the least.
So basically, that left me confined to the house with nothing but the train wreck inside my head. Why was Santiago here? What did he really want? When would he leave? Was he, perhaps, a real, live ghost? Someone I’d brought to life by speaking him into existence?
No, I supposed he wasn’t a ghost who enjoyed gardening, but everything was beyond bizarre. There had to be a logical explanation. Even he had said so.