I take two more drink orders and then turn them in, at the same time picking up Pollack’s and his guest’s. I walk them slowly back to the table. The temptation to “accidently” pour the gin and tonic down the front of his silk designer neckwear is pretty great.
I breathe in again. “Here you are. Two Sapphire and tonics.” I place a drink in front of each of them. “Would you care to order appetizers?”
“What are the specials tonight?” Glen asks.
An idea spears into my head. “We have a wonderful swordfish from the South Pacific.”
Pollack goes rigid.
Yup. Just as I thought. He was there. This derelict hunted and raped my Katelyn.
I scan Glen’s face. He seems unaffected. Good for him. I only have one derelict to deal with this evening.
“How is the swordfish cooked?” Glen asks.
“It’s grilled, with a guava and mango salsa on the side. Served with fresh broccoli and asparagus spears.”
“That sounds amazing,” Glen says, closing his menu. “Put me down for that.”
“So no appetizers, then?” I say.
“Not for me,” Glen replies.
“And you”—I clear my throat of the nausea—“sir?”
Pollack stares at his menu, his hand trembling slightly. Good. I’ve got him on edge. He knows I know. What an idiot. He should have known better than to approach Katelyn. He’s damned lucky he’s not rotting in prison for what he did. How did he get off?
“Sir?” I say again, this time very aware of my clenched jaw.
He closes his menu. “Just a salad with ranch dressing, please. I’ve lost my appetite.”
I hold back a scoff. “I’ll get these orders in right away. Enjoy your cocktails.”
I take the order to the kitchen and then head straight to the men’s room.
I need a fucking breather.
31
Katelyn
I should go back to my place. Though Luke’s small studio feels like home more than my own apartment does. I’ve been at my place for less than a week, so of course it doesn’t feel like home yet. That makes perfect sense. What doesn’t make sense is that Luke’s place feels very much like home.
I’ve been lying here for a few hours, falling in and out of an alpha dream state. Not asleep, but in that lovely place between the awake and asleep world. A place I often escaped to on the island, when I had free time. Free time didn’t come often, but when it did, I made it count.
Perhaps that’s why I was able to leave the center before a lot of the other women. I escaped when I could, even if it was only in my head.
That was part of how I found my strength.
I rise from Luke’s bed and pad to the bathroom. I inhale the scent of the piney soap from his shower before he left for work. I use the toilet quickly and then look around for the hand soap. The tiny bathroom is so small and there’s no counter space, so I open the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of hand soap right next to some contact lens solution and a case. Hmm. He wears contacts. Not unusual.
I grab the hand soap, when my gaze falls on something that is unusual.
I quickly wash my hands and replace the hand soap and then grab the bottle of what appears to be hair color. Not hair color off the drugstore shelf, either. This is that expensive stuff you order online. The color is called raven 10—darkest brown black.
Except this online place mixes color for each individual, which means Luke had this mixed for him.
Maybe he’s simply going gray, and he wants to look younger.
Except most men look amazing with a little gray. Women, on the other hand, just look old. One of life’s many unfairnesses.
Don’t dwell on it, Katelyn. It’s not your business, anyway.
True story. But he told me to stay. Surely he’d know I’d eventually have to use the bathroom and wash my hands, so it’s not like he thought I wouldn’t see the hair color.
I’m reading way too much into this. Way, way too much. He invited me to stay here, so stay I will. Curiosity wells in me. This place is tiny. I could easily riffle through everything before Luke gets home at eleven.
That’s not me, though. I’ll curb the curiosity. I don’t want to lose Luke’s trust. I’ll simply ask him about the hair color when he comes home. I found it innocently enough. The explanation is most likely equally innocent. He likes the color. Or he’s covering gray.
Except I’m not convincing myself of anything.
I’ve grown cynical because of my time in captivity. I’ve learned to never accept things at face value.
I need to get over that.
So I won’t ask about the hair color. And I’ll stop asking about the tattoo. Neither is my business.
I leave the bathroom and head toward the kitchenette where Luke left the takeout menus. First things first. I’ll check the fridge. I open it, and inside is a loaf of wheat bread and some deli meats. Perfect. A turkey sandwich will work just fine. No seafood in the fridge. Good.