I look at him, suspecting I know where he’s going with this, but looking for verification.
Looking regretful, he says, “And how long after that do you think it will take before he sends someone to tie up this loose end?”
“But I’m not…. I wouldn’t…I’m not a loose end.”
“He won’t believe that.”
“But it’s true!”
“It doesn’t matter.” Shoving his hands into his pocket with a neutral expression, he looks like we’re discussing the weather. “This is the only warning you’re going to get, and if you’re smart, you’ll heed it. End it with Vince immediately. He’s not like the older ones; he won’t punish you for leaving him—at this point, at least. Walk away, don’t look back. Don’t go to the bakery after you leave here, don’t get entangled with them at all. Give Mateo Morelli no reason to look twice at you, because if he does…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It won’t end well for you.”
He glances at me one last time, then he makes like he’s walking to a different part of the hall, but slips out the exit doors instead.
What the fuck just happened?
I pull out my phone, hands still shaking. Vince finally gave me his phone number after we had sex, and as I dial the number for the first time, I can’t believe this is why.
“Hey, you,” he greets, almost brightly.
“Vince? I need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“Right now?” he asks, understandably surprised.
“I have to drop Allan off at my house first, but could you meet me right after that?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can it wait?”
I hesitate, glancing at the doors the man left through. “I don’t think it can.”
—
My heart feels pulled in a hundred different directions when I see Vince emerge from his car, slamming the door shut. He spots me immediately and heads my way, a look of concern on his handsome face.
Hands shoved into his pockets, he asks, “What’s going on?”
I told him nothing on the phone, paranoid that somehow someone would hear. Logically, I realize it’s usually the feds who would listen in on a tap, not the bad guys, but I’m too nervous to take even a single chance at this point.
“There was a man at Allan’s school today.”
Vince scowls. “What do you mean, a man?”
“A man. A private investigator. He was looking into me.”
Vince’s face goes white, and my fear morphs into something darker.
I’m quick to assure him, “He wasn’t—your cousin didn’t send him. He wasn’t from your family.”
“How do you know?” he asks, still pale.
“He—I don’t know for sure who sent him, but he said he was a friend, not a foe, and—and he warned me. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think Mateo would warn me away.” I pause, glancing down at my feet, then back to him. “Especially because he figured out what I know. Based on where I live, and….”
“He knows you saw me,” he reiterates, but more to himself than me.
“Not Mateo—this guy. But he pointed out that if he could make that connection in two days… so could Mateo, if it occurred to him to look.”
“Son of a bitch. Who would sic a PI on you? That doesn’t make sense.”
Obviously, I’ve thought about that pretty thoroughly since that moment happened. I duck my head, unsure how this is going to go over. “There’s only one, maybe two things I can think of. The other day after school, your friend Cherie approached me. And she took me for cupcakes.”
Vince’s eyes close, a look of fury passing over his features.
I go on, anyway. “I didn’t see any guys, but I met Francesca. And she asked for my name, and… the timeline would make sense. If he’s been looking into me for two days…that was three days ago.”
“Francesca wouldn’t sell me out to Mateo,” he says, shaking his head.
“I don’t think she did,” I say quickly. “But I don’t know what you’ve told her about me. I know she referred to me as ‘Vince’s Mia’ when Cherie introduced me, and she seemed about as paranoid regarding Mateo as you, so maybe she just wanted to see what would turn up?”
Eyes closed, Vince turns away from me, cursing at the wind. I know it’s a crazy thing to absorb, so I try to give him time. I still feel like I’m going a little crazy with worry, and the paranoia is already wearing on me. I can’t imagine having to live like this, the way Vince seems to.
He doesn’t turn back around though, and after a few minutes, I approach him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He still doesn’t turn, so I lean my face against his back.
“What do we do?” I ask, quietly.
His silence stretches on, seemingly forever, before he finally turns back to face me. When he does, the look on his face makes me sick to my stomach.