Chapter 8: The Hall

Jonas's POV

I was on the East River Drive when the gray phone buzzed once and went still.

It was the signal I had given her. One buzz meant a key in her door, and no words.

I put the car through two red lights and left it crooked at the curb outside the townhouse.

I took the stairs three at a time.

I did not draw my gun, because I did not want the noise.

The second-floor hall was dark.

Her door stood open about a hand's width, and the lamp inside was lit.

I could hear Rowan Draper's voice.

"Come on, Annabel. It's not like you've never done this."

I put my hand on the door, and then I heard hers.

"Sit down, Rowan," she said. "You're drunk."

It was a flat, level, tired voice, and it was the voice of a woman who had decided something.

I took my hand off the door.

I have spent my whole adult life in hallways like this one.

I know when a man should go through a door and when he should wait to be let through.

She had not called my name, and a woman who wants rescuing calls for it.

On the nightstand, I could see the gray phone lying face up with its small red light on.

She wanted him on the record, and I was not going to take that away from her.

I stayed where I was, my back to the wall, and I listened.

"You look good," Rowan said. "Pregnant suits you."

"Tell me how many times," Annabel said.

"How many times what?"

"The nights. Tell me how many nights you came to me."

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