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Hiro apologizes for the inconvenience, and after several holds, gathering information from me, and confirming that the money is originating from my share account with True Oil Co., he apologizes again. I ask for him to add me as an account holder, to which he tells me, “I can certainly do that, but I will have to confirm this with Mr. Baker. Is that okay?”
I hesitate, but only for a second. By the time they get to Dominic, I’ll have all the information I need and there will be no denying it. It’ll be a good thing the bank calls him—a wakeup call, so to speak. He’ll know I’m aware of his little secret. Well, one of his little secrets. Who knows what else that man is hiding. “Sure, that’s fine.”
“Very well. Is there anything else I can assist you with?” asks Hiro.
“Can I have the name of the person making physical withdrawals from the account?” I request, parking in the lot of the flower shop.
“Let me have a look.” Hiro pauses a moment, and then he’s back. When he says the name, I’m confused as hell. The name sends a burst of cold through me and for a second I’m paralyzed in my seat, staring blankly through the windshield. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Baker?”
“N-no. It’s fine, Hiro. T-thank you for your time.”
I hang up quickly, then google the name Hiro just offered me. When I find their social media, my heart sinks to the pit of my belly.
I’ve had the urge to scream since my mother’s arrival, and this time nothing can stop it. I belt one out in the confines of my car and slam a fist on the steering wheel.
TWENTY-FIVE
DOMINIC
Dominic still can’t bring himself to go home. It’s been two days and not a word from Boaz after sending him the photo of the witch. He sinks back in his chair behind the desk at Executive Mansion, eating a sandwich Jim brought to him. He’s done with his meetings for today, fortunately, so he just sits and waits for time to pass.
It’s nearing six in the evening and he’s certain Jolene will be expecting him home soon. She doesn’t usually work on Mondays either, so he can bet she’ll have a dinner ready, along with a bottle of wine to share. Then he’ll hear her talk about her mother, and she’ll most likely complain about some rude thing Naomi has said to her. She’ll cry and he’ll console her while trying not to roll his eyes the whole time.
He picks up the waxy paper his sandwich was on and balls it up, tossing it in the trash bin before leaning back in his chair to gaze out the window. He spots joggers and dog walkers, mothers pushing strollers, and he finds delight in knowing he governs every single person walking the streets. They all pay the tax dollars that fuel his dreams. He’s in control and damn, is it amazing.
But there is one little thing to fix. His stalker.
He’s not sure who is doing this to him, but the dead bird in the trunk has been tormenting him. He tried forgetting about it yesterday while in Greensboro, but as soon as he rode to Raleigh with security tailing his car, that bird and photo weighed heavily on his mind. He wasn’t sure what spooked him more, the dead animal in his trunk that only meant bad luck, or the fact that someone had broken into his car when he always kept it locked, and without so much as a broken window or tampered lock. Keeping the doors locked was not only common sense, but a superstitious thing his mother had engrained in him. Never leave a door unlocked or you’ll be kidnapped, Dominic. Look at what happened to me? Taken then returned. It can happen to you too.
His mother was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a liar and though she’d gone off the deep end, she always kept his best interest in mind . . . for the most part.
It made him wonder what else this stalker could break into. He checked security cameras around his private home while out of town, and other than Jo coming in and out of the house, no one else lingered around. The police were still on duty morning, afternoon, and night, so he had a feeling his stalker wouldn’t bother him at home for a while.
It was being in public that was the risk. While he was at the marathon, he felt like he was being watched by everyone. Truthfully, he was. Everyone loved seeing the governor, chatting with him, taking pictures with him. But beneath it all, he felt the scrutinizing stares from the people who clearly hated him and all the decisions he’d made for the state. And how could he know if any of them were the stalker? Watching his every move? Waiting to strike?
It’s easy to know where the governor will be these days. People eat that shit up like candy, wanting to know every detail, what the governor had for lunch, if he worked out, if he drinks coffee or tea. Dominic is no president of the whole country, but being governor still has its heat. Which is why he has to get to the bottom of the mysterious notes.
His eyes venture out the window again. The sun is setting, and the sky is now a burnt orange with whispers of blue. At least it’s not purple anymore. He lowers his eyes from the sky to the people again, but his heart lurches in his chest when he notices a person standing on the other side of the street. They wear all black and stand near a speed limit sign. A hood is on their head so he can’t see their face at first, however when they lift it, his heart nearly fails him because the face is familiar.
Dominic rises out of his chair and hurries toward the window, nearly tripping over the rug, but as he does, a bus rolls past, blocking the person from view. When the bus is gone, so is the person. He steps back, gluing his back to the wall, and sucking in deep breaths. His hand goes to his chest, and he feels the thundering beat of his heart against his palm.
He’s losing it, just like his mother. Doctors told him schizophrenia is genetic, that he can develop it too. He’s losing his mind and seeing shit, that has to be the case, because there’s no way in hell he just saw Brynn Wallace standing on the other side of the street looking at him.
She died four years ago.
And it’s all his fault.
TWENTY-SIX
BRYNN
“I beg your pardon?” Dominic’s voice was closer. I couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten across the room so quickly, but he was there, and I gasped. I told him I couldn’t do this—sleep with him. I had to get out of this house before I made a major mistake. “Wait a minute. Where are you going, Brynn?” he asked as I slid my feet back into my shoes.
My throat felt thick and my head heavier as I leaned over. I tried focusing on strapping the shoe, but my hands were being stubborn, and my fingers felt too loose.
“Do you think you can take me back to my car?” I asked. I sat back up and picked up the shoes instead. I could put them back on later.
“Why?” he asked with a dry laugh. “I thought you wanted to be here.”
