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“I have to do this,” Dominic says.
“Okay.” Jolene rubs circles on his upper back, all for show of course. It’s good. People need to believe they’re in love. It makes you look better as a candidate when you have a strong marriage.
“Let’s go, boss,” Jim says, gesturing to the small stage ahead. The stage contains a stand with a microphone and a podium, though Dominic hardly ever uses the podium. The podium restrains him. He likes moving across the stage, connecting with the people. He can’t do that if he’s stuck in one place, plus the people like that about him, how he shifts from left to right, taking in all his supporters, looking deeply into their eyes.
He turns his eyes to Jolene as a woman named Heather, dressed in a sky-blue blazer and matching pants, stands on stage to introduce him. He gives his wife a kiss as all eyes turn to him. Jolene smiles, revealing dimples, and for a split second he thinks it’s a genuine smile, one fueled with love and desire. As he walks up the steps to reach the stage, he’s surrounded by cheers and is facing supporters in blue Baker 2023 T-shirts. On the front of their shirts are the words Uplifting North Carolina. On the back is Baker 2023. All proceeds from shirt sales fund their campaign. As he stands a moment, collecting the microphone in his grasp and allowing his supporters to settle, someone in the crowd catches his eye.
A woman stands in the front row, her hair streaked with silvery gray—but not the sort of gray you get from aging or stress. Her hair has been dyed that color, the rest black, thick, and falling into crinkly waves. An emerald scarf is wrapped around the edges of her hair and her clothes aren’t like the others of the crowd. Everyone is casual, but she appears more witchy bohemian, in a burgundy camisole beneath a deep V-neck T-shirt, khaki palazzo pants, and weathered sandals. A nose piercing is in her left nostril, copper bangles on both wrists, and a layer of necklaces around her neck, one of them made of little skulls. Her outfit stands out boldly, but her eyes are what he notices most. Dark and intense, surrounded by lashes caked in mascara, her eyelids heavy with shimmery purple eyeshadow. She seems to be in her early thirties. As others cheer, smile, and gawk, she simply stares. She doesn’t frown, nor does she smile. Just stares with hardly a blink. For a second, Dominic assumes she isn’t real—that she’s a figment of his imagination. He blinks but she’s still there.
She isn’t his usual supporter, but he’s seen people from all walks of life show up to his rallies. There is something about this woman, though. Something hauntingly familiar, yet he can’t put his finger on it. Or perhaps it’s nothing at all, and it’s simply the way she glares at him so intensely that makes him uncomfortable and more aware of her presence.
He begins his speech with a bang, thanking his supporters for turning up. He moves across the stage with his microphone gripped in hand, focusing on another member of the crowd. He figures if he focuses on others, he won’t be so distracted by the witchy woman.
It works for a while, until the little voice in his ear tells him to switch to the other side of the stage again and level the attention. The little voice is Jim, the eagle-eyed manager. As badly as he wants to ignore the voice and stay on the right side, he has to move. He has to sell it if he wants that position, so he saunters to the left, expecting to see the witchy young woman with the intense eyes, but she’s no longer standing there. He surfs the crowd, mouth still working out that speech, realizing there is no sign of her anymore.
She’s disappeared, and a bad feeling sinks into his gut like a block of lead. He isn’t sure if he’s simply paranoid from this morning, or if this woman is someone to watch out for. Could she be the one who put the letter in his mailbox? Is she trying to blackmail him? Impossible. How could she know a thing?
He’s definitely paranoid. The body can’t be found. Only he and Boaz know where it is, and it’ll stay that way. He should be relieved the witchy woman is gone, but something about her disappearance causes him worry instead.
SEVEN
BRYNN
It was stupid on my part to even bother entertaining Dominic. I had the receipt with his number on it clutched in my hand and sat behind the wheel of my Beetle. The radio poured out a mixture of static and Alicia Keys while I chewed on my bottom lip.
I couldn’t believe I was contemplating it. Everything in me was screaming not to do it, especially when I saw that wedding band on his finger. He had a wife now. A new life. He’d moved on from me and that should’ve settled it. Things like this happened and I just had to accept it.
But I saw the look in his eyes, that spark he’d always reserved for me. Something between us still lingered, and though I shouldn’t have, I did. I called the number he provided, and he answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” his voice was still sticking to me—that sweet, tempting, gold honey.
“Hi. Dom?” I asked, gripping the phone tighter.
“Oh, Brynn. Is that you?”
I huffed a laugh. “It’s me. I think you accidentally left your number behind.”
He chuckled then said, “Nah. It was no accident.”
That familiar feeling struck me, the one I had when I would see Dominic in the school hallways first thing in the morning. Or when he’d show up at my house with a stolen pack of Hershey Kisses when my momma wasn’t around. Butterflies in the belly, a quickening heartbeat, a slight clench between my thighs. There were guys I’d been with during college, of course, but I had a bad habit of comparing them all to my high school love. In fact, I’d made a habit of checking to see what Dominic was up to after our breakup, but he had no social media presence. Of course, back then there was only Facebook and Twitter. He’d never liked social media. He was always more private, and I think that’s why our relationship had lasted so long then. What happened between us, stayed between us.
“Listen, I’d love to see you outside of work. Do you think you can meet me for a drink?” he asked.
“Yes.” I responded much faster than I should’ve. This man was married!
But divorces happen every day.
I swallowed that intrusive thought. I was getting ahead of myself now. “I mean, yes,” I said again, more calmly. “I’ll be happy to meet you.”
“Great. I’ll be hanging out at the Ritz Carlton. Why don’t you meet me in the Galveston Lounge.”
“Sure. But I just got off work. Can I meet you there in an hour?”
“Of course. Just text me when you arrive. I’ll be waiting.”
My heart swelled, but I played it cool. “Okay. See you then.”
I drove home right away, and Shavonne was sitting on the sofa, reading a book when I barged into the apartment.
