Page 45 of On Your Knees

“And I’ve got this, so drive the goddamn car and leave me alone.”

Patrick glares at me in the rearview, but I pretend not to see it. I don’t give a shit how pissed he is, neither about me contacting his sponsor nor about my 9 a.m. meeting. Patrick doesn’t know it’s a meeting, not for sure, but it’s pretty obvious. I never go to the park, and in my jeans, I’m clearly not intending to exercise.

As we near the park entrance, Patrick asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

My heart skips. Patrick knows more about my past than most people and I’m sure he’s guessed a few things that I’ve never said, but there’s a lot he doesn’t know, and I don’t want him to.

“No,” I reply. “Stay with the car.”

“And where will you be, exactly?”

I slide my phone into the inner pocket of my jacket and prepare to get out. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“Ethan—”

I open the door and get out when the traffic forces Patrick to stop. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” I tell him as I shut the door, cutting off his swearing.

I get on the main path that runs along the water, which is crowded with walkers and joggers. I check my phone because this asshole hasn’t given me his location yet. The fact that he’s paranoid enough to think I might ambush him makes me paranoid. Not about an attack but about what he might have.

Normally, I blow off journalists. They’re never deterred by words, only by an absence of information. Or by money, but that’s Ruby’s department. If Jensen hasn’t approached her yet, he certainly will. As Paul’s widow and a current member of the High Castle Church board, she’s a much bigger target than I am.

The only reason I’m meeting this guy is to find out what he knows and what his angle is. But what’s really bothering me is that I spent half the night fighting the impulse to contact Ruby, like I fucking need her or something.

That, and the fact that all this bullshit took me away from Levi. I couldn’t stay in bed with him. I had to get up. I had to move. I had to think about what the hell Jensen might have or whom he might’ve talked to.

I don’t remember all of the night. I know I worked out for a few hours. I know I combed through everything online about Paul’s death to see if anything stood out to me. That’s where I lost track of shit. I don’t know what I did.

I halt in the middle of the path. Heart pounding, I try to think back. I told Patrick that Levi was still asleep, but was he?

Yes. I fucking know he was. I put his phone on the nightstand on top of his book. I left him a note. I know I did. But an image flashes through my mind: the bed soaked in blood, the sheets twisted, the knife—

No.

That isn’t real.

That’s not what I saw. That’s other things mixing in.

Even so, I send Levi a text: Are you up?

When he doesn’t reply immediately, I almost call him, but then bubbles appear as he starts typing. I close my eyes, swaying in relief.

His message comes through: I’m up.

Bubbles appear and disappear, but whatever he’s typing, he doesn’t send.

I text, Did you find everything in the kitchen?

Levi replies, Yes. Thanks.

I type, Good. Read your book.

Bubbles appear and disappear again. It goes on for a while, but all that comes through is, Okay.

I wince at the awkward message thread. I’m not used to texting with people, and he obviously isn’t either. But he replied to me, and that’s what matters. That bloody image was… something else.

Another message comes through, but it’s from Jensen, giving me his location. I stow my phone and rejoin the flow of pedestrians, moving along the pier to the path that Jensen described. He’s easy to spot, sitting conspicuously on a bench in a cheap suit with a messenger bag at his side, obviously looking for someone.

He doesn’t recognize me with my hat and sunglasses. Most pictures of me are either from black-tie events like Ruby’s charity dinner last week or from Paul’s old broadcasts and press releases, and I was younger then. Smaller.