Promises I Made by Michelle Zink Page A

confident that nothing would deter him from his purpose, daring anything—or anyone—to try.
    I took out my phone and dialed as he disappeared inside the restaurant.
    â€œGrace?”
    â€œLeave the restaurant and turn left. Keep walking until you get to the Gap. Go inside, all the way to the back of the store.”
    â€œYou don’t have to—”
    I hung up before he could finish. A few seconds later he appeared in front of the restaurant and started walking. I waited, watching for signs of anyone on the move, anyone following him. There weren’t any, and I stood up and left the café.
    I hung back, careful to keep the navy Windbreaker inview as it bobbed in and out of the growing lunchtime crowd. My heart was beating a mile a minute, and a bead of sweat dripped down my back. I half expected to hear the clatter of boots behind me, the voice of someone telling me to freeze. When he ducked into the Gap, I stopped at a hat kiosk in the middle of the promenade and dialed his number while I tried on fedoras and newsboys.
    He sighed in lieu of a greeting. “I came alone. Like I said I would.”
    â€œGreat. Leave the Gap and walk to the corner. Turn right and keep walking until you hit P.F. Chang’s. Go inside and sit at the bar with your back to the door.” I disconnected the call and put my phone in my pocket.
    He appeared a moment later. I watched him follow my instructions; then I returned the sun hat I’d been trying on and moved into the crowd.
    I tailed him to P.F. Chang’s, still hanging back. He worked his way around a group of people in business suits, skirts, and button-downs and disappeared inside the restaurant. I waited two minutes before I went inside.
    The restaurant was as dark as I remembered, and I stood in the entryway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I looked through the people standing around—talking about work, texting, waiting for a table—until I found the bar.
    He was sitting there, his broad back to the door just liked I’d instructed.
    I took one last glance around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and I started for the bar, marking the swingingkitchen doors in case I needed a quick escape.
    Time seemed to slow down. I waited for a hand on my arm, a shout through the crowd, a group of uniformed men to appear from the kitchen or the hallway leading to the bathrooms. No way would Detective Castillo let go of an opportunity to bring me in. Not on a high-profile case attached to a name like Warren Fairchild. It would be a career maker—or a career breaker.
    Detective Castillo’s navy-clad back remained in front of me. Once I reached him, detaining me would be as simple as a cuff around my wrist, a tight hold on my arm. I wasn’t some kind of highly trained assassin. I knew people, not martial arts. If he wanted to take me in, even by himself, there wouldn’t be much I could do to stop him.
    I slid carefully into the seat next to him, surprised to see that he seemed to be reading the menu.
    â€œI made you back at the Reel Inn.” He turned to face me. “But I said I’d come alone, and I did.”

Nine
    He insisted we order lunch, and I shoveled spicy dan dan noodles into my mouth, slowly at first in case it was an attempt to distract me while his men moved in, and then more quickly when I realized he was really alone.
    â€œHow is Parker?” I finally asked Detective Castillo.
    He wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a long drink of water. “I haven’t seen him since he was moved to County. No point.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    He shrugged a little, the gesture incongruous coming from such a big guy. “He wasn’t going to crack. Knew that right away. I’ve seen grown men, hard men, who are less calm when their balls—” His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. When they’re up against a wall.”
    I nodded. “Not much scares Parker. But also, he