refuse her?
Seriously, I wanted to know. How could I refuse her?
Marco lifted his wineglass and waited until I did the same. We were in the elegant Adagio’s, New Chapel’s one and only cosmopolitan restaurant, at a cozy corner table for two, set with real china, white linen tablecloth and napkins, and a votive candle in a crystal goblet. Marco had worn a black and gray tweed jacket over a black shirt, with gray pants, and looked so sexy it was hard for me to stay in my chair.
Gazing at me over the flickering candlelight at our table, he said, “You in that green dress?” He dropped his voice to a throaty growl. “Dangerous.”
“Thank you. And you in, well, in anything? Totally dangerous.”
He touched the rim of his glass to mine, suddenly serious. “To us.”
“Yes, to us.” He wasn’t going to choose now to have our discussion, was he? I mean, we’d barely sat down.
His dark eyes held my own. “To our future.”
My cell phone rang. Marco waited, glass in the air.
“Sorry. I’ll just turn that off.” I set down my wine and pulled my phone out of my purse. “Um, maybe I should take this. It’s Nikki. I told you she’s using my car, right?”
“Twice. That’s okay. I know you’re worried. Go ahead.”
I smiled at him. What an understanding guy. “Nikki? What’s up?”
“Abby, I think someone’s following me,” she whispered tensely. “What should I do?”
“Where are you? Isn’t Morgan with you?” I glanced over at Marco, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I dropped Greg off and went to find a parking space, but the lot was jammed, so I was looking for off-street parking when this white van—Omigod, Abby, he’s right on my bumper!”
Make that my bumper. “Step on the gas, Nikki! Get out of there.”
“What’s happening?” Marco asked, leaning toward me.
“A van is following Nikki,” I whispered. “She dropped Morgan off, then-”
“I floored it, Abby. The van’s still right behind me,” Nikki cried, in a panic.
“Honk the horn and keep driving, Nik. Try to attract attention.”
“There’s no one on the road,” she cried, “and where’s the damn horn button?”
“It’s not a button! It’s—”
“Let me talk to her.” Marco took my mobile and handed me his. “Call 911.”
While I called the police, he pressed my phone to his ear. “Nikki, where are you? Heading toward Concord Avenue? Good. Keep going. Forget the horn. No, do not let the van pass. Drive down the middle of the road if you have to. He might be trying to run you off. When you get to Concord, cross the intersection and pull into the gas station on the corner.”
I gave the dispatch operator Nikki’s location and ended the call, my stomach in fist-sized knots. What if the van ran Nikki off the road? What if she ended up in a ditch? My mom’s worst nightmare had just become my own.
“Okay, Nikki,” Marco said, “as soon as you pull up in front of the door, put the car in park, kill the engine, grab the keys . . . Hello?” He looked at the screen, then, with a muttered curse, started punching buttons.
“What happened?”
“Dropped call.” He held my phone to his ear, listened, then cursed again. “Nothing.”
“I’ll try your phone. We’ve got different phone companies.” Quickly, I entered Nikki’s number in Marco’s phone, tapping my fingers on the tabletop as I counted the rings. “Four, five, six—either she should have answered or the call should have gone to voice mail—eight, nine, ten.” I clapped his phone shut. “She’s not answering.”
Marco tossed down a twenty-dollar bill for the wine and ushered me toward the coat-check closet. I thrust my arms into the sleeves as he held open my navy coat, then clung to his arm so I wouldn’t slip in my heels as we hurried to his car.
He drove as fast as he could, but it still took more than ten minutes to reach the north side of town. When he screeched into the gas station, two cop cars were there,
Seriously, I wanted to know. How could I refuse her?
Marco lifted his wineglass and waited until I did the same. We were in the elegant Adagio’s, New Chapel’s one and only cosmopolitan restaurant, at a cozy corner table for two, set with real china, white linen tablecloth and napkins, and a votive candle in a crystal goblet. Marco had worn a black and gray tweed jacket over a black shirt, with gray pants, and looked so sexy it was hard for me to stay in my chair.
Gazing at me over the flickering candlelight at our table, he said, “You in that green dress?” He dropped his voice to a throaty growl. “Dangerous.”
“Thank you. And you in, well, in anything? Totally dangerous.”
He touched the rim of his glass to mine, suddenly serious. “To us.”
“Yes, to us.” He wasn’t going to choose now to have our discussion, was he? I mean, we’d barely sat down.
His dark eyes held my own. “To our future.”
My cell phone rang. Marco waited, glass in the air.
“Sorry. I’ll just turn that off.” I set down my wine and pulled my phone out of my purse. “Um, maybe I should take this. It’s Nikki. I told you she’s using my car, right?”
“Twice. That’s okay. I know you’re worried. Go ahead.”
I smiled at him. What an understanding guy. “Nikki? What’s up?”
“Abby, I think someone’s following me,” she whispered tensely. “What should I do?”
“Where are you? Isn’t Morgan with you?” I glanced over at Marco, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I dropped Greg off and went to find a parking space, but the lot was jammed, so I was looking for off-street parking when this white van—Omigod, Abby, he’s right on my bumper!”
Make that my bumper. “Step on the gas, Nikki! Get out of there.”
“What’s happening?” Marco asked, leaning toward me.
“A van is following Nikki,” I whispered. “She dropped Morgan off, then-”
“I floored it, Abby. The van’s still right behind me,” Nikki cried, in a panic.
“Honk the horn and keep driving, Nik. Try to attract attention.”
“There’s no one on the road,” she cried, “and where’s the damn horn button?”
“It’s not a button! It’s—”
“Let me talk to her.” Marco took my mobile and handed me his. “Call 911.”
While I called the police, he pressed my phone to his ear. “Nikki, where are you? Heading toward Concord Avenue? Good. Keep going. Forget the horn. No, do not let the van pass. Drive down the middle of the road if you have to. He might be trying to run you off. When you get to Concord, cross the intersection and pull into the gas station on the corner.”
I gave the dispatch operator Nikki’s location and ended the call, my stomach in fist-sized knots. What if the van ran Nikki off the road? What if she ended up in a ditch? My mom’s worst nightmare had just become my own.
“Okay, Nikki,” Marco said, “as soon as you pull up in front of the door, put the car in park, kill the engine, grab the keys . . . Hello?” He looked at the screen, then, with a muttered curse, started punching buttons.
“What happened?”
“Dropped call.” He held my phone to his ear, listened, then cursed again. “Nothing.”
“I’ll try your phone. We’ve got different phone companies.” Quickly, I entered Nikki’s number in Marco’s phone, tapping my fingers on the tabletop as I counted the rings. “Four, five, six—either she should have answered or the call should have gone to voice mail—eight, nine, ten.” I clapped his phone shut. “She’s not answering.”
Marco tossed down a twenty-dollar bill for the wine and ushered me toward the coat-check closet. I thrust my arms into the sleeves as he held open my navy coat, then clung to his arm so I wouldn’t slip in my heels as we hurried to his car.
He drove as fast as he could, but it still took more than ten minutes to reach the north side of town. When he screeched into the gas station, two cop cars were there,
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