Chaos by Lanie Bross Page A

grunted.
    Jas gave him her best I’m-innocent smile. “Oh, sorry. I was looking for Dave?” She pulled a name out of the air. “He said he was coming to meet me here?”
    “No trainers named Dave here,” the guy said. “We got a Steve, but he’s not on schedule today.”
    “That’s it. Steve.” She pouted. “I was sure he was going to be here.”
    “Give me a second. Gotta take care of some housekeeping, then I can call him.”
    “Thanks so much,” she said. As soon as the trainer and the older woman moved into the office, Jas started moving toward Ford. He must have answers for her. He was her only hope.
    They were alone in the gym now, except for the guy behind the desk. Ford started pummeling the bag, his hands moving so fast they were practically a blur. Jas had never seen anything like it. Her breath caught in her throat. He ducked and dodged and twisted. Still, he wasn’t sweating.
    She felt strangely frightened of him. When he stopped moving, it took her a second to find her voice.
    In that second, he threw one more punch.
    The bag exploded. Sand went everywhere. Jasmine covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Impossible.
    “Shit,” Ford muttered. Jasmine ducked behind a row of kettlebells. Earlier, at the rotunda, he’d seemed harmless. Helpful, even. But what if he wasn’t harmless? What if he was in league with the people who’d attacked her, somehow? Maybe the whole thing had been a setup.
    “What the hell happened here?” The trainer burst out of the office and charged over to Ford.
    “I—I’m sorry,” Ford stammered. He did look sorry. “I can pay you back.”
    Jas backed up slowly; as soon as she reached the hallway, she turned and ran, hurtling herself out the door. The desk guy was talking on his cell phone outside and barely looked at her. She crossed the street quickly and took up a spot behind a parked car. She felt like a creep, but she also felt, in the same intuitive way she’d been feeling things since she woke up, that Ford had something to do with her attackers.
    And Miranda. How did Miranda fit in?
    She watched Ford push open the door. For a moment he hesitated, and his gaze swung in her direction. She ducked, concealing herself behind the car. When she straightened up again, Ford was halfway down the street.
    She tugged up her hood and followed him at a distance. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find, but Ford must be connected to the attack at the rotunda. How else could she explain the note, and the fact that he’d abandoned her there and chased off her pursuers?
    She was so intent on keeping him in her sights—he moved quickly, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets—she barely noticed they were passing close to the hospitalwhere her dad was staying. Just ahead was Alta Plaza Park and the thick grove of trees where she’d been attacked. She sped up, as if she could outrun the memory.
    “You’re supposed to block the ball, you shithead!” a voice shouted. There was a loud explosion of laughter.
    Jasmine felt a flickering sense of unease. Familiar. Everything was very familiar.
    She turned and saw Tyler, Justin, and Devon, Luc’s friends, kicking a ball. They were wearing the same clothes they’d had on yesterday, when she’d also seen them kicking a ball, in the very same park, at the very same time of day.
    This time, though, they spotted her.
    “Jas. What’s up?” Tyler called out. He tossed the ball to Justin and jogged over to her. She glanced down Jackson and saw a yellow shirt—Ford—duck into a building at the corner. She couldn’t lose him.
    “Hi, Tyler.” She waved and tried to keep moving, but he caught up with her this time.
    “Hey, wait up. I’ve been trying to call Luc all weekend. Is he okay?”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Why wouldn’t he be okay?” she asked cautiously. Did Tyler know that Luc had gone looking for her attackers?
    “Well, you know.” Tyler looked uncomfortable. “Because of everything that happened at