be dark soon. We should get off the street until we have a plan. It’s safe to assume those goons are working for Gabriel. He’ll be able to find me easily. And if he ties you to Helena through the Whittier-Clays ...”
I stared at him, feeling exponentially less clever by the second. “I’m not sure I follow. What are you saying? It’s not safe for me to go home?”
Victor raised his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I do know I’d hate myself if something happened to you. So, I think we should find a hotel for the night. And you should cancel your client appointments for tomorrow. Just in case.”
13
W e walked for a long time , taking a circuitous route to the subway station on Forty-Ninth Street. We took the N Train to Barclays Center. During the ride, which lasted about a half an hour, we talked in low voices, forehead to forehead, sketching out our next moves as we swayed from side to side with the car.
After Union Square, two seats opened up next to each other and we snagged them. I pulled out my phone and texted my next day’s clients an apologetic cancellation, citing a nasty bout of food poisoning. Then I sent Rosemary and Sage a long text, explaining that I was about to go dark for a day or two. I told them not to worry if they couldn’t reach me. Then I removed the battery from my phone and stowed it in my purse. I knew the warning text was useless. If anything it would probably make my sisters ramp up their level of concern, but I couldn’t just drop off the face of the earth with no notice. I’d have their hides if they ever pulled a stunt like that.
Beside me, Victor made whatever excuses he needed to make at work in a text of his own and then took out his phone’s battery. Neither of us were TeleVantage customers, but if Gabriel had the capacity to track Helena’s cell phone, there was no reason to think he couldn’t somehow get ahold of our phones’ locations, too.
And just like that, we were off the grid. Or, as off the grid as one could be taking New Your City public transportation to a hipster, boutique hotel in Brooklyn. I mean, sure, we weren’t exactly camping in a state forest and catching fish with our hands or anything. But without cell phones, we couldn’t order GrubHub or call for an Uber or anything. For two Manhattanites, our current situation was positively rustic. Primitive, even.
I giggled to myself about the absurdity of it all. He shot me a curious look then squinted at the station name that flashed by out the window.
“That was Canal Street. The next stop’s us,” he said.
We stood and fought our way through the crush of NYU students who’d boarded right after we’d found seats. We squeezed out the doors when they opened and hurried along the platform to the stairs.
The hotel was about half a mile from the station. We covered the distance in just under ten minutes, heads down, walking fast. I knew we looked like two ordinary New Yorkers, always in a hurry as we strode along the street.
But I felt anything but ordinary. I was on edge, half-expecting two Portuguese men to jump out from every doorway that we passed and gun us down in the middle of the sidewalk. I felt disconnected, adrift, and anonymous as a result of the simple act of turning off my phone. And, if I’m being honest, I felt a little shiver of anticipation at the thought of holing up in a hotel with Victor. I mean, I’d be getting my own room, but there was something undeniably intimate about disappearing together for the night. And he was a great kisser.
I shook my head at the silly tangent. Beside me, Victor said, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he stopped and pulled me out of the flow of foot traffic. We huddled against the side of a nondescript red brick building.
“I’m sure.”
“Because if you’re not—”
“I said I’m sure.” I waved away his worry.
He leaned in close and smiled, his mouth just a few inches from mine. “Good,” he
I stared at him, feeling exponentially less clever by the second. “I’m not sure I follow. What are you saying? It’s not safe for me to go home?”
Victor raised his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I do know I’d hate myself if something happened to you. So, I think we should find a hotel for the night. And you should cancel your client appointments for tomorrow. Just in case.”
13
W e walked for a long time , taking a circuitous route to the subway station on Forty-Ninth Street. We took the N Train to Barclays Center. During the ride, which lasted about a half an hour, we talked in low voices, forehead to forehead, sketching out our next moves as we swayed from side to side with the car.
After Union Square, two seats opened up next to each other and we snagged them. I pulled out my phone and texted my next day’s clients an apologetic cancellation, citing a nasty bout of food poisoning. Then I sent Rosemary and Sage a long text, explaining that I was about to go dark for a day or two. I told them not to worry if they couldn’t reach me. Then I removed the battery from my phone and stowed it in my purse. I knew the warning text was useless. If anything it would probably make my sisters ramp up their level of concern, but I couldn’t just drop off the face of the earth with no notice. I’d have their hides if they ever pulled a stunt like that.
Beside me, Victor made whatever excuses he needed to make at work in a text of his own and then took out his phone’s battery. Neither of us were TeleVantage customers, but if Gabriel had the capacity to track Helena’s cell phone, there was no reason to think he couldn’t somehow get ahold of our phones’ locations, too.
And just like that, we were off the grid. Or, as off the grid as one could be taking New Your City public transportation to a hipster, boutique hotel in Brooklyn. I mean, sure, we weren’t exactly camping in a state forest and catching fish with our hands or anything. But without cell phones, we couldn’t order GrubHub or call for an Uber or anything. For two Manhattanites, our current situation was positively rustic. Primitive, even.
I giggled to myself about the absurdity of it all. He shot me a curious look then squinted at the station name that flashed by out the window.
“That was Canal Street. The next stop’s us,” he said.
We stood and fought our way through the crush of NYU students who’d boarded right after we’d found seats. We squeezed out the doors when they opened and hurried along the platform to the stairs.
The hotel was about half a mile from the station. We covered the distance in just under ten minutes, heads down, walking fast. I knew we looked like two ordinary New Yorkers, always in a hurry as we strode along the street.
But I felt anything but ordinary. I was on edge, half-expecting two Portuguese men to jump out from every doorway that we passed and gun us down in the middle of the sidewalk. I felt disconnected, adrift, and anonymous as a result of the simple act of turning off my phone. And, if I’m being honest, I felt a little shiver of anticipation at the thought of holing up in a hotel with Victor. I mean, I’d be getting my own room, but there was something undeniably intimate about disappearing together for the night. And he was a great kisser.
I shook my head at the silly tangent. Beside me, Victor said, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he stopped and pulled me out of the flow of foot traffic. We huddled against the side of a nondescript red brick building.
“I’m sure.”
“Because if you’re not—”
“I said I’m sure.” I waved away his worry.
He leaned in close and smiled, his mouth just a few inches from mine. “Good,” he
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