Carried Away - P. Dangelico Page 0,17
hands on his hips, his sweatpants dropping below his hipbones. And I can say with absolute certainty that having this man’s undivided attention is not something anyone would want.
“Who sent you?” he growls, his voice raspy to the power of ten.
That’s a curveball I wasn’t expecting. I’m not sure what to make of this question. Or his demeanor. “What do you mean?”
He takes one step closer and my back goes stiff. Slowly, I push off the stool and stand, fight or flight kicking in. I’ll go with flight.
“Who sent you? Who do you work for?”
This is starting to get seriously scary. The Uni-Bomber gag was only a gag until this very minute. “No one. No one sent me,” I answer, head shaking, my heart thumping loudly under my breastbone. Without thought, I carefully throw a sideways glance over my shoulder to the wide open door and calculate how far I can get in my Pumas in multiple feet of snow should the need arise.
“Bullshit––” He takes another step forward and stops, every muscle in his body taut. This is not looking good for me. “Tell me right now who sent you or I’ll throw you out.”
WTF?? In the middle of a snowstorm? At night? Most chilling is the deadly quiet tone he’s using. I’m vacillating between disbelief and outright pants-crapping fear. This guy is unhinged. I knew there was something wrong with him.
And yet something has happened in the last 72 hrs that has altered my genetic makeup. Because a growing sense of anger at the injustice of it all is trying to shove the fear aside. I refuse to shrink from this. I’ve done a lot of shrinking lately and this is where it stops. He may do his worst, but he will not see me cower.
“Look, pal, I don’t know what you’re talking about, so let’s calm down––”
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snipes back. “I am so sick of you people. I want to know who sent you.”
“I swear, no one sent me.”
His eyes narrow into two indigo slits. “Tell me or I’ll toss your ass out.”
Huh? My jaw is hanging. This guy is certifiable. A real nut job. Another wave of anger hits me. “No one sent me, you psycho! Who would send me anyway? No one!”
He balks at my calling him a psycho. As if I’m the first person to ever do that. Yeah, right. And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.
He regroups quickly, however, and shakes off the surprise. “You’re lying.”
That’s when I lose it. “The FBI sent me! Okay? That’s who. And if you hurt me, if you harm a single hair on my head, they’ll put you in jail for life! ”
I’ve scored another direct hit. He rocks back on his fluffy socks, and doubt flashes on his face. “The FBI?”
“That’s right, they’re onto you. They’re probably searching your social media as we speak. I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the rest of your ilk in jail.”
Now he looks baffled with a side of annoyed. “What?”
“You heard me.”
The glare is back as he quietly studies me. And even though there’s a stillness to him that is meant to make him appear relaxed, I don’t buy it one bit. The only reason why I haven’t sprinted out of the room yet is because he hasn’t moved from his spot in the middle of it.
“Let me see your press creds.”
Press credentials…I turned those in when they fired me. And if he realizes I no longer have the protection of an important employer, he may take liberties. “No.”
That forbidding face registers my answer. “Let me see ’um.”
My pulse is racing like a runaway horse, but I will not shrink. I shake my head. “No. That’s none of your business.”
“Let me see them or I will put you out right now.”
I’ve had just about enough. “It is snooowwwwing, crazy man! You know, the white stuff that almost killed me. Is that what you’ve been planning all along? To kill me and turn me into beef jerky? Freezings my meat for later use! My family is expecting me so don’t think for a minute you’re going to get away with it!”
He blinks. Other than that, he doesn’t move a muscle. “Jesus fucking Christ, no one is…”––he makes a face––“ going to turn you into”––he snorts––“beef jerky. You said you’re a reporter.” His voice has fallen a few decibels, softer, less accusatory. “What’s the problem with you showing me your credentials?”
He’s not luring