“No. You didn’t.” She pushed off the wall. “Call her, or I will.”
Shannon turned to her sister, and when she looked back, Sasha was walking away.
Before they hit the bar, Shannon called each of her friends individually, told them she was in Spain and that she was fine.
No, she didn’t want to talk about it.
Yes, she was about to get drunk with her sister.
And when she learned that Victor was looking for her, she asked that they keep her location to themselves for now. She needed to figure out where the man fit in her life, if he fit in her life.
Victor sat in Shannon’s living room, his knee bouncing as he glared at the boarded up window.
It was two in the morning.
He wasn’t leaving until he talked to her. Logically, he knew she wasn’t coming home that night, but that didn’t stop him taking up space in her home.
And if Corrie returned to do something stupid a second time, he’d catch her in the act.
Besides, he’d told Reed where to find him once he found out where Shannon had run off to.
Such an idiot.
His phone rang. The sound startled him.
“Reed?” he asked, recognizing the number.
“You’re still there?”
“What kind of question is that? Yes, I’m still here. Have you heard anything?”
“She’s fine, Victor.”
He released a long breath. “Where is she?”
Reed hesitated. “In a civilized place, doing civilized things.”
The answer pissed Victor off. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she’s not in a hut contracting malaria.”
“Elaborate.”
“Dude, I like my balls where they are. My wife and I have an understanding.”
“And I respect that. Now tell me where she is.”
“Victor . . .”
“We’re talking about the woman I love. I made her angry and she ran off. Do you know how it feels to be shut out?” He was yelling. “I know it’s my fault, but I can’t make it right without seeing her.”
For a second Victor thought maybe Reed hung up the phone.
“Her sister’s name is Angie Redding. Barcelona, Spain. You didn’t hear it from me.”
Victor smiled, grabbed his coat. “I owe you.”
“If I’m singing soprano the next time I see you, you’ll know why.”
Victor hung up the phone and headed toward the airport.
“Shannon?”
Angie called her from the front of the apartment. When Shannon walked around the corner from the kitchen, she noticed her sister leaning with one hand against the frame of the front door, staring into the hall.
Shannon walked up beside her and looked over her shoulder.
“Does this one belong to you?”
Victor was fast asleep, his head propped up against the corner of an adjacent apartment, his tie gone, his suit looking like he’d been sleeping in it for days.
“Yeah,” Shannon said.
“Let me guess, Victor?”
One of her friends had ratted her out.
Or maybe it was Sasha.
That was more likely.
Shannon turned back to the room.
“It’s kinda sweet that he flew all this way.”
She turned around, watched his even breathing a few minutes longer.
“Are you just going to leave him there?” Angie asked.
“I’m considering it.”
“Does he speak Spanish?”
“I don’t think so.”
Angie motioned toward apartment number 305. “Mrs. Hernandez always comes out around nine to walk her dog. Dogs barking and a woman screaming in Spanish is quite the sight to wake up to.”
“Might be worth it.”
Angie started to shut the door. “Your call.”
“Wait.”
Angie grinned.
She wasn’t up to this. Their morning had been a little slow, taking into account the amount of drinking they’d done the night before. Angie had reminded her that she was only thirty-five and had a whole life to find the right man. By the end of the night, Shannon was promising to return to Spain every year to listen to her wiser, younger sister.
Right now Shannon needed to deal with the one passed out in the hall.
Using her right foot, Shannon nudged Victor’s shoe twice.
He didn’t budge.
She pushed it again.
Nothing.
His chest rose and fell. So, not dead.
Just kinda dead to the world.
She pushed the side of his leg, the second time a little harder, and she called his name. “Victor.”
He jumped as if the hounds of hell were waking him from death. “Shannon!” He called her name before his eyes came into focus.
Victor scurried to his feet and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He looked between the two of them. “You didn’t tell me you were twins.”
“We’re not,” Angie told him. “I’m a year and a half younger.”
They both moved away from the doorway.
Angie looked at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Yell if you need me.”