Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,103

past the point of being interested. “No.” She pulled her hand away. “He’s not late. This is when he should be arriving, and I know he’ll be walking in that door any moment.” She gave him a weak smile. “I am sure there are plenty of other women who would love to dance with you, Flynn. They’re probably already lining up.” She put down her money on the bar top. There was a booth close to the door. She’d go wait over there. Victoria pushed her way through the crowd. She was wearing heels—­ones that were a bit higher than normal, and she’d dressed as sexy as possible.

For Wade.

For herself.

She wanted to look good for him. She wanted to let go, with him.

“Here you go.”

And Flynn was back. Only this time he held up a martini glass—­one filled with green liquid. “Your favorite,” he said, and he put it on the table in front of her. “My way of saying sorry for spilling your drink before.”

Her shirt was already drying.

“When Prince Charming gets here,” Flynn continued, “I hope you two have a great night. Really.” He gave a quick nod. “You deserve some happiness after the rough times you’ve had.”

Then he slipped away, vanishing into the crowd.

Her fingers rose and curled around the long stem of the martini drink. She stared into the liquid and wondered . . .

How did Flynn know about my hard times?

Her breath sucked in on a quick inhale as she glanced around, but he was gone. Long gone. Had he dug into her past, researched her the same way that she’d caught Wade doing that one night?

Or . . .

I don’t remember telling him that I was going to Savannah.

She stood up quickly, suddenly ready to leave that too loud club. Her hand brushed against the martini, sending it falling across the table. A second spill in one night. She was certainly on a roll. Now her hands were sticky, covered in the drink. She hurried toward the bathroom, zigging and zagging around the crowd. She’d clean up and then she’d wait outside for Wade because something . . . it was off.

With Flynn.

With the way . . . he acted.

Did I tell him I was going to Savannah?

She didn’t remember telling him, just as she hadn’t told him about any hard times. They hadn’t exactly been into deep conversations. She’d met him, they clicked, and yes, okay, so maybe she’d done a little research on the guy before they hooked up.

I wasn’t going to walk away with a stranger.

She’d run his records at LOST. Flynn Marshall, age thirty-­three. A pharmaceutical sales rep who traveled frequently, had never been married, and had attended . . .

Northwestern University.

That one detail clicked in her mind.

He’d attended Northwestern, just like Troy North. They were around the same age. They even looked a bit alike, with that blond hair and similar height. Had they attended college together?

Why does that matter? Why?

Victoria pushed the bathroom door open. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Her high heels clattered as she made her way to the sink. No one else was in the bathroom as she yanked on the water and soaped up her hands.

Victoria felt as if there were a puzzle right in front of her and she was just missing a piece.

The water thundered into the sink.

Flynn . . . I told him I was leaving town, going on a case, but not where . . .

The first time they’d met, it was right outside her building. He’d been jogging and she didn’t see him. He collided with her, and, right before she would have fallen to the ground, his hands had risen and he caught her. Then, that night, she’d gone to Wild Jokers, just wanting to escape from the darkness that seemed to surround her.

He’d been there. At the time, she just thought it was chance. A coincidence. Nothing more.

Now . . .

What if it wasn’t chance? What if none of it was?

The lights flickered again.

The door began to creep open—­she heard the groan of the hinges.

In the mirror she saw a man’s hand reach through that opening. A tan, strong hand. The hand went straight to the light switch on the wall.

And the bathroom plunged into darkness.

A JEEP SLOWED at the corner. Wade glanced over at it with a glare—­

Asher Young gave him a wide-­eyed look. “Uh, yeah, man, Gabe sent me over to deliver a new phone to you—­”

“I need a ride.”

Asher shrugged and motioned to the