Stop it, Yve, you’re sounding complimentary about the man.
“Well, stay safe, honey. I’ll be fine,” I said.
“I will, Yve. Watch your back. I don’t trust that bastard.”
Before she could hang up, I asked, “Have you seen anything weird? Like signs that Jay might’ve been around you? In your house?”
Valentina actually laughed. “This place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No way in hell he could get in here. My dad made me move home the second we lost our bid to have his parole denied again.”
So maybe I was the only crazy one here.
“Good. Take care, Valentina.”
“You too, Yve.”
After I hung up, I took what I hoped was a deep, courageous breath and climbed out of my car. I tucked my hand into my purse and wrapped my palm around the grip of my revolver. I would never be defenseless again.
I climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. As soon as I was inside, I withdrew the gun from my bag and held it tightly in both hands in front of me as I walked through every room of my place. I studied every surface, every item, looking for anything that might have been moved. I found nothing.
Saving my bedroom for last, I stepped inside. Everything looked exactly the same, right down to the rumpled sheets on my unmade bed, something that had driven Jay absolutely insane and had earned me that first cracked rib. The drawers to my dresser were all still halfway open, a bad habit that during my marriage had earned me a broken finger, courtesy of being slammed in the drawer as he shut it to prove his point.
The joints and bones in question twinged in horrific memory. But there was nothing else out of place that I could identify. I turned to walk out of the room, but froze three steps from the door.
The mirrored tray where I put my night creams and perfume had an empty space. Chanel No. 5 was gone.
It had been Jay’s favorite scent, and when I’d first gotten away from him, I’d refused to wear it for that very reason. But it was also my favorite perfume, so I’d decided I wouldn’t let him steal that small piece of me. I’d bought a new bottle and wore the perfume whenever the hell I felt like it, but it was gone.
I went to check the bathroom on the off chance I’d moved it. It wasn’t there, and I couldn’t remember moving it.
Someone has been in my apartment.
The same gut-twisting panic from yesterday stole over me, but this time I shoved it down. I wasn’t going to let that man run me out of my own house. I would not. This was my home, and if I left again, I’d be letting him win.
Instead, I picked up my phone and Googled the number of a twenty-four-hour locksmith and a security company. Both agreed to be here within the hour.
I would feel safe in my own home, goddamn it.
I would not let him win.
THE NEXT DAY, I WALKED out of the banker’s office and into the lobby with the knowledge that it didn’t matter whether I wore a designer power suit and kick-ass pumps, or ratty old jeans and a T-shirt. I was wearing the former, and the business loan officer had still told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way in hell they’d lend me what I needed to buy Dirty Dog.
I doubted they’d loan me even ten dollars, and what I’d asked for was exponentially more. All my neatly calculated numbers and projections, and proof of past successful management and profit—none of it meant a damn thing because I wasn’t what the bank considered a “safe bet.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet the decision hit me with the force of one of Jay’s blows to the gut. I was barely conscious of my surroundings when an uncomfortably familiar deep voice called out my name.
“Yve?”
I looked up. The man seemed to show up everywhere lately. Was it some kind of cosmic joke?
I nodded at Titan and continued toward the door, but he crossed the marble floor of the bank quickly, his big strides eating up the space between us.
His hand on my arm stopped me. “What are you doing here?”
I was still hovering embarrassingly on the edge of tears at the banker’s no-nonsense words informing me that neither this bank nor any other bank in the state of Louisiana would be willing to take a chance on me. The last thing I wanted to do was look Titan in the eye and have him see my despair.
I squeezed my eyes shut and hastily pulled myself together before raising my chin to meet his green gaze. “Am I not allowed in a bank?” I asked, my tone sharp.
His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
Could he really read me so easily? Didn’t matter; I wasn’t going to lay it all out. Especially not in the lobby of a bank when I was feeling like ghetto trash.
“Mr. Titan, it’s a pleasure to see you,” the loan officer said from behind me. “We’re so happy you could join us for the board meeting.”
Titan ignored him, his eyes never leaving mine.
Irritation flooded me that the same loan officer who’d basically tossed me out of his office kowtowed to Titan. But then again, everyone did.
“Looking for a loan?” Titan asked me.
“None of your business. Now, I need to get to work.”
Titan’s hand tightened the slightest fraction around my arm, enough to make me want to tug it away and run, but I didn’t.
“Mr. Titan, I didn’t realize you were . . . uh . . . acquainted with Ms. Santos,” the banker said as he came closer.
Titan released my arm and I started to step away, but found myself pulled flush against his side. “Yes, Yve is a friend of the family.”
I’m a friend of the family? Since when?
“I hope you were able to assist her with whatever she came in for.”