Not Quite Perfect
Page 68A precaution.
Smarter than inviting the only suspect in her head into her office alone.
“Hello?”
“Kent?”
“This is.”
“Kent, it’s Mary.”
“Oh, hey. This is a surprise.”
And she didn’t need him getting the wrong idea. “You said I could call if I needed someone to walk me to my car.”
“Jesus, are you okay? You sound upset.”
“A client left angry. If you’re not in the office, it’s fine—”
“No. I’m here. Give me three minutes.” He hung up.
Mary felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Even though she expected his knock on her office door, she still jumped.
“Mary? It’s me.”
She flung the door open and the shakes she’d had before became nearly uncontrollable now. Like all the adrenaline in her system dumped out all at the same time.
Kent reached for her shoulders with gentle hands and she slumped. She was safe.
“It’s okay.”
She leaned her forehead on his chest.
“Whoa . . . do we need to call the police?”
His hands squeezed. “Do you want to sit while we wait for them?”
“No . . . no. They aren’t coming. It’s hard to explain. I just need to get home.”
Kent offered a soft smile. “Do you need me to follow you?”
“No. My friend is across the street. I’ll be fine.” She twisted away from his supportive hands, grabbed her purse, and locked the door behind them.
It was still light outside, but the parking lot was nearly empty.
She felt silly in the broad daylight hiding from shadows.
She unlocked her car door, taking a good look around. “Seems ridiculous now.”
Kent didn’t seem to mind. “What’s this guy look like?”
“Six foot, I guess, thinning hairline, Caucasian.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No . . . he was angry . . . inappropriately so.” She didn’t want to go into details. “I don’t want to take any chances.”
“You shouldn’t. When are you done tomorrow?”
“Four.”
Kent placed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll meet you in the hall.”
“I can’t ask that—”
“You didn’t.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Kent. You’re a good friend.”
Mary kept one eye on the rearview mirror, the other on the road. Before she pulled onto her street, she called Dakota and Walt.
Walt answered.
“Hey, Walt . . . I need you to do me a favor.”
He met her in the street, walked her into her silent house, and encouraged her to join them for dinner.
Mary declined, said she had too much work to catch up on.
She had a microwave dinner with a glass of wine and an open laptop.
She’d sent a text to Glen, asking him to call if he was still up. The time change and busy weekend might have resulted in him going to bed early, so she didn’t call.
By nine she thought he’d gone to bed and gave up on waiting for him to respond. She put her phone on the charger and left it on her kitchen counter before turning all the lights off and moving upstairs.
She attempted to read, find a happy place for her brain, and couldn’t concentrate long enough to finish a page.
She considered a bath . . . then remembered every horror movie she’d ever watched as a kid and decided that would be the worst idea ever.
A pair of pajamas and a second glass of wine helped her get through one chapter.
Falling asleep was a challenge, staying asleep was impossible.
The phone jolted her out of bed at six in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Glen caught Mary’s text before he went to bed the night before, attempted to text her back only to find silence on the other end.
He arrived at the office with a message from Walt asking him to call.
“Hey, Doc. What has you up so early?”
“I’m sure he’s worth it.”
“He is. I’m calling for a flight.”
Glen grabbed a pen on his desk. “Finally convinced Dakota that she’s not putting anyone out?”
“No, Dakota was booking a commercial flight. I reminded her that babies on airplanes make for lots of unhappy passengers. To which she said, screw them.”
Glen laughed. “Sounds like Dakota.”
“I told her I’d call you, see if you have any empty legs to Denver.”
“Empty legs . . . she really doesn’t get it, does she?”
“I think once she realizes that flying with Leo will be much better on a private plane than in a cabin with two hundred other people, she’ll stop fighting it.”
“Give me your dates, I’ll put someone on it.”
Walt told him when they planned on traveling, went on to give a time for them to visit Dakota’s family in Savannah.
“I wouldn’t have to fight her if you’d let us pay something,” Walt told him.
Glen had heard this before. His first reaction was an absolute no. But Dakota wasn’t one to take charity for long. “Tell her we can work something out.”
“Will we?”
“Maybe . . . but in the meantime, let her taste how peaceful it is to bring a baby on a private plane. Then maybe one trip on a commercial jet. She’s smart. She’ll figure it out.”