She hoped her voice sounded sick and not scared.

“Ugh, that’s gross. All right, I’ll check on ya later.”

“Okay,” she answered.

Josie turned her head and pressed her ear to the door. She listened to Alex’s heavy footsteps fade down the stairs and released the breath she’d been holding.

The farthest point from Earth in the moon’s orbit.

This had to be the longest day in the history of her career. At one point Monica would have sworn that time had either stopped or was moving backward only to keep her at her desk. The one silver lining was that she would see Josie again today. Two days in a row set a record for them, and she felt empowered by the bond that was beginning to grow. Since waking up this morning, Monica had felt sick with worry for the girl. The danger that hung over Josie was consuming. So she vowed to become a great distraction.

Armed with chick flicks, microwave popcorn, and ice cream, Monica found herself losing all patience outside Josie’s door. She banged so hard her hand tingled with pain. Yet it remained unanswered. As much as she wanted Josie to be a friend, she was growing tired of the games.

“I know you’re in there. I have ice cream,” she sang loudly, knocking again. “I told you I would be back. Stop being a brat and open the damn door.”

She dialed Josie’s number and waited impatiently as it rang. She could hear it ringing inside the apartment, but no one picked up. Through the phone, she listened to the recorded voice mail message.

“Come on! I’ve got Patrick Swayze! It’s dancing on the log and the lift and nobody puts Baby in a corner,” she spoke through the door again.

Monica was trying to remain calm, but fear had begun to prickle beneath her skin. What if something was wrong? What if Josie wasn’t just avoiding her?

Alex parked his bike and removed his helmet. He sat for a minute or so, hearing the ticks and creaks of the cooling engine between his legs. People rarely surprised Alex anymore. He found most of the human race quite predictable and self-righteous. However, in the past week, he’d been surprised more than once by a beautiful blonde named Erin.

They met in the produce section of the grocery store. Right away she seemed familiar, like he knew her already. He was taken with her endless legs and long, flowing hair. Pretending to be interested in the varieties of tomatoes, he kept an eye on her as she shopped. Men circled, like wolves, just to get a closer look. Her most attractive quality was that she was completely unaware of the stir she caused. Married men, single men, young boys, and everything in between, they were all drawn to her.

Summoning his confidence, he sauntered over and donned his most endearing smile.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I doubt it,” she answered, not looking up from her list.

“No, I think we met before.” No response. “Maybe you could help me. I’m a tomato dummy. I got no clue what these are. Grapes? Cherries? Tomatoes?”

Erin laughed and soon began a lesson in produce identification. Conversation came easily after that, and she smiled and even joked at his shopping ignorance. Her smile lit up the entire building and her blue eyes could see right through him.

Feeling confident after their time together, he asked her out. She declined. Stunned by her denial, he quietly helped her load bags into her car. That’s when he spied her Darkroom apron laid across the backseat. That’s where he knew her from. She worked with Tristan.

Two days later, he found her there, and together they marveled at the coincidence. It had taken twelve days, consisting of two not-so-chance meetings, six large bar tabs, and a pint of cherry tomatoes, for her to agree to go out with him.

Today, they’d had lunch in Point Loma and spent the afternoon in SeaWorld. As it turned out, Erin had never been. She was refreshing and so much more than a beautiful face. She had big plans and a killer sense of humor.

As Alex entered his building, he smiled, wondering if he could be so lucky as to find a girl who challenged him, wanted him, and didn’t want to change him. Whatever the feeling between them was, whether lust or friendship or even curiosity, he wanted to embrace it. In all honesty, he wanted to hitch a lasso to it and hang on for dear life.

Hearing heavy footsteps on the stairs, Monica turned to find Alex making his way to his door. He stopped short when he saw her, arms loaded and a frown pulling down her face.

“What’s up, short stuff? She giving you a hard time?”

“I-I don’t know. I can hear her phone in there, but she’s not picking up and she’s not answering the door. I’m worried that—” Monica stopped herself, not wanting to speak those thoughts out loud. “I’m worried. Did you check on her this morning?”

“Yeah, she told me she was sick.”

“Well, did she look okay?”

“She never opened the door.”

“Alex…” Monica whispered, worse-case scenarios flooding her mind.

“Shit!”

Alex attacked Josie’s door. He rammed it with his huge form, over and over, hearing the old wood begin to splinter under his assault. Monica watched in fascination as he pounded against the door. The thunderous sound echoed through the stairwell of the quiet building. Finally, it gave and Alex hurled through, almost falling inside. Monica followed him in and they both began calling Josie’s name and searching the small space.

“Alex! Come here!”

Alex ran down the hall and crowded into the bathroom with Monica. They both stared, openmouthed, at their reflections in the mirror. Thick lines of pink paint crossed over their horrified faces, lines that formed the words New Orleans.

“I’ll call Tristan,” Alex said, his voice defeated.

Monica nodded and watched as Alex placed the hardest call he’d ever had to make.

Two days of complete silence. That’s what Josie had endured on this road trip from hell. She was trapped in a tin can with a very attractive assassin who, for some reason, had yet to assassinate her. Instead, he was driving her east to her former home. She pressed her forehead to the cool window and counted the streetlights that went by, just for something to do.

Josie didn’t really know what to make of this bad guy. One minute, he would be unreadable, and the next, his eyes would become tiny slits staring out at the road. She could only assume that he was fighting some kind of internal battle. For the one who had the gun, he sure seemed troubled.

His phone had been ringing nonstop since yesterday. Every time it happened, he’d look at the number and silence it but would never turn it off. His foul moods seemed to coincide with the phone calls. Josie almost laughed at how observant she had become when there was nothing else to occupy her attention.

They had stopped for breaks only four times in two days. They’d eaten only once. Josie was starving and thirsty and irritated by the whole hostage situation. She was sure that she was causing irreversible damage to her bladder while her captor feigned ignorance about how women’s bodies work.

Josie crossed her arms and sulked at all the waiting. She’d rather he just get it over with. She was positive that her mind was imagining a much worse fate than what would transpire. The not-knowing part was the worst. She thought about New York and how maybe it would have been better if she had just died back then. There would have been no amnesia, no horrible foster parents, and no feeling like she didn’t deserve to live. Then again, there would have been no reuniting with Tristan.

“How much longer?” Josie asked.

No answer.

“What are you going to do with me?”

His eyes stayed forward, his face expressionless.

“Well, since you don’t want to answer my questions, I’ll just keep talking. So, I know you’re the bad guy, but when did bad guys get so hot? I mean, in that older guy, daddy complex sort of way. I’m fucking hungry. Are you starving me to death? Is that what’s happening here?”