Though the previous day’s call with Paul had rattled Nena so much she thought she might take up smoking herself, she found time to reply to Cort’s numerous messages, reject his multitude of offers to come and bring food, and update him on her dad. It was nice to talk to a regular person amid all this . . . well, shit. Shit she’d caused, she supposed. By playing at revenge. By underestimating Paul. By not warning her family that he was back.
How had she returned to this dark place, after fighting for her literal life, conquering death, just so she never had to experience the loss of family again? Yet here she was. Powerless, threatened, and terrified by the same man. Again.
Her cell vibrated.
CORT: Nena?
She had forgotten to reply.
NENA: Sorry. I’m fine, distracted. Can I call you later? Maybe ice cream with G at Azucar?
CORT: Do you one better, a real date? I know it’s bad timing, but . . .
Her stomach fluttered as she read the words. Was this really happening? And now? A real date. Could she even do this when her dad was in the hospital and Paul was just looming over her bloody head like a guillotine? Wrong choice of words. She had to get herself together. Maybe she could concentrate better if she just allowed herself this one reprieve. Was she wrong for considering it?
CORT: Your lack of response is killing me. Is that a no?
She mused on how Cort could cut through her dark cloud with a beam of light. Then she wiped her eyes. Suddenly furious at herself.
I am inept at protecting the people I love.
The fact that she couldn’t protect her family was the worst admission she could make. She couldn’t protect her family back then, and she was coming to the realization she still wasn’t able to now. Paul was just too good.
CORT: ???
NENA: Yes. OK. A date.
She thought for a second as she closed that message chain and opened the running one she had with Elin, then typed a quick message. She watched the three pulsating dots, awaiting Elin’s response.
ELIN: We track teens now?
Georgia was without protection. Who knew if Paul knew about her connection to the Baxters? She aimed to keep it that way, but Nena would feel better knowing Georgia’s whereabouts.
NENA: Yes.
ELIN: Any particular reason?
NENA: A favor.
ELIN: Figures. See you when you get back to the hospital?
NENA: Yes. Thanks. Be safe.
She felt better now that her bases were covered and the important people were protected until she could determine her next moves. She could have put a trace on Cort, but she didn’t want to chance him finding out about it or anything else going on. Besides, Nena already knew how to locate him. After all, he had been her mark, once upon a time.
56
BEFORE
A couple of days later, Dad picks me up after school, and we drive to an industrial section of the city near the port. It is composed of several warehouse facilities for imports and exports. It is not a place I am familiar with, and I stare out the window to memorize the route. It is force of habit that I must know where I am and how to get back home, even if I am only going to the market with Margot and Chef Ishmael.
We pull up in front of a formidable-looking warehouse. Dad doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him, but he stops me with a glance when I reach for my door. I retract my hand and wait for the driver.
“You are a lady at all times, Nena,” he says when we are both outside and I am staring at the grayish-white building. “Even when you are doing your job.” It seems my training has already begun.
Inside, there is a lanky Black man with a strikingly lush beard, matching bushy eyebrows, and stern-looking eyes waiting for us at a table in the middle of the room. The inside of the warehouse looks bigger than the outside. It holds a boxing ring, a large area with floor mats covering it, and various accoutrements for physical training lining the wall.
“Witt,” Dad says, grasping the man’s arm in a half handshake, half elbow-grip hug. They pull away, snapping their intertwined fingers.
“Sir,” Witt says. He steps away from Dad, returning my appraisal.
Dad looks down at me. “I’ll leave you now, Nena; is that okay?”
I’m not sure it is okay. I do not know this man, but my gut doesn’t indicate danger, and Dad would not put me in danger. I nod.
“I will send the car back for you when Witt gives word you’re done for the day.”
Witt grins. “Shouldn’t be too long. It’s the first day.”
“Not too long” by Witt’s standards is six hours of grueling calisthenics and an assessment of what I can and cannot do. I cannot do much.