Page 13 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter thirteen

Tess

T he next week drags on and I don’t hear from Gabe again. He just stopped texting in the middle of a conversation, and I don’t know what to think about that. I’ve read through our texts at least three dozen times but I can’t find anything that would have angered him or offended him.

He’s gone back to emailing, leaving our conversations strictly work related. Each time I answer his emails I want to ask him why he suddenly ghosted me, but I don’t.

If that’s what he wants, there’s nothing I can do about it.

My thoughts are interrupted by my personal phone ringing. I glance at it to see it’s once again another unknown call. That makes three today, thirteen this week. Somehow my number got out to the spammers and it’s annoying.

As soon as the call stops, another comes in from a different area code.

I silence it and return to my new client, the baseball player.

I’m scrolling through his Instagram to see what he’s been posting.

Now that he’s moved to the major leagues his agent hired me to clean up his social media and post more baseball related content and to delete all partying content.

There’s a lot of partying pictures so I’ve been busy.

My phone rings again and I sigh, my gaze going to it even though I know it’s probably another spam call. I’m right but I still sit up straight when I see the area code.

720

That’s the Denver area. Where Gabe lives.

It’s probably not him because he doesn’t have my personal number and if he needed me he’d call my company phone. The same phone he’s been texting me on. Even though he’s never called me before.

Except what if it is him? Maybe he somehow found my personal number? A division of Strong Sterling specializes in cyber security so I’m sure he could easily find me if he wanted to.

Before the call can go to voicemail I grab it. “Hello?” I wince because I sound a little breathless.

“Theresa James?”

“Yes?” I don’t know what Gabe sounds like. However, if this is him, he doesn’t sound like what I thought he would. Which is stupid because how do you know what someone's voice is like?

“I’m calling on behalf of Sandra Jansen.”

My body goes cold. My fingers tighten on my phone and my mouth dries up.

“Y-you must have the wrong number. I don’t know a Sandra Jansen.” I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath but that’s a no go. My lungs won’t expand, and my head starts spinning.

“We both know that’s a lie, Theresa.” The voice is soft, quiet, but I don’t miss the threat in it. The steel that tells me he’s not buying my lie.

And yet, I can’t not lie. I can’t admit that I know Sandra Jansen. “I don’t know a Sandra Jansen,” I repeat. Unlike my caller, my voice isn’t backed by steel. My fear has it wavering, making me sound weak and unsure.

Damn it, I’d hoped this was behind me. I’d hoped, but deep down I always knew it wasn’t. I’ve never been able to run from my past.

“Sandra asked me to call you,” the man says. “She needs help.”

I try swallowing again. I don’t care. I don’t care that Sandra Jansen needs help. I stopped caring long ago. And yet there’s the pinch of guilt, that small part of me that will always be drawn to this woman.

“I’m not helping her,” I whisper.

“You sure about that, Theresa?”

I flinch when he says my name, like he knows me. Like we’re good friends. I’m sure I’ve never met him before, but I’ve met his kind many times over the years.

“I’m not helping her,” I say more forcefully. I’m done helping her. I’ve been done for years, but she keeps finding me. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve changed my name. I’ve moved. I’ve changed my phone number so many times and still she finds me. Still, she sends these people to me.

“Twenty grand, Theresa.”

I shake my head, knowing he can’t see me, but the words are frozen in my throat. Twenty grand? That’s more than it’s ever been before. Even if I wanted to help, which I don’t, I don’t have that kind of money.

“You still there, Theresa?”

“Y-yes.” I should hang up, but he’ll just call back. He’ll keep calling until he gets the twenty grand out of me.

Well, he can try all he wants. I don’t have it.

Twenty grand.

I rub my forehead. Damn, Sandra, this is a new low, even for you.

“I’ll call you later with the details of how to get the money to us. And Theresa? Don’t even think about running. Or changing your number.”

He disconnects the call, leaving me sitting here, shivering, clutching my phone to my ear even though he’s no longer on the other end.