I stumble out of bed and slip on my jeans.
In the living room, I retrieve my phone from my jacket pocket. Welch answers in two rings and any hesitation I had about calling him at five in the morning disappears. He must have been awake.
“Mr. Grey,” he says, his voice hoarse as usual.
“I’m sorry to call you so early.” I begin pacing what space I have in the kitchen.
“Sleep’s not really my thing, Mr. Grey.”
“I figured. It’s Leila. She accosted my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”
“Was it at her office? Or at her apartment? When did it happen?”
“Yes. Outside SIP. Yesterday. Early evening.” I turn, and Ana, dressed only in my shirt, is standing by the kitchen counter, watching me. I study her as I continue my conversation, her expression a mixture of curious and haunted. She looks beautiful.
“What time, exactly?” Welch asks.
I repeat the question to Ana.
“About ten to six?” she says.
“Did you get that?” I ask Welch.
“No.”
“Ten to six,” I repeat.
“So she’s tracked Miss Steele to her work.”
“Find out how.”
“There are press photographs of the two of you together.”
“Yes.”
Ana tilts her head to one side and tosses her hair over her shoulder as she listens to my side of the conversation.
“Do you think we should be concerned for Miss Steele’s safety?” Welch inquires.
“I wouldn’t have said so, but then I wouldn’t have thought she could do this.”
“I think you should consider additional security for her, sir.”
“I don’t know how that will go down.” I look at Ana as she folds her arms, accentuating the outline of her breasts as they strain against the white cotton of my shirt.
“I’d like to increase your security, too, sir. Will you talk to Anastasia? Tell her of the danger she might be in?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to her.”
Ana bites her lip. I wish she’d stop. It’s distracting.
Welch continues, “I’ll brief Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Jones at a more reasonable hour.”
“Yes.”
“In the meantime, I’m going to need more personnel on the ground.”
“I know.” I sigh.
“We’ll start with the stores in the vicinity of SIP. See if anyone saw anything. This could be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”
“Follow it up and let me know. Just find her, Welch. She’s in trouble. Find her.” I hang up and look at Ana. Her tangled hair tumbles over her shoulders; her long legs are pale in the dim light from the hallway. I imagine them wrapped around me.
“Do you want some tea?” she asks.
“Actually, I’d like to go back to bed.” And forget all this crap about Leila.
“Well, I need some tea. Would you like to join me for a cup?” She moves to the stove, picks up the kettle, and begins to fill it with water.
I don’t want fucking tea. I want to bury myself in you and forget about Leila.
Ana gives me a pointed look and I realize she’s waiting for an answer about tea.
“Yes. Please.” Even to my own ears I sound surly.
What does Leila want with Ana?
And why the hell hasn’t Welch found her?
“What is it?” Ana asks a few minutes later. She’s holding a familiar-looking teacup.
Ana. Please. I don’t want you to worry about this.
“You’re not going to tell me?” she persists.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it shouldn’t concern you. I don’t want you tangled up in this.”
“It shouldn’t concern me, but it does. She found me and accosted me outside my office. How does she know about me? How does she know where I work? I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”
She has an answer for everything.
“Please?” she presses.
Oh, Ana. Ana. Ana. Why do you do this?
Her bright blue eyes beseech me.
Fuck. I can’t say no to that look.
“Okay.” You win. “I have no idea how she found you. Maybe the photograph of us in Portland, I don’t know.” With some reluctance I continue, “While I was with you in Georgia, Leila turned up at my apartment unannounced and made a scene in front of Gail.”
“Gail?”
“Mrs. Jones.”
“What do you mean made a scene?”
I shake my head.
“Tell me.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re keeping something back.”
“Ana, I—” Why is she so mad? I don’t want her mixed up in this. She doesn’t understand that Leila’s shame is my shame. Leila chose to attempt suicide in my apartment and I wasn’t there to help her; she cried out to me for a reason.
“Please?” Ana prompts again.
She won’t give up. I sigh with exasperation and tell her that Leila made a haphazard attempt at suicide.
“Oh no!”
“Gail got her to the hospital. But Leila discharged herself before I could get there. The shrink who saw her called it a typical cry for help. He didn’t believe her to be truly at risk—one step from suicidal ideation, he called it. But I’m not convinced. I’ve been trying to track her down since then to get her some help.”