His words of understanding moved her. “Thank you,” she croaked.

Oleg watched her struggle with her emotions for a moment. “Are you really afraid of this boy?”

“Yes. It’s been three years, and he’s still obsessed with me. He’s said horrible, abusive things to me online. He broke into my house. And now he’s here. He’s looking for me.”

The man’s hazel eyes stayed on her for a beat, and then he leaned over, reached into his glove box.

“Take this,” he said, holding out his huge palm. In it was a small pistol.

“Oh my god.” Nat had not grown up around guns. Derek had a rifle for hunting, but it was locked away in a cabinet in the garage. Nat associated guns with crime, with mass shootings, with gangsters. Not with people like Gabe Turnmill and his kindly driver.

“N-no thanks,” she stammered.

“It’s just a little nine-millimeter,” he said, like it was a toy, a harmless water gun. He racked the slide. “It’s easy to handle.”

“I’ve never fired a gun before.”

“And you won’t need to,” Oleg said, putting on the safety. “Point this at the kid who’s harassing you, and you’ll never see him again.”

Tentatively, she reached out and accepted the revolver. It fit her hand comfortably, felt heavy and cool. Could she point it at Cole Doberinsky and threaten to kill him? To protect herself, her reputation, and her life in New York City, she could try.

Swallowing her anxiety, she said, “Thank you, Oleg.”

“Let’s keep this between us, yes?”

He didn’t want Gabe to know. “Of course,” she said.

She placed the gun in her purse and got out of the car.

16

Facebook

As Nat let herself into the apartment, she practically bumped into Mara in the hallway. Her roommate had a wool hat over her red hair, her winter coat on, and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder. She was off to class.

“Morning,” Nat muttered, sliding past her.

“Morning.”

Nat felt Mara’s critical eyes on her as she continued down the hall, clocking Nat’s high heels, tight skirt, and bed head. Nat knew exactly what the angular girl was thinking: this was the walk of shame after a one-night stand. Her roommate’s judgment brought to mind the sneers, the whispers, the disapproving glances Nat’s dates with Gabe elicited. Since their first meeting in DUMBO, Nat had decided to ignore them. Because Nat didn’t feel ashamed. She’d had a delicious dinner at a delightful restaurant with a charming, handsome man. A man who had listened to her hopes, her dreams, and her fears. A man who had held her, kept her safe in his arms, allowed her to sleep.

A man who had given her five hundred dollars the next morning.

If Mara knew that Nat had accepted money for a date, she’d have been horrified, disgusted, repulsed. And if the ginger-haired girl learned about the firearm in Nat’s possession, she’d have gone ballistic. But there was no way Mara would ever know what was nestled in Nat’s purse. Nat would wrap the weapon in a T-shirt and hide it in the back of a drawer. And that’s where it would stay—unless Cole Doberinsky came for her.