Free Her Faux Fiancé by Alexia Adams Page B

mother’s dependence on drink and drugs had made Analise wary of any predisposition to substance abuse. Although, her father’s constant infidelity probably had more to do with her mother’s downfall than any inheritable tendency. Plus, she was having enough difficulty staying in control of her body without alcohol reducing her inhibitions.
    Erik ordered a glass of wine, then leaned forward again. He ran his fingers up her arm to her elbow and back down again. His touch was smoother and more potent than eighteen-year-old Scotch. They spoke of favorite foods, her photography, and his love of sailing. At some point they transitioned to the restaurant. Erik’s arm around her waist held her tightly against him. Anyone watching them would have no doubts that they were a couple in love. Analise herself was having trouble remembering it was all a façade.
    As the waiter cleared their dinner plates, Analise excused herself to use the ladies’ room. As she washed her hands, she stared in the mirror, hardly able to believe the image that reflected back. She glowed. The dark circles under her eyes had disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t even blame a glass of wine. Excitement hummed through her body and, in the spirit of honesty, a drum of desire also pounded in her veins. Erik was gorgeous, and all evening he’d gazed on her with undisguised lust, tempered with a hint of reverence and care. If only she could erase the past ten years. Go back to the sweet, innocent girl who still believed in happy-ever-afters.
    As she exited, she spotted a pay phone tucked in the corner of the hallway. Just her luck. She’d been searching all day, and she’d finally found one when Erik was only meters away. But it was the closest she was likely to get to untraceable private communication. With no time to waste, she dug into the bottom of her purse and pulled out the huge bag of coins she’d prepared for just such an eventuality. As she slotted the money into the phone, she carefully extracted the delicate paper with the number written in Jean-Claude’s nearly illegible Arabic scrawl.
    She glanced around, praying that Erik didn’t also make a trip to the washroom. Her fingers shook as she punched in the numbers. An eternity passed before she heard the distant ring through the earpiece. Hopefully, the connection would be decent, and she wouldn’t need to shout.
    “
Oui
.” The call was answered on the second ring by a male voice speaking French.
    “
Je m’appelle
—”
    “I know who you are.” The caller switched to English. “He is dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “Buy a cheap cell phone with cash. Text this number with the GPS coordinates of a location exactly ten days before you are able to meet. Then dispose of the phone somewhere it will never be found.” The voice was harsh and spoke with an Arab accent.
    “How will I know you?”
    “I will find you. Choose a place very public. Tell no one.”
    The line went dead before she could ask another question.
    “Analise?”
    She turned to find Erik striding toward her. Replacing the receiver, she gave herself a mental shake.
    Tell no one.
    “I wanted to call my granddad and let him know I’m okay. He probably expected us back before now.”
    “Why didn’t you say something? I’d have loaned you my cell. Don’t you have one?”
    “The battery’s dead. I keep forgetting to charge it,” she prevaricated.
    “Did you get through?”
    “What? Oh, um, no. I must have misdialed. The number is on speed dial on my cell phone; I guess I remembered it wrong.”
    “Here.” Erik handed her his phone. “The number’s in my contacts under ‘Thordarson.’” He pushed open the door of the men’s room and disappeared inside.
    Analise scrolled through the names on Erik’s phone, trying not to notice the number of women’s names. She had no claim on him. Unfortunately, that didn’t lessen the burning sensation in her chest. Finding her grandfather’s number, she pressed