Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
As if on cue, my phone vibrates. It’s Sam. I haven’t heard from him since I canceled getting together last week.
Sam: Any chance you’re free tonight?
My first instinct is to say no. But then I glance again at the screen in front of me. Seventeen thousand, one hundred and forty-eight hits for Jocelyn Burton. There must be a better way to find her, and to find Hannah Greer. Who better than a police detective to give me some guidance? I nibble on my lip, debating for a few minutes, before finally typing back.
Elizabeth: Sure. My place or yours?
I wind up meeting Sam at a restaurant, rather than one of our apartments like we usually do when we get together.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” He smiles as we eat. “I mean, what we usually do is pretty damn nice, too. But I like taking you out. We should do it more often.”
Shoot. This was a mistake. I knew it when he suggested meeting for dinner, but I didn’t push back. Sam seems like a great guy. Not once in the few months we’ve been getting together has he shown any red flags. He’s been a perfect gentleman, except in the bedroom, where he’s aggressive, which I rather like. But I learned years ago to be up front with the expectations I have of men. Most are thrilled to find a woman only looking for sex. Once you take the next step, it’s difficult to pull back without upsetting the other person.
After we’ve finished, I look him in the eyes. “I like you, Sam. You seem like a genuinely nice guy.”
He frowns. “I hear a but coming . . .”
I smile sadly. “But I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“It was just dinner.”
“I know. But I want to be up front with you.”
He sighs. “Is it me?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s me.”
“We haven’t talked too much about our previous partners. Did something happen to sour you on relationships?”
You mean like a deadbeat dad, a string of “uncles” who used my mother, and a teacher who abused the trust of my best friend? Yet I shake my head. “No. I just like to keep things simple.”
Sam rakes a hand through his hair. “All right. If that’s the way you want it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He smiles, trying to make light of the moment, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The alternative isn’t a bad consolation prize.”
A few minutes later, the waitress brings the check. Sam takes out his credit card and sticks it in the leather padfolio.
I hold out my hand. “I’d like to pay half, if you don’t mind. I’ll give you cash.”
Sam frowns. “Really? You can’t let me pay for one meal? Do you want the receipt for the condoms, too? Maybe we can calculate how much one from the box costs and you can leave the cash on the nightstand before you slip out each time?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just prefer to pay my own way.”
Sam says something under his breath and tosses a few twenties into the check holder, taking his card back out. “Whatever. It’s fine.”
I open my wallet and count fifty dollars. But as I pull the cash from the compartment, something tucked between the bills falls out—a slip of paper. It floats to the floor, closer to Sam’s feet, and he reaches down and picks it up, extending it to me across the table.
“Louisiana, right?” he says.
I freeze. “What?”
He looks down at the ink on the paper, at Ivy’s phone number. “The area code. It’s Louisiana, isn’t it? My ex-partner retired there to be near his kid who went to college at Tulane and stayed. His area code is 337.”
I snatch the paper back. “Yes, it’s Louisiana.”
“That’s where you were born, right?”
I blink a few times. There is no way in hell I told him that. I don’t tell anyone where I’m from. “How do you know that?”
Sam looks away, clears his throat. “You must’ve told me.”
“I absolutely did not tell you.”
His shoulders slump, and he hangs his head. He knows he’s been caught in a lie. “I, uh, ran you when we first started dating.”
“Ran me? What does that mean?”
“Through the system. At work. I do it to everyone I date. You can never be too careful, especially in New York.”
“You investigated me?” My heart thumps around in my chest, but not just at the indignity of being spied on. What if he found something about what happened before?
“Not investigated. Just punched you into the system. You know, to see if you had any priors or anything. System also gives all last known addresses. It showed you grew up in Louisiana. I was surprised. You don’t have a Southern accent.”
It feels like I’ve just had my clothes unwillingly ripped from my body, and I’m standing naked. I should have known better than to date a detective. Of course he’d look me up. My head spins while I take in the fact that Sam has known where I grew up for the three months we’ve been spending time together, and yet never once mentioned that he knew I’d lied to him about being from New York. Paranoia creeps in. I start to remember other things—like that time we were at his apartment and I went to the bathroom. When I came out, he had my phone in his hand. He claimed he’d picked it up instead of his by accident. Was he lying? And another time when he stayed over, and I found him looking through the end table drawer in my living room. He claimed he was looking for the remote, but the remote was sitting right on the coffee table.