Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(58)

“5:30?”

“I’ll see you then.”

We end the call and I continue on to the library, still remarkably without the sensation of being followed. I’m not sure if that means I’m without prying eyes or if I’m calmer now, and not conjuring demons where they might not be. Am I calmer now?

Once I’m at the library, I sit down at a long wooden table and consider where to dig into research, and as always when I’m thinking about the past, my mind radiates toward the tattoo on my handler’s wrist. If I find a link to him, I find a link to whatever, or whomever, I’m running from. I consider what I’ve already considered in the past. I’ve always been certain the triangle shape relates to the pyramids, since my father had done much of his work in Egypt, but I have nothing that makes the exact image of the tattoo connect to anything that confirms this.

I shut my eyes and picture Liam’s tattoo. The numbers beneath it form a triangle. I don’t like where my mind is going, and I pull my computer out of the small leather briefcase Liam bought me while shopping, and Google the “pi” sign. Nowhere is there a similar image with numbers forming an inverted triangle. And the symbol on my handler’s arm was a triangle with words inside, words that I’d thought to be another language, but had since decided was some sort of coded message. It isn’t like Liam’s tattoo at all. Not even close. My stomach knots. Except for the triangle. I draw in a heavy breath. Liam’s interest in pyramids is a coincidence that’s hard to ignore. But lots of people are intrigued by pyramids, I remind myself he’s an architect, looking for an answer as to how they were created. Perhaps solving the mystery is a personal challenge.

It’s a logical interest, especially for someone who mastered his craft at such a young age.

I key “mathematical symbols” into my search bar and scan image after image in search of the symbol I’m looking for. I find triangles but nothing that is a real match. Same story I always end up with. Finally, I force myself to stop putting off what I really came here for. Today I will do what I haven’t had the courage to do ever. I walk to one of the tables with archived material and search for old newspaper clippings of the night my life changed forever. Or I try. There is not one single reference to a fire in my hometown the year or month when it occurred. Nothing. That is just…odd.

Back at the table, I Google my father and start listing every name ever associated with him I can find. I’m surprised at how few links I find on him, considering he was responsible for carving out more than a few pieces of history. My heart squeezes when I think of being with him when one of his great discoveries had been made. I shove aside the bittersweet memory and refocus on research. What would make someone want to kill him, and everyone he loved? What would make them hunt me down?

Maybe it’s not about his archeological finds. He sat on government committees and became involved in international relations, and not long before he died there was talk of his retirement from field work and a political appointment in Washington. I shake my head. I don’t know where this is taking me. I was young, and uninvolved in that part of his life. I know nothing about it. If I’m still a target, and I am, then someone thinks I know something I shouldn’t. It’s only logical. They can’t hurt my father by killing me. He’s already dead.

I decide to make a list of everyone I ever knew or knew my family to know, here and overseas, when my brother and I would go on digs with my father. Next, I cross-reference it with the Google searches. I stare at the list.

It’s sixty names long and I don’t even know what I’m looking for. My first instinct is to mark everyone off that has nothing to do with my father, but I change my mind. I’ve hyper-focused on this being about him and his work.

It’s not about the money. It was never about the money. My mother’s voice flashes through my mind. My mind was trying to tell me something, but what? Who was she talking to?

Who was there that day?

***

Remarkably, I do not have a flashback while doing my research, and I wonder if that has something to do with feeling like I’m taking control and finding answers. At 5:00 I force myself to pack up and head to my meeting with Meg. Finding Earl’s Restaurant and Bar is easier than I expect, and I arrive at 5:15. A waitress points me to the left and I enter a bar area with huge booths that sit on pedestals above rows of tables, and directly opposite the huge wooden bar. I choose the booth at the very back where I can see Meg when she enters, and I have plenty of room to put my computer to use while I wait.

I’ve barely settled into my seat when a waitress appears to take my order of a house red wine. I open my computer and look directly in front of me and go still. Jared is sitting at the next booth over, facing me, his computer open and a beer by his side.

I swallow the dryness in my throat and he motions to my table, asking to join me. I nod, unsure why this makes me guilty. He’s a neighbor, not my new lover, but I know Liam wouldn’t approve—and honestly, if I found him having drinks with some hot woman, I wouldn’t either.

He slides into the half-moon-shaped booth, and to my relief, remains directly across from me. “Past due we get some quality time together,” he says, as the waitress sets my wine down beside me.

“I wasn’t aware we were trying to get quality time together.”

“Well, now you are,” he says with a smile, and there is this casual sexy thing about him that screams completely relaxed and comfortable in his own skin. And I’m sure many women would be comfortable in it too. But not me. I prefer the edgy, dark thing Liam wears like a second skin.