Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(54)

He looks at her, that same intense gaze, and she has to work to keep herself from squirming like a teenager in the principal’s office. He works for you, she reminds herself.

“When I knew him,” she blurts, “he used to like to call himself Pan.”

“As in Peter Pan?” Cooke asks, his brow furrowing.

Holly nods miserably.

“That would have been helpful information to have. He sounds like quite the rabid fan, another useful bit.” After a long pause, he adds, “You’re never too far from that story, are you?”

Holly bites back a hysterical laugh. He has no idea.

“Also helpful? A photo of your daughter with her eyes open.”

“Eden spends most of her time sleeping, due to her medical condition,” she says. “I believe I mentioned that.”

“And I believe you’re keeping things from me,” he says with a hint of that mocking grin. “That’s what makes this case so fun.”

“I’m glad you find my missing daughter entertaining,” she says coldly. She stands. “I’ll see if I can locate another picture of Eden. Is there anything else?”

He shakes his head and comes around the side of the desk to see her out. “I’ll search again using that alias and be in touch about what I find,” he says. “And I apologize. You’re right—my comment was insensitive.”

She looks at him in surprise. “Thank you.”

He shrugs. “Needed to be said.” He’s standing close to her, and his eyes are such a dark, magnetic blue it’s hard to look away. She can feel the heat coming off him. She takes a step backward to put distance between them, and as she does so, her hip bumps the side table holding the plant.

She looks down. The leaves are shiny and green, with tiny blue flowers, a picture of health.

“Beautiful plant. Rosemary, is it?” she says inanely. Anything to break the silence.

He nods. “For remembrance.”

She looks at him with confusion and he shrugs. “A friend gave it to me. I don’t sleep much since . . .” He waves the fingers on his mechanical hand. “I never did, not really. I’ve always had crazy, intense dreams, like memories of another life. And they’ve gotten worse since the accident. Between the lack of sleep and the dreams, it can be hard to tell what’s real sometimes. To remember.” A shadow passes across those brilliant eyes. “I figured I’ve tried everything else, I might as well try this.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she is. It’s hazy, but she remembers what it was like after the crash. It felt as if it were years before she slept soundly, before she stopped dreaming of it. There are still nights when she finds herself in Robert’s sporty red car, the twins strapped in the back, and she knows what’s coming and can’t stop it. She sees the lorry veer across its lane and feels their car suspended in the air for a moment that holds all of eternity.

She wonders what it is that Christopher sees.

“Not your problem,” he says. “Besides, my therapist approves. Of the plant, that is. She’s not a fan of herbal mumbo jumbo, but she’s happy to see me invested. She seems to think I have some kind of subliminal death wish, that I can’t keep anything around me alive.”

His eyes are still serious, but he’s grinning again, and Holly’s heart gives an inexplicable skip.

“If I keep the plant going for a full year, she said I might be ready for a fish. I’m angling for a dog though. What do you think?”

He’s reaching for the door, to open it for her, but Holly beats him to it. With her hand on the knob, she turns back to him. She’s still thinking of the car, of the twins, of Jack and Eden and Robert, of the way her heart has suddenly stopped being under her control. The words tumble out before she can stop them.

“I think,” she says, “your therapist would have a field day with me.”

And then she flees, leaving him in the doorway staring after her.





Chapter Twenty



The house is empty when Holly gets home, which is just as well, since her meeting with Christopher has her rattled. Jane has left a note saying that Jack’s gone to dinner and then to a movie with the teens he met through her friends. Jane will also be out for dinner, and the note informs Holly not to wait up. There’s a covered casserole dish in the fridge, but Holly ignores it and makes herself some toast. All she wants for the rest of the night is to shower and crawl into bed, with that damn nursery window shut and locked for a change. But Jack’s still out. So after she bathes, she waits up for him. Around ten p.m. she retires to her room and tries to read, but she leaves her door open. She hears Jane come in around eleven but doesn’t go out to greet her. Jack’s curfew comes and goes. Holly tells herself not to worry, that it’s nothing more nefarious than a teenage boy pushing boundaries, that he’s in a group and perfectly safe. And at least it’s a movie, not something more physical like lacrosse or a gym session.

At 12:30 she tries his phone. It goes straight to voicemail. She goes downstairs to the kitchen to brew herself a cup of tea, and that’s where she’s sitting when at one a.m. she hears his key in the lock.

He startles at seeing her, then recovers, his stance in the doorway turning truculent.

“Hey,” he says. “Hope you didn’t stay up because of me.”