Missing You(31)

The property had fourteen of them.

He strolled past the pile of clothes. The bright yellow sundress was still on top.

“How is she?”

Reynaldo shrugged. “The usual.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

It was a dumb question. Reynaldo wouldn’t know. He didn’t even bother responding. Six years ago, Titus had met Reynaldo in Queens. Reynaldo had been a skinny teen working the gay trade and getting beaten twice weekly. Titus realized that the kid wouldn’t survive more than another month. The only thing Reynaldo had resembling a family or friend was Bo, a stray Labrador retriever he’d found near the East River.

So Titus “saved” Reynaldo, gave him drugs and confidence, made him useful.

The relationship had started as yet another classic ruse, as with the girls. Reynaldo became his most obedient lackey and muscle. But something had changed over the years. Evolved, if you will. Strange as it might seem, Titus had feelings for Reynaldo. No, not like that.

He considered Reynaldo family.

“Bring her to me tonight,” Titus said. “Ten o’clock.”

“Late,” Reynaldo said.

“Yes. That a problem?”

“No. Not at all.”

Titus stared at the bright yellow sundress. “One more thing.”

Reynaldo waited.

“The pile of clothes. Burn them.”





Chapter 14


It was as though Park Avenue froze.

In Kat’s periphery, she could still see the students trudge by, still hear the occasional laugh and car horn, but all of it was suddenly so far away.

Kat held the picture in her hand. It was that shot of Jeff on the sand, the broken fence behind him, the waves crashing in the distance. Maybe it was the beach scene, but it now felt as though seashells were pressed against both her ears. Kat felt adrift, numbly holding the photograph of her old fiancé, staring at it as though it might suddenly explain everything to her.

Brandon stood. For a moment, she worried that he might sprint off, leaving her with this damn picture and too many questions. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. Just to make sure. Just to make sure that he didn’t vanish.

“You know him, right?” he asked.

“What the hell is going on, Brandon?”

“You’re a cop.”

“Right.”

“So before I reveal anything, you have to give me immunity or something.”

“What?”

“It’s why I didn’t tell you before. What I did. It’s like the Fifth Amendment or something. I don’t want to incriminate myself.”

“Coming to me,” Kat said. “It wasn’t a coincidence.”

“It wasn’t.”

“How did you find me?”

“That’s the part I’m not sure I should tell you,” he said. “I mean, the Fifth Amendment and all that.”

“Brandon?”

“What?”

“Cut the crap,” Kat said. “Tell me what the hell is going on. Tell me now.”

“Suppose,” he said slowly, “the way I found you. It was kind of, well, illegal.”

“I don’t care.”

“What?”

Kat gave him a dagger stare. “I’m about to take out my gun and jam it in your mouth. What the hell is going on, Brandon?”

“Just tell me one thing first.” He pointed to the picture in her hand. “You know him, right?”

Her eyes dropped back to the picture. “I did.”

“So who is he?”

“An old boyfriend,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I got that. I mean—”

“What do you mean, you got that?” She looked at him. Something crossed his face. How had he found her? How would he know that Jeff was her old boyfriend? How would . . .

The answer suddenly became obvious. “Did you hack into a computer or something?”

She could see by the look on his face that she had hit pay dirt. It made sense now. Brandon didn’t want to come to a cop admitting he had broken the law. So he came up with this story about hearing that she was a good detective.

“It’s okay, Brandon. I don’t care about any of that.”

“You don’t?”

Kat shook her head. “Just tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“You promise it’s just between us?”

“I promise.”

He took a deep breath, let it out. His eyes were filling up with tears. “At UConn, I’m a computer science major. My friends and me. We’re good with programming and designing, that kind of stuff. So it wasn’t hard. I mean, it’s just a dating website. The sites with the serious firewalls and security? They deal with higher-ticket items. Only thing you can get off a dating site is maybe credit card info. So that they keep secure. The rest of the site? Not so much.”

“You hacked into YouAreJustMyType.com?”

Brandon nodded. “Like I said, not the financial stuff. That would take forever. But the other pages, well, it took us maybe two hours to get it. The files keep records of everything—who you click on, who you communicate with, what times, who you message. Even instant messages. The website keeps logs on all that.”