One of Those Faces (26)

My stomach rumbled. I should’ve taken Erin up on her offer for breakfast. Surely she would’ve paid. Well, maybe not after how she woke up. I rubbed my wrists, still throbbing from the grip I’d held on her shoulders. I stood and grabbed my sweater from the floor and pulled it over my T-shirt. There was still time to catch the Sunday taco truck before it moved on to Bucktown. I picked up my bag from the floor and crammed a five-dollar bill into my back pocket before opening the door and jogging down the steps. I halted at the last step when I heard a car door slam.

Detective Wilder was walking around his car parked at the curb, heading toward me.

I resumed walking until he intercepted my path.

“Good morning,” he said. “I have some more questions for you.”

“I’m headed somewhere,” I said absently.

“This’ll just take a second.”

I gripped the handle of my bag harder. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help but okay.”

“Great,” he said, leaning closer. “Let’s start with your real name.”

Goose bumps rose along my arms. “What?”

He positioned himself between me and the sidewalk. “Isabella Mallen died fifteen years ago.”

I swallowed. Why had I even bothered lying? I guessed I’d been hoping he wouldn’t care enough to check.

“Do you know it’s a criminal offense to lie about your identity to a police officer?”

I heard a shuffle behind me and turned. Bug was standing outside his door, watching us with big eyes, one hand on the knob.

“Do you know him?” Wilder asked, nodding to Bug.

“He’s my landlord,” I said, my heart still racing. “Can we talk somewhere else about this?”

Still looking at Bug, he nodded. “We can talk at the station.”

I froze. “No,” I said quickly. “Let’s walk.” I started toward the sidewalk, hoping he would follow. He did. A little too closely. “Am I in trouble?” I dared to ask once we were down the street. I stopped and turned to him, spotting the taco truck over his shoulder in the distance.

His gaze softened. “It depends. Why did you lie? What’s your real name?”

“Harper Mallen,” I breathed. “I-I didn’t want to get caught up in all of this.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that. “What do you mean ‘caught up’ in this?”

“I don’t want my name in any public record. I don’t want my family to know where I am.”

He looked down at his shoes. “Why not?”

I quickened my pace. “You couldn’t figure that out, but you could find out that Isabella was dead?”

“I want to hear it from you,” he said.

“I ran away from home when I was a kid.”

He nodded. “You can understand why you lying to me like this is concerning, right? Especially in a murder investigation.”

Yes. But I started to feel more with each step that he couldn’t really do anything to me about it. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” I continued past him up to the window at the truck. “Two carne asada and egg tacos, please.”

Wilder appeared by my side as I fished the money from my back pocket and handed it to the sweaty man inside.

“What do you want from me?” I asked in a low voice, stepping back from the window to wait.

He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Look,” he began. “I’m going to level with you. I didn’t think last week’s murder was related to the Jenkins murder. Until you mentioned it.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. Why did you say anything?

“When I looked into it, you were right: there are a lot of similarities.” He paused. “And now I realized where I’d seen you before, or why I thought I had.” He pulled two photos from his pocket and held them out in front of him, close to my face. He nodded and lowered them. “Why do you think these murders are connected?”

Be honest or lie? “I saw Holly and Sarah on the news, and I thought there was a resemblance. That’s it.” I chose honesty. There wasn’t a reason to lie anymore. He knew everything.

Wilder nodded. “You’re right. Why didn’t you say anything last time we spoke?”

“I did say something,” I snapped. “That’s why you’re here right now.”

He leaned back and shifted his weight, frowning.

The man reemerged at the taco truck window and nodded to me, extending two rolls of foil.

“Thanks,” I said, walking over to grab them and then returning to the sidewalk, where Wilder was standing with his arms crossed now. “I would have thought the connection would be obvious to the police,” I continued once I was back in earshot.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” He stepped beside me. “Is there anyone that may be targeting you?”

I paused, letting my hand with the tacos fall to my side. “What?”

“Surely it must’ve occurred to you that you may be the true target of all this?”

I turned to look at him. “I—what do you mean?”

“Do you think it’s just a weird coincidence that two girls who look remarkably like you turn up dead in your neighborhood?” I could tell from his cocky smile that he felt vindicated after my insults.