One of Those Faces (28)

Iann pulled the car over on the street in front of my building. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem really quiet tonight.”

I held my eyes steady on my reflection. “Come in with me.” I didn’t have the patience for pretense tonight.

Seeing Wilder again had rattled me. Not because of the investigation but because he’d confirmed what I’d feared. I was just a copy. The lesser half of a whole.

Once Iann followed me inside, I pressed my lips against his, our mouths open and hot. I edged us both toward the bed and broke away to pull at the buttons on his shirt. I ran my hands over his collarbone and slid his shirt off as I traced over his bare shoulders. I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his tricep.

He tugged off my jacket, but I gently pushed him onto the bed before he could reach my shirt. My hands and cheeks burned more with each kiss as I joined him on the bed. We looked at each other, and still silent, he brushed my hair away from my shoulders.

His eyebrows wrinkled for a moment, and he traced the scar on my neck. I took his hand in mine and leaned into his chest. I wasn’t like Holly or Sarah or even Issi. I was alive. And I was with Iann, his hands cool against the burning flesh on my back, making my hair stand on end.



My pillow smelled of coffee and cologne. I rolled over and looked at the cruel light peeking through the blinds of the living room window.

Iann had woken up a few hours before dawn, saying that he had to teach a class in a couple of hours. I had tried to believe him and woke up long enough to see him out the door as he muttered the promise of breakfast some other time.

Then I had crawled back under my down comforter, hoping to capture any remaining hours on the most solid night of sleep I’d had in months.

A few hours later when I officially woke up, I heard meowing. The bed sank as Woodstock jumped up. He slinked over to my pillow and licked my chin. He often performed this morning ritual, but he usually licked my closed eyelids.

It was chilly inside. The coolness of the sheets soothed my aching legs.

I scratched the top of Woodstock’s head and sat up. His fur also felt a little cold. I picked him up and carried him across the room to the kitchen counter.

I set him down in front of his food and water bowls. That’s when I realized that the window by the front door was cracked open to about a Woodstock-height gap. I rushed over to the window and shut it. I didn’t remember opening the window the night before. I didn’t leave the window open for Woodstock—I only opened the door whenever he yowled outside. I looked down at the cluster of twigs and weeds on the floor in front of the door.

I blinked sleepily at the debris and went back to the kitchen. Coffee first, then cleaning. I set the kettle on the stove top, making a mental note to do the dishes later.

After turning on the heater and throwing on my knit blanket, I pulled up the news on my phone. There weren’t any updates on Holly’s or Sarah’s cases.

I had spiraled last night because of all this and thrown myself at Iann. Maybe I was focusing on something that wasn’t really there. I clicked on the photo of Holly again. No, it was undeniable.

I set my phone down, glancing over the counter to my keys on the drafting table. Even from that distance, something seemed different. I shuffled the sketch pads and loose paper on the table, lifting up and shaking each item.

The rabbit’s foot was missing. How?





CHAPTER TWELVE


I took a deep breath and walked into the restaurant. Iann’s dinner invitation had been a nice surprise after last night. It was fancy but with booths and stools like a diner. Iann was setting down a white coffee mug after taking a sip. He looked up, standing as I walked over to the table.

“Hi,” he said with a relieved smile.

I sat across from him. “Hey,” I said in return. It had been years since I’d had this tingling, antsy sensation in my gut. Too many years ago.

“Thanks for coming.”

I scanned the half-empty bar beside us. All the possible outcomes of this conversation were flashing before my eyes, my stomach churning. When I dared to look up, Iann was gazing at me. That look made me more nervous. I was so much more broken now than a few years ago, and I hadn’t even been able to make a relationship work back then. “What?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’m glad you showed up. I didn’t think you would.”

He already seemed to know a lot about me. I almost hadn’t shown up. I had paced in front of the record store at the corner, turning on my heel in the opposite direction several times before taking a big breath and charging into the restaurant. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and set his menu facedown on the table. “I don’t know—I had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

“So, what are we doing here?”

He glanced around the restaurant. “We’re . . . eating dinner?” He laughed.

“You didn’t have to do this because of last night.”

He gagged on his sip of coffee before setting the mug down with a clink. “I’m not. Is it that unbelievable that I want to spend time with you?”

Yes. I leaned back in my chair. “Not unbelievable but a little odd. I mean, we don’t even know each other, really. Why do you want to spend time with me?”

“I think we know each other pretty well now.”

Despite his attempts at invasive questions, we’d only really scratched the surface about my family or life. But pointing this out would only lead to more questions.