One of Those Faces (40)

I took advantage of that moment to rearrange my shirt. He switched on the light overhead, and I winced. “What is this about, exactly?” I groaned, looking at the floor to avoid the light.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he said.

I turned the light switch back off and met his eyes. “I lost my bag last night on the train.”

“Why were you calling in the first place?”

The images of that girl and the lighter came flooding back. I shrugged. “I don’t remember.” The gap between waking up on the train and then in bed was a blur.

“Where did you lose your bag?”

“The Blue Line, um, at Damen.”

He ran a hand through his slicked-back ashy hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I thought maybe something happened.”

My knees still ached from my fall on the train. Something nearly had happened. Or had it? “Thanks for checking,” I said quietly. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

His eyes widened as if he’d suddenly remembered something. “You didn’t. I was actually planning to stop by anyway.” He glanced over my shoulder into the kitchen. “Why have you been talking to Sarah Jenkins’s family?”

My body tensed. “What?”

He leaned against the bedpost with one hand. “Yeah, I got a call from Sarah’s fiancé this week,” he said, his eyes boring into me. “He asked me about the Bascom case. He wanted to know if it was connected somehow.”

“I thought you said you were already looking into that.”

He glared at me. “I like to keep investigations . . . discreet.”

“Why do you think I said something to him?” I shifted my weight onto my back leg. “Their pictures were blasted all over the news.”

“Are you stalking Sarah’s family?”

I glanced at the watercolor illustration on my drafting table. “Of course not,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Sarah’s mom ran up to me on the street one day, thinking I was her. And I ran into Sam recently. I guess he lives around here.”

“I’ve got to say,” he started with a smirk, “for someone who doesn’t know anything, you sure are causing me a lot of trouble.” He opened the front door, the sunlight stronger behind him now. “What does your bag look like?”

I sat on the edge of my bed, in his shadow to avoid the blinding sunlight. “It’s a shoulder bag and, um, olive green.”

“You should come to the station. Was your wallet in there?” he asked.

I hung my head. Dammit. “Yeah, it was.”

He sighed. “Then, yeah, whenever you get your hangover under control, you should come file a report. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He glanced at me disapprovingly and stepped onto the landing. “And keep this door locked.” He walked down the stairs without looking back and got into his unmarked dark-gray car.

I closed the door and immediately turned the lock. As I collapsed on the bed again, a knot formed in my stomach. I wondered if Iann had called. He didn’t know why I wasn’t responding. I rolled onto my side and succumbed to sleep again.



Another knock. I opened my eyes. The light had shifted through the blinds. How long had I been asleep?

This knock was different than before. I pushed against the bed and made sure my clothes were facing all the right directions this time. I stumbled to the door and tossed the hair from my face to look through the peephole.

Iann.

My stomach sank as I swung the door open. “Hi,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. His eyes were sad, but his mouth was angry.

He leaned forward, one hand against the doorframe, the other in the pocket of his black jacket. “Hi,” he returned. He must’ve been knocking for a long time. “Are you okay?”

He came in and closed the door behind hard enough to shake the floor.

“I’m fine. I’m . . .” You’re sorry, aren’t you? You should be.

He glanced at the bed. “Did you just wake up?”

I nodded. “How was last night?”

He scoffed. “It was good, except I got stood up in front of my whole family.”

I reached for his shoulder, but he pulled away. “I didn’t stand you up—”

“Are you drunk?”

I could smell it on my breath too. “No, I—”

“Is that what happened? You planned to be there but ended up at a bar?”

There wasn’t a way out of this.

“What were you doing when I called and texted you last night?”

“I lost my phone. I didn’t know you tried to reach me,” I lied.

He paused, but his anger wouldn’t be assuaged so easily. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t show up. You knew where we were supposed to meet.”

“I . . .” I threw my hands up to my temple again, my head splitting. “I would’ve ruined everything, anyway.”

He looked away from me. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m screwed up, Iann. And you and your family, it’s all too perfect. I would’ve fucked it up if I was there.”

He stepped toward me and firmly gripped my arm before running his hand down my bare skin. He pulled me into his chest. Without saying a word. We stood there, his arms wrapped tighter around my back and his warm breath rustling through my tangled hair. He tugged my waist into his and brushed my hair away behind my ear. “Where did you go last night?” he whispered, bringing his lips to my ear.