One of Those Faces (61)

Your coat! Where’s your coat?

“Hey!”

I jumped and turned around. Danny was hovering over my shoulder, a large paper cup of coffee in one hand. “Hi,” I panted.

He smiled and motioned to my dress. “Night on the town?”

I tugged the fabric down, but it barely covered the tops of my thighs. “No, laundry day. What are you doing here?”

He held up his cup. “I’ve got a long night ahead.” He set it on the table beside me and slid his gray peacoat from his shoulders, then handed it to me.

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head.

He laughed. “Come on, you’re looking a little blue. And I’m literally going right across the street after this.” He pointed to Tribune Tower through the window. “You need it more than I do.”

I gratefully accepted it and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“So, I haven’t heard from you since the club,” he said, picking his cup up. “Are you feeling okay?”

I pulled his coat closed over my chest. My cheeks burned as I remembered that night. “Yeah, I’m sorry. That was a weird night.” I thought about Erin touching his body as they danced. My fists clenched.

“Yeah, it was.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you want to sit down and talk for a minute?” He pointed behind him.

“Sure.” I followed him to a table, and we sat down across from each other.

He ran a hand over his face, his fingers exaggerating the deep creases forming under his eyes. “I’m worried about you,” he said. His eyes bored into mine. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

I looked down at my hands. “What do you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant.

“You seemed upset at the club the other night and then, running into you tonight like . . . this.” He motioned to my outfit. “It just seems like you’re spiraling out or something. Did something happen?”

Was I that transparent? “We haven’t seen each other in so long. How do you know I’m not just like this now?” I said defiantly.

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I used to, but I know something was off that night. You only had one drink at the club, and then you could barely walk.”

There was a simple explanation for that, but I couldn’t tell him about the Xanax. And I couldn’t explain how I lost time to myself. I focused on the dark circles under his eyes. “Well, to be perfectly honest, you don’t seem like you’re doing so great yourself.”

“You don’t have to get defensive. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Maybe I was going crazy. “Do you remember right before we left the club?”

He took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, when you fell over?”

I blushed. I saw Jenny’s eyes again as if she were standing in front of me. “No, when I ran into that girl. Did you see her?” My heart raced.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I saw her drop her glass and push you.”

I shook my head. “Did you see her face?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Not really, why?”

I held his gaze, searching for that warmth in his eyes that had made me trust him so many years ago. “Have you heard about those girls murdered near Wicker Park and Bucktown?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t come to mind.”

The words forming in my mind sounded insane. “Never mind.” My face grew hot.

He continued to look at me. “Come on. You’ve hooked me,” he said with a laugh. “Now reel me in.”

I rested my hands on the table. “When I think about saying it . . . it sounds crazy,” I said in a lowered voice. I dared to meet his eyes again. The interest was growing, lighting up his green eyes in a way I hadn’t seen before. I took a deep breath. “A girl’s body was found a few months ago in Wicker Park,” I began. “Right across from my apartment.”

Recognition dawned on his face. “Okay, yeah,” he affirmed. “I do remember that. Molly?”

“Holly,” I corrected.

He frowned slightly. “Wow, that was just across the street from you, huh?”

“Yes, but that part doesn’t matter,” I said, quickly. He was latching on to the wrong detail. “Did you ever see her picture?”

He hesitated and shrugged. “I really can’t say that I did. That was around the tail end of summer, when things were going crazy on the west side.” He sipped his coffee. “I was working primarily on covering those shootings. I remember hearing about that murder, though.”

There were too many horrible things going on in the denser, more populous parts of the city. To most, Sarah’s or Holly’s deaths would’ve been big news, but it was hard to process any one particular horror story in the onslaught of shootings and police-corruption investigations announced every day.

“I saw her,” I continued. “On the news when they found her the next morning.” I focused hard on his expression before the next part. “She looked like me.”

There was no change in his face, only curiosity. “In what way?”

“Every way.”

He leaned back in his chair.