One of Those Faces (64)

“What about Sarah’s case? Did Jeremy know her too?”

“It’s ongoing. We’re investigating it separately.” He sighed. “We’ve been over this.”

I focused on the toes of my boots, the water in the puddles displacing into separate streams around them on the sidewalk. “When you asked me before if anyone would want to hurt me, I should’ve told you about something.” I could feel his eyes burning into me. Waiting. “My father used to . . .” How to even describe it? It was complicated. It was painful. “He used to hurt me when I was growing up.” Hurt me? Beat me? Hate me? I looked back at Wilder.

He seemed unfazed. “Where is he now?”

“I think he’s still in Evanston.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why are you telling me this now? Do you really think he’d want to kill you?”

The answer was there, but it was too terrible to speak. “I don’t know, but I just can’t stop thinking about Sarah.”

He waited for more but crossed his arms impatiently in my silence. “When was the last time you slept?”

My cheeks grew warm. “I’m sleeping fine,” I insisted.

He surveyed me quietly for a moment. “What’s your father’s name?”

I couldn’t close the lid now. Once Wilder started looking in Evanston, he would know everything. Maybe not everything. I was the only one who would know it all. But maybe he would connect the dots. “Russell. Russell Mallen.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


I didn’t voice my fears to Iann. Not about Erin. And not about my father. But the dread lingered in the back of my mind with each day that passed and I didn’t hear from her.

“I like this,” he said, stopping and leaning over my drafting table on his way to the door.

It wasn’t a paid project. I had dreamed about my mom for the first time in years. It hadn’t been a sorrowful or frightening nightmare like usual. When I’d woken up from it, I’d tried to capture her portrait as quickly as possible. She was beautiful, but her face was a memory that had steadily faded over the past two decades. “Thanks.” I glanced at it.

The longer I stared at it, the more I realized it wasn’t her at all.

He continued to the door. “What do you have going on today?” He pulled on his jacket.

I sighed. “I have revisions for that kid’s book again.”

He leaned forward and kissed me. “Good luck with that,” he said with a laugh. “I have the clinic tonight. I’ll stay at my place since I’ll get out of there so late.”

“Okay.”

He opened the door and glanced back at me before starting down the stairs.

I closed the door. Standing over the table, I looked at the painting one more time and slid it between the back of the table and the wall to join the portrait of Issi.

A knock sounded on the door. It was harder and longer than Iann’s. I looked through the peephole to see Wilder staring at me.

“Good morning,” he said when I opened the door. “Do you have time to talk?” His expression seemed stiffer than usual.

“Yeah, of course.”

He walked into the apartment behind me and closed the door.

“Is this about Erin?” I asked, my stomach dropping.

“I think you should sit down.”

I suddenly felt nauseous. I walked to the kitchen table and sank into a chair.

Wilder followed suit. “After what you said about your father, I decided to look into it.” He eyed my balled fists resting on the table. “Harper, he’s dead.”

The tension left my body. “What?” How? “What happened to him?” I ventured when he didn’t respond.

“He was in a car accident. I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t. I felt nothing. You care more about those dead girls than about your own father. What does that say about you? He was your only family.

“The funeral is tomorrow. I wanted you to know.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. I could feel the sting of my father’s palm against my face. I saw the hatred on his face the night of the accident. My heart quickened. Now that he was gone, there was nothing keeping me from going back. “What about Erin?”

He furrowed his brow. “You still haven’t seen or heard from her?”

“No.”

“That name you gave me of the guy she left with—how well do you know him?”

“Danny? Very well. He’s a great guy,” I said immediately. “Why?”

“Are you sure? I put in a call to a friend and found out a little more about him.” He watched me. “He was under suspicion in a missing person’s case in Evanston a while back.”

My throat tightened.

“Yeah, I don’t know the details, but he got brought in for some minor who went missing,” he said, scanning my face. “She’s still missing, technically, but they dropped the investigation after she made contact with her father.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, Danny has nothing to do with Erin missing, believe me. And”—I took a deep breath—“I was the minor in Evanston.”

“What?”

I met his gaze. “I told you before that I ran away from home.” I fidgeted with my hands. “I had no idea that they even looked for me when I left . . . or that Danny was investigated for it.” My whole body was drained of feeling. It hadn’t even been a thought in my mind that everything could come falling down on him when I left.