Wherever She Goes(41)

“What?”

“Denis saw me on TV the other day. That’s how he knew he had a son.”

Jackson closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Yes,” I say. “This is my fault. I accept that. If it wasn’t for me, Denis wouldn’t know about Brandon. He’d be safe with whoever Kim trusted to care for him.”

“That’s not why I’m shaking my head, Aubrey. First, having Denis Zima looking for you is like painting a target on your back. Do you even realize that?”

“He thinks he saw me in the club. Even his people believe he was imagining it. The security cameras aren’t functional, and I changed my dress to sneak out. The only reason he’d be concerned about me is if he has proof I came snooping around. Otherwise, I’m just the crazy lady on the television.”

“Fair enough. But I was also shaking my head because this doesn’t prove there’s a child. Denis believes there’s a child because you said so. That’s all he’s going on.”

“I found the house where she’d been staying. There was a drink box and a children’s book there. A book with the name Brandon in it.”

“You broke in—”

“I went in through an open window. Kim was in a hurry to leave and forgot to close it. That’s still trespassing, but I was desperate. She’d cleared away every sign of a child being there. I found the drink box and book, though.”

“That’s . . . No. Just no, Aubrey. That isn’t proof, and you know it, which is why you didn’t report it.”

“You still don’t believe me?” I straighten. “Fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. Talk to Kim’s sister. She’ll know there was a child. Just ask her.”

“I will.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





I don’t know how much I trust Laila Jackson. I’m too eager for an ally, and she was clearly not one a few days ago. Yet I do believe, once she knows Brandon exists, she’ll want to find him. She’s also aiming for detective, and if she can use my information to get there, that’s fine by me. Because she’s right about one thing: I’m not a private investigator. I don’t want to be. I just want justice for Kim and safety for Brandon. We seem to be on that track now.

I go home and get some sleep. Laila has promised to call as soon as she’s made contact with Ellie. Yes, I think of her as “Laila” now. “Officer Jackson” seems oddly formal. Thinking of her as more than a cop also, ironically, keeps me from jumping to claim her as an ally. She’s not an unbiased representative of the law. She’s a fully rounded person, with her own agenda and her own ambitions.

I’m up at eight thirty, expecting Charlotte at nine. At 8:55, a knock sounds at my door. I throw it open to see Paul standing there . . . alone.

“Charlie’s not with me,” he says.

“Is everything okay?” My heart pounds. My first thought is that he’s keeping her from me, that he’s here to challenge me on custody. My second is that something’s happened to her, that she fell off the horse or—

“She’s fine,” he says. “Gayle has her while I speak to you.”

I step back to let him in. “It’s . . . awfully early for her to be at Gayle’s, Paul. It’s none of my business if you’re spending the night, but if Charlie’s going to be there, too, I think we need to discuss that.”

“What?” He seems confused. “No. Of course not. I dropped her off. I just . . . I want to talk, and I’d rather not do that with Charlie here.”

“Okay. Can I get you a coffee?”

I expect him to say no, and I’m relieved when he nods, but it’s an absent one, as if he’s barely listening.

I go in the kitchen and pour a cup. “Just brewed, so it’s still fresh.”

“I’m sorry about keeping Charlie yesterday,” he says.

It honestly takes a moment to realize what he’s talking about. When I do, I answer with care. My fury from Friday night has blown over, and I don’t want to fight about this. Nor, however, do I want to brush it aside.

“I completely understand Gayle’s daughter wanting Charlie at her party,” I say. “I’d have liked more notice, but I know it was a last-minute decision. Next time, I would really appreciate it if you called. I don’t have an issue talking to Gayle. This isn’t me versus her.”

He seems to flinch at that, and I’m not sure why. This should be what he wants to hear, right?

I hand him his coffee. “I don’t know how serious you two are—”

He opens his mouth, as if to answer, and then shuts it.

“Even if you’re serious,” I say, “I just met her. A call to change our arrangement should come from you.”

“I didn’t know.” He blurts the words and then hesitates, as if ready to pull them back. Instead, he sits at my tiny dinette table. “Gayle called you without asking me.”

I pour a cup of coffee for myself and sit across from him.

“Her daughter asked, and Gayle . . . She wants . . .” He rubs his chin and shakes his head.

“She wants . . . ?” I prompt.

Another shake of his head, gaze down. “She’s just . . . moving faster than . . .” He straightens and shrugs it off with a roll of his shoulders. “She overstepped her boundaries, and I’ve said so, as nicely as possible. She didn’t see the harm in calling you herself. She thought, that way, it’d be clear it was her idea, and you wouldn’t be upset with me.”