Have You Seen Me?(60)

He flashes a smile. “Well, it’s definitely not your usual look. Or, I should say, your usual look when I knew you. Did you see who pushed you?”

“No, and—maybe I’m wrong. There’s a chance someone accidentally knocked me over. But it didn’t feel that way.”

“Could it have been a random crazy person?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t have any enemies, do you?”

“I didn’t think so. Though what do I know? Everything these days seems so jumbled.”

“Because of what you went through last week?”

“Right—and . . .” Am I really going to go into it all with him? Yes. “Do you remember what happened to me when I was nine? Finding that little girl’s body?”

“Of course.”

I give him the entire update: what I remembered about the timeline, my meeting with the police yesterday.

He’s quiet when I finish. God, is this going to be like Hugh’s reaction all over again? But then he reaches for my hand. The rough calluses on his fingers make me realize he must still play the guitar.

“I’m sorry that you had to dig that all up again,” he says. “I always sensed it bothered you more than you let on.”

“I really appreciate that.” And I’m not simply being polite. His words are comforting.

“Do you think what happened tonight is connected somehow?”

“I’m not sure. If what I told the police this week got out, it could be threatening to whoever killed Jaycee. Which might be her mother or the mother’s boyfriend. And for the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had this weird sense that someone is watching me.”

“I want you to be careful, Ally. Do you promise?”

“Yes, I intend to,” I say, though I have no clue how I’m supposed to do that. “Look, I better go.”

“You want me to walk you back to your building?”

“I can get back on my own, thanks.” It wouldn’t be good to have Hugh see me accompanied home by Damien.

I quickly pay the check, and as we emerge from the bistro, I notice the rain has eased into a light, misty drizzle.

“Oh, just so you know,” I say, breaking the sudden, stilted silence, “that call to your PR person? It definitely had nothing to do with any of my projects. I found out the caller was actually this intern I’m using, but she’s doing it for a story of her own.”

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Oh yeah? What’s the topic?”

I’d promised confidentiality to Sasha, and I can’t violate that now, but I still feel compelled to offer Damien a warning.

“You’d have to ask her. She’s an amateur but she’s trying to make a name for herself doing financial pieces. Looking for stuff that isn’t on the up-and-up. Go figure.”

That’s the most I should say. If he’s smart—and he is—he’ll follow the lead.

He nods, that’s all.

“But, Damien, just to reiterate, I wasn’t involved.”

“Take care,” he says. No brush of lips on my cheek this time. “I’m going to watch as you cross the street.”

I thank him and dart away, my panic mushrooming again as I hurry toward home. I’m careful at each intersection, always checking behind me. Less than ten minutes later, I’m unlocking my apartment door. And finally exhaling.

Hugh’s not home, but then, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. I ease through the apartment, flicking on lights, opening the door to the den. It’s stupid to feel scared in my own home, but I can’t shake the fear.

In the bedroom, I tear off my still-damp trench coat and hang it on a hook in my closet, though I can’t imagine wearing it ever again. My pants, I see, are beyond repair. I toss them on the floor, planning to trash them later.

I wash my hands and knees next, and as I’m spreading a dab of Neosporin on each palm, my phone rings from inside my purse. I do my best to dig it out without smearing the screen with the ointment. It’s Mulroney calling.

“Now a good time?” he asks. He’s in a car, I can tell, because his voice is echo-y from using Bluetooth.

“Yes, always,” I say, tugging on a pair of sweats with my free hand. “Have you got news?”

“I do. But first, anything from your end?”

For a split second, I toy with telling him about what just happened but remind myself that it’s probably irrelevant to what he’s working on.

“No, nothing. I did have a moment tonight when I thought I was remembering something to do with the tissues, but it never quite materialized.”

“Maybe in time. Tell me, have you been back yet to that communal office space you use?”

“No, but I’m hoping to go in tomorrow. Why?”

“I think that’d be a good idea. Because you put in time there on Tuesday.”

“Are you sure? My intern was there Tuesday afternoon, and she said I wasn’t around that day.” Could I have come and gone before Sasha arrived?

“I’m not talking about the afternoon,” Mulroney says. “Seems you spent the entire night at that location.”

“I was there all night?” I say, stunned. Though WorkSpace is filled with people doing startups and working weird hours, I’m usually out of there by six or so. “How do you know?”