Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(95)

Standing, she wobbles a bit, using the wall for support as she heads toward the bathroom. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk,” she announces, pawing at the light inside before closing the door.

If I weren’t me, I might not worry so much about this. But I am me and she still hasn’t divulged a damn thing about herself, even after I laid my history out for her to judge. I lay awake beneath her for hours, trying to rationalize it, to tell myself that it doesn’t matter to me. Still, I feel a sense of bitterness seeping in. A touch of betrayal that this woman doesn’t trust me, or my word that I would never hold her past against her.

At the same time that the toilet flush sounds inside, her phone begins ringing. Normally, I wouldn’t think to go through her things. Now, though . . . I don’t hesitate. I unzip her purse. I pull her phone out.

And I answer it.

“Hello?”

There’s a second or two of dead air and then, “Who is this?”

“This is Cain. You looking for Charlie?”

Another pause. “Yes. How do you know her?”

I don’t like the calm, even tone of his voice. It sounds manipulative. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” The number is marked “unknown,” so that doesn’t help me.

A soft, condescending chuckle answers me. “That’s because I didn’t give a name.”

This must be the same guy that Ginger spoke to. I don’t have patience for this. “Well, then I guess you can go f**k yourself.”

A sharp hiss fills my ear. “You don’t sound like the kind of man I want my daughter with.”

“Pardon me?” I did not expect that. And Charlie’s father is in Pendleton, so it can’t be true. “Who is this?” Wait . . . “Is this Sam?”

The line goes dead.

The phone is still in my hand when Charlie emerges with a freshly washed face. She freezes, her now violet eyes skittering from the phone in my hand, to her opened purse, to what I assume is a stony expression on my face.

“What are you doing?” She’s trying to sound casual about it, but it’s impossible. I can almost see the wave of shock as it ripples through her.

“Who’s Sam?” I can’t keep the bite from my tone.

She blanches, her mouth opening to tremble for a second. “You talked to Sam?” Her jaw clamps shut instantly as if she didn’t mean to say that out loud. There’s undeniable fear in her voice and my anger wavers as worry courses in.

So Sam does exist. And she’s afraid of him. “I don’t know, Charlie. The man I just talked to said he was your father but he wouldn’t give his name. So is your father Sam or George?” I can tell by her screwed-up face that she’s trying to process the logic behind my words. I sigh. “You were talking about tobogganing with your dad last night. You called him ‘Sam’ but your dad’s name is George. So . . .”

She averts her eyes to dart around the office, searching for something. An answer. Or an escape. Her eyes suddenly widen as panic flies through them. “Did you give him your name?”

“Yes, I did,” I answer calmly.

Somehow, her face pales even more. “Why?”

“Why not, Charlie? Why wouldn’t I?”

Her head shakes back and forth, ridding itself of panic and fear and . . . everything. “You had no right going through my things or answering my phone.”

Standing, I gently place the phone back in the purse. “I guess not.”

I turn my back on her and walk out to the club.

“Some people need sleep,” John mutters groggily.

“Then don’t sleep with your phone by the bed,” I retort.

With a loud groan, followed by a coughing fit that leaves me cringing at the sound of morning phlegm in John’s lungs, my P.I. demands, “What do you need?”

“Is there any chance that her ID is fake?”

“I assume you mean Charlie?”

“Yes,” I snap with impatience. When I came back to my office after half an hour, Charlie was gone. She took either a bus or a cab, because she didn’t have her truck here.

I have half a mind to drive over to her place and force the truth out of her. I can’t bring myself to do it yet, though.

“It’s damn solid if it is. She’s got a valid passport, birth certificate . . . everything. Maybe it’s a stolen ID. You’d need a ton of cash and major connections to pull that off.”

“But it’s possible.” Is everything that I know about Charlie a lie? Has she been lying to me all this time?

His heavy exhales blows into the phone. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay. Can you see what else you can dig up on Charlie Rourke? Old school pictures, gymnastics pictures, anything. And find out if there’s anyone by the name of ‘Sam’ in her life.”

“Will do.”

I hang up. I stare at my phone, the lump in my throat choking. I want to call her. But, right now, I’m pissed off, too.

More, though, I’m something I haven’t felt in years.

I’m hurt.

Chapter thirty-two

CHARLIE

I knew it was coming.

I’ve sat on a park bench overlooking the water for hours, staring out at all the people who live their own lives, who worry about paying their rent and what bar they’re going to go to on the weekend.