And Now She's Gone(78)

He stepped back into the house and let the screen door slam close. “Can’t help you.”

Too late, Bobby.

You’ve helped plenty.





42


As Gray stepped off Bobby’s porch, her phone buzzed with a text.

You there?



Isabel.

Gray veered into the Big Lots! parking lot. Yes I’m glad you reached out. The smell of grease from the Rally’s burger place next door wafted through the car vents, and Gray’s stomach growled. I have A LOT of concerns right now. Some things are not making sense! The picture that you sent for instance.

I know. Been thinking all night. I’ll meet you F2F I’ll explain everything.



When?

Only if you agree to not talk me into getting back with Ian.



I’d NEVER ask that!

DON’T TELL HIM THAT I’M COMING TO SEE YOU



Isabel sent Gray the address to Verve Coffee on Third Street. Twenty minutes later, she found herself seated at an outdoor table, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee and the other hand wrapped around her phone. A june bug, bumbly and green, bumbled through the thick air, and the aromas of fresh-brewed coffee and just-baked cinnamon buns made Gray giddy. She was moments away from solving this case, moments away from knowing the truth, moments— “What are you doing here?”

She knew the man’s voice, and every organ in her body shattered.

Ian O’Donnell stood at the café entrance. He wore green scrubs today and his golden hair was still wet around his ears.

Gray opened her mouth to say, “Isabel asked,” but closed it. She scanned the patio, hoping not to spot the missing woman. “I’m meeting someone here.”

“For my case?”

She gave a curt nod, and the phone buzzed in her hand.

“Who?” Ian asked.

She cleared her throat. “One of Isabel’s family members. But she doesn’t want to see you.” She paused, then put glaze on the lie. “For obvious reasons.”

The man’s eyes softened, and his head dropped. “I understand.”

“I’ll tell you about it in my report. You should go now.”

Ian O’Donnell looked through the shop’s glass doors, then looked back at the parking lot. “Yeah. I’ll head somewhere else. Good luck.” He spun on his heel and hurried back to his car.

Gray watched him, and that earlier excitement had now turned to heavy dread in her belly. She held her breath, then looked at the phone.

HE’S THERE! YOU PROMISED!!



Gray’s head pounded as her fingers raced across the phone’s keyboard. I didn’t tell him, Isabel! Please believe me!!

But if she could see that Ian was at the coffee shop, that meant …

“She’s here, too!” Gray’s eyes popped from the white Volkswagen parked at the corner to the yellow cab pulling away from the curb. Dog walker … jogger … cyclist … Where was she? Where was Isabel?

Gray’s phone vibrated.

No. deal’s off

I have nothing to say to you!

The text exploded like a depth charge, and Gray groaned as she sent a last desperate message. I swear I didn’t tell him!

But no more words, no more ellipses from the missing woman.

Of all the coffeehouses in the city, Ian O’Donnell had to strut into that one.

Ian came.

Isabel saw.

And now she was gone.

And Noelle Lawrence—she was gone, too, and her mother didn’t seem surprised by that. Nor did it seem as though Rebekah Lawrence would hire an investigator to find her daughter. People like Noelle were like herpes—around until they weren’t, but never really gone.

And Isabel … Was it really coincidence that Ian had showed up at that particular coffee shop at that particular time, just when Isabel had agreed to meet?

What were the odds of that happening?

Her phone vibrated again with another text message.

Hey.



Hank. Really? How many days had passed since their night together?

She climbed into the Yukon.

Guess where I am?



Tight-hearted, Gray typed, Hell? Cuz that’s where you can go. She was over him. Over him like an eighteen-year-old over New Kids on the Block and Impulse body spray, rainbow scrunchies and Beanie Babies.

Don’t be like that.



She turned the ignition and jabbed the stereo button. Angie Stone sang about not eating and not sleeping anymore.

Guess where I am?



Hank was now a pebble in her shoe, and he wouldn’t go away until she shook him out.

Ok you’re behind the bar, making my favorite margarita. She let her head fall back on the headrest and closed her eyes, recalled Bobby’s claim about not letting a woman he didn’t even know drive his car. What would he do next? Call Tea? Call Isabel? And who had he beaten so bad that his knuckles— Her phone vibrated.

A selfie of Hank standing in front of the Beaudry Towers sign. He held a bouquet of red roses and a bottle of premium tequila. His eyes glistened like Arctic ice.

See you soon.



“What the fuck is he doing at my…”

The phone shook in her trembling hands and she hated herself more than she hated him. She’d invited him to her home; they’d slept together in her home; he had stayed overnight in her home. Of course he’d “surprise” her like this.