We all glance up and see Jameson walking down toward us with a woman. He’s in his customary navy suit and looking all immaculate, and they are deep in conversation.
“He’s at work today?” I frown as I stare at him. I didn’t even know he came back to work yet. He hasn’t seen us and is talking as he walks. “Who’s the woman?” I ask. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
Molly grabs my arm with a sense of urgency. “Come on; let’s go this way.” She tries to pull me into a shop.
“Who’s the woman?” I repeat as they get closer.
“Claudia Mason.”
The air leaves my lungs . . . his ex.
He’s with his ex?
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears as the ground sways beneath me.
“Let’s go; we don’t want him to see us,” Molly urges as she grabs my arm once more. I pull out of her grip and stand strong.
As he gets to us, he glances up and sees me. His step falters, and then he clenches his jaw and doesn’t make eye contact.
Tears well in my eyes as I watch him walk past.
He stops with his back to me, and I hold my breath.
Turn around . . . turn around.
After a moment, he falls back into stride beside the woman and disappears up the street without looking back.
A searing pain lurches through my chest as I fight tears. I drop my head in sadness.
There’s my answer.
That’s it . . . we’re done.
It’s Friday night, and I slide down in the seat of my rental car as I peer across the darkened street. I’ve completely throw myself into solving the case, if not for any reason other than to distract me. I’m outside Hayden’s apartment, and I know that I’m probably clutching at straws by being here, but what else am I going to do?
Crying and staring at the wall is getting old. A text comes through on my phone, and I glance down and see the letter J.
I read the text and nearly drop the phone in shock.
One last stop over.
JFK Airport. Sat, 8pm.
JFK Clubhouse Bar.
I need to see you.
J
xxx
I sit up. What?
He needs to see me . . . he needs to see me?
Hope blooms in my chest. Oh my God. I immediately call Molly.
“Hello,” she answers.
“Jameson just texted me. He wants to meet tomorrow night!” I blurt out in a rush.
“What?” she snaps. “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” I try to think of a perfect explanation. “Maybe seeing Claudia snapped him out of this, and I want to see him too, Moll. This is what I’ve been wanting all along.”
“Oh God, can you hear yourself? Why would you want to see him? He’s been a complete douchebag.”
“I know, but he’s been under so much stress, Molly. I just need to talk to him.”
“For the record, I think this is a bad idea.” She sighs.
I smile. She’s wrong . . . this is a great idea. I text him back.
See you there.
x
I smile goofily out the windshield and look over to see Hayden talking to that same girl who used to work at Miles Media.
Lara Aspin . . . something is up with her too. I want to know more about her; so far, I’ve been unable to dig up anything, not even an address. She finishes her conversation with Hayden and begins to walk down the street. My eyes flick between her and Hayden. Shit, what do I do?
I watch Hayden disappear into his building.
Well, I already know where Hayden lives. If I let her go, I may never find her again.
I really do need to know where she lives.
I watch her as she walks down the street. Damn it. I jump out of the car and cross the street and fall in behind her on the sidewalk.
She walks down the subway stairs, and I hesitate. It’s dark, and God knows where she’s going . . . shit.
I watch her disappear down the stairs, and I brace myself. Damn it. I have to follow her. We wait on the platform for a while, and then she gets onto a train, and I get on after her. I stand by the doors and stare out the window while I keep her in my peripheral vision.
Adrenaline is surging through my body, and I have to admit, this is actually kind of fun. I should have been a cop.
We go four stops, and then she gets up and stands by the door. The stop is Central Station, and I let out a sigh of relief-at least it’s safe there.
We get off the train, and I drop back so she doesn’t get suspicious. We walk, and we walk, and we walk . . . damn it, where is she going?
She disappears into a crowd, and I jump up to see if I can see her. I walk farther, and I can’t see her. She’s disappeared into thin air.
Damn it.
I turn and look back down the street we just came from. Where did she go?
I walk back a little way, and then I catch sight of her in a shop.
Thank God.
I duck in and then notice it’s a pawnshop. I pretend to look at something in the back as she talks to the man on the desk.
“Well, it’s not worth much,” he says.
“I would like five hundred dollars for it. It’s in perfect working order,” she replies.
“You’re dreaming. No way.”
I peer through a gap in a bookcase and see a MacBook. Shit . . . she’s selling her computer.
Why would she be selling a computer?
My mind begins to race as the two of them haggle over the price. The shop attendant wins in the end, and he hands over two hundred dollars. I watch her disappear out the door, and I wait for a moment and go to the desk.
“Hello.” I smile casually.
“Hey,” the overweight pawnshop man mutters as he counts his till up.
This may just be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some pretty crazy things in my life. “I would like to buy that computer, please.”
He frowns as he glances up. “What one?”
I point to the one she just sold him.
“Nah, I haven’t cleaned it up yet. Go to the cabinet on the left, and find another one.”
“No, it has to be that one.”
“Not for sale yet. Come back in two days.”
If I come back in two days, it will be wiped. “Name your price,” I assert, feeling brave.
He stills, and his eyes come to mine. “A thousand dollars.” He raises an eyebrow in a silent dare.
“You just paid two hundred for it-are you crazy?” I stammer.
He shrugs and goes back to what he’s doing.
I stare at the computer on the desk, and I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me to buy it. “Damn it, okay, fine. As it is, right now, for a thousand dollars.”
He smiles a slimy grin. “Okay, honey.”
I hand him over my mother’s credit card, the one I have for emergencies . . . sorry, Mom.
I pay the thousand dollars and take the computer and walk out the front door.
My phone rings. Tristan’s name lights up the screen. Perfect timing.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Sorry I took so long to get back to you. That girl’s name is Lara Aspin, and get this-she used to work in accounts,” he blurts out.
“What does that mean?” I frown.
“She had access to the bank account details.”
“Oh my God, Tristan,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “I just followed her on the train, and she sold her computer to a pawnshop, and I know this is crazy, but I just bought it for a thousand dollars.”
“What? You have it? You actually have her computer?”
I smile proudly. “Uh-huh.”
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you now.”
I walk through the airport with my heart in my throat. I’m pulling my small carry-on suitcase so that I look the part of a tired traveler . . . or perhaps I’m just trying to pretend to myself that this isn’t a bad idea.
Because I know it is; deep in my gut I know that I shouldn’t be playing this dangerous game with him. I should be sitting down and having a civilized grown-up conversation.