new handcuffs I left at my mother’s place. He brought his own.
He puts my frozen apple pie in the oven, then returns with a wineglass for himself and a plastic cup for me. “Red or white?” he asks. “Lady’s choice.”
“Freedom,” I choose.
“Red it is,” he says.
My stomach lurches hungrily, but I stare sullenly at the food Chris piles onto my plate.
“When did it begin?” he asks casually.
“You first.”
“That’s a long story.”
“Apparently I have a long time to wait.”
He arches a brow. “Not really.”
I pick up my spoon and saw at a piece of chicken until I get a bite-size piece free. I put it in my mouth and chew. I know Chris is waiting for me to start talking, but I’ve been silent for three years, I know how to hold my tongue. And if answers are the only leverage I have, I need to keep them to myself until I figure out exactly why he wants them.
“I saw you,” he says eventually, buttering a piece of bread. “On a date.”
“I already know this.”
“Not that date, another one. Before. Your name was Amelia.”
Amelia. Aspiring actress, animal lover, archery enthusiast.
“You were blond,” Chris adds. “The guy was a construction worker.”
Last Halloween. We went out for dinner at a jazz bar. He tried so hard to impress me. A nice guy, more muscles than brains. All I was looking for. But he was looking for more. He’d been on a lot of bad dates. He thought I might be different.
“I remember,” I say.
“I like this color better.” He gestures to my hair, and I flip him off with my un-cuffed hand.
He smiles. “I’d been trying to find you for a while. I knew you were in the city, since you visited your father. I followed you home as best I could, but you’re pretty good at getting lost in the crowd. So I waited. And then, one night, I saw you.”
“You knew it was me.”
“Sure. You had a blond wig; I’d seen enough pictures of you as a blonde to recognize you.”
I eat some potatoes.
“I followed you guys back to his place, searched the address, found his name, found him online. Found the Fantasy Friends profile; found you.”
“That was six months before we met.”
“Yeah, well. You shut down the profile. I spent a lot of time on that site before I could track down your new one.”
“I hope you made some friends.”
He smirks.
“And then?”
“Then Denise messaged Doug. For a while, I’d tried to contact you through my own profiles but you never responded. I hacked Doug’s account, so when he replied I could keep track of your messages. I found where he worked and followed him to the restaurant on date night.”
I think about the fake Rolex, the suit jacket that was just a little too small. Both of us in costume.
“Did you really think I’d come back to your room?”
He sips his wine and studies me. “I don’t know. You’ve exhibited some... risky behavior.”
All those dates, those men, those chances. And this is the one that really fucks me.
“What were you planning to do if I showed up?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you wanted me to do. Same as what happened on your car a few nights later.”
“Why? Why not... You could have...” My mind is whirling. I don’t know what he could have done. Random sexual encounters were the only encounters I had. “What about your job? It has to be against the rules to... do that.”
He butters another piece of bread. “This is my job.”
I flinch. That hurts. Even though I’d gone into this thing saying it was never going anywhere, it stings to know that it was never going anywhere for him, either. At least Doug tried to call again. So had the construction worker.
But Chris made sure we met again. And again. He knew something they didn’t know.
He knew me.
The piece of chicken I’m chewing tastes like sawdust.
“Aw, come on,” he says, nudging me under the table with his foot. “You were lying, too.”
“I’d rather be the only liar.”
“Just try to be the best one.”
“What are you waiting for?” I blurt out. “Why not just... do whatever it is you came here to do? If you only wanted answers about my brother, you got them. You can go. Why are you still here?”
“Because it’s not over.”
“What’s not over?”
He gestures between us. “This.”
“This is definitely over.”
He laughs. “Too bad, but that’s not what I meant. You know what closure is, Reese?”
“Of course I do.”
“I don’t. I haven’t slept through the