Annapolis.”
I can even picture the meeting. Me coming round the corner in a store. Target, maybe, or Kohl’s. Her standing in the center of the aisle, eyes widening when she sees me, when she realizes I see her and know who she is … I uncross my legs. Plant both feet on the floor. Enough of that mental fuckery.
“At least I think it was her,” I say.
“Did you talk to her?” Her words are tight.
I regret my subterfuge—I do—but I say, “Is she close to me? I guess that would solve it, wouldn’t it? Or at least help?”
“Heather.”
“I’m not asking for anything other than that.”
I hear a series of faint clicks that might be the tap of her fingernails. “I think you must’ve been mistaken. That’s as much as I’m willing to say. This preoccupation you have with her isn’t healthy.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll let it go.”
After we say our goodbyes, I spin toward my desk. I may not know exactly where Lauren is yet, but now I can guess she isn’t living nearby. That’s something. I exhale through my nose. Bullshit. It’s still nothing. Alexa isn’t going to give me anything else, no matter how hard I try. There has to be another way. There has to. But I can’t think of a damn thing.
I stare out at the parking lot, find my car. No one’s nearby. A woman gets out of her vehicle on the other side of the lot. Her wavy, flyaway hair reminds me of Rachel’s when we were girls. I close the blinds. Peek through the slats.
What do I do next? I have to do something. But what? What?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Maybe stop thinking about Lauren for a minute. Sometimes the best solutions come when you’re not actively thinking. What about Rachel, then? I scoff. As if that’s any better. Blank walls every way I turn, with someone lurking just out of sight.
I scan Rachel’s social media again, but there’s not a damn thing there to work with. I’m definitely not going to skulk around her house. I can’t exactly sit in the parking lot of the law firm where she works either. I can’t take a holiday from my own life to shadow hers. I got lucky with Gia, but I can’t count on that sort of thing happening twice.
I pick at a cuticle. Drum my fingers on my chair’s arms. Rachel practices family law. What if …
My fingers still. What if I make an appointment with her, pretend to be contemplating divorce? If nothing else, it would put me in front of her. Ryan would never know. It’s not a good idea—it’s a terrible one, as a matter of fact—but it’s the only one I’ve got.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pick up my phone. Ten minutes later, I have a consultation set for next Thursday. I quell the unease in my gut, reminding myself it’s a fake appointment, merely an excuse to get in front of Rachel, to look her in the eye. I’d never leave Ryan.
So. Back to Lauren. I find another website advertising INFORMATION ON ANYONE! This one’s a hundred dollars, but I plunk in my credit card information. I can’t think of any other way—short of hiring a private detective—to find Lauren. There has to be something I’m missing. In this day and age, no one can hide completely.
After, I make a pit stop in the bathroom, and Ellie’s in my office at the filing cabinet when I get back. She turns fast, face pink.
“I was putting this back,” she says, holding a file. “Trying, anyway.”
I fish out the keys. I won’t ever tell Ellie, but if she were to yank the top two drawers at the same time, there’s a good chance the whole thing would unlock. A quirk I discovered via accident.
“Dr. Cole? Your finger’s bleeding.”
“A terrible old habit,” I say as I fetch a tissue and blot the torn skin. I squirt a bit of hand sanitizer into my palm. It burns when it hits the wound, but I soldier on. Apply more sanitizer. Rub until the wound bleeds anew.
“What file is it?” I say.
Ellie closes the drawer hard enough to rattle the files inside. “Sorry?”
I tip my head toward the cabinet. “The file?”
“Oh, it was Jacob’s. I forgot to bring it back in this morning, and then it got tucked under some other papers, I’m sorry—”
“No harm done,” I say.
I’m about to ask her to add today’s notes to another