Page 16
Story: Someone Knows
“I don’t know. But I’ll be in touch again soon.”
I hang up, set the phone down, and stare at it. I think I believe Ivy. But if she only told one person—a priest who’s taken a sacred oath to not reveal what is said in confessions—and she didn’t tell him any details, it must be someone else.
There’s Sam, a man who has been quietly poking around my life. I need to dig a little deeper there. And the only other person I can think of is the one person I’ve refused to let myself consider would do something like this. But maybe I have to.
I lied to Ivy.She isn’t the only person who told someone what happened twenty years ago.
CHAPTER
8
Ihave to be honest, I was surprised when I got your text.” Sam lifts a hand, calls the waiter over. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, especially not to meet for dinner.”
He’s not the only one surprised we’re on a date tonight. If none of this were happening—I wasn’t being haunted by the past and hadn’t found out he’dinvestigated me—I would probably never have spoken to him again. But I need to feel him out more, see if he has anything to do with what’s going on. Keep your enemies near and all . . .
My list of suspects has grown as fast as my paranoia—Ivy, Chief Unger, Father Preston,the man sitting across from me, not to mention the person I should never have told. After my conversation with Ivy a few days ago, I decided I need to rule them out methodically, one by one, and get to the bottom of this.
Sam orders a bottle of wine, makes some small talk. A few minutes later, the waiter pours us each a glass of pinot noir. I stare at the deep red color, swirling it around, watching the legs streak down the glass.
“So tell me,” I eventually say. “What else did you learn about me from your investigation?”
Sam frowns. “I told you, I didn’t investigate you. I ran asimple report.”
I wave my hand. “Semantics. Tell me what this report contains.”
He shrugs. “Basic background data.”
“Where does the data come from?”
“The NCIC database—National Crime Information Center.”
I’ve been relatively calm since we sat down, even knowing I might be sitting across from a man who holds the keys to my future, but the mention of the wordcrimemakes my blood pump faster. It swishes through my ears, leaving me instantly off-kilter.
I swallow. “And what does ‘basic background data’ contain? Do you now know the PIN to my ATM card? What about my bra size?”
“It just lists things the police department would want to know about someone—if you’ve ever been arrested or had a warrant issued, prior addresses, stolen property reported, known gang affiliations. For you, the only thing that popped up was a list of prior addresses.”
“Ah. And that’s how you found out I grew up in Louisiana?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Sam. If you’ve known I grew up there since shortly after we met, why didn’t you call me out when I told you I was born and raised in New York?”
He shrugs. “I assumed you had your reasons. You don’t talk about your family, so I thought maybe you had some difficult memories from that part of your life and preferred to not speak about it.”
“Difficult” is putting it mildly.
Sam gestures to my forehead. “I didn’t push for the same reason I didn’t push when I asked you how you got that faint scar on your hairline and you ignored me. You have a way of getting your point across without saying much, Elizabeth.” Sam sips his wine, watches me over the glass. “Is that what it is? You don’t want to talk about the past, so it’s easier not to open the door at all?”
I look away, debate how to navigate this. “My mother’s an alcoholic. So, yes, it’s a topic I prefer not to delve into.”
Sam reaches across the table and takes my hand. He squeezes and waits until I meet his eyes again. “Thank you for sharing that just now. I truly am sorry for running you. It wasn’t cool.”
“No, it wasn’t. I feel violated. An unspoken trust between us has been broken.”
He hangs his head, rubs the back of his neck. If he’s full of shit, this man should get the Academy Award for feigning guilt. “I understand.”
I count to ten in my head, try my best to keep focused, and take a deep breath. “Look at me, Sam.”
I hang up, set the phone down, and stare at it. I think I believe Ivy. But if she only told one person—a priest who’s taken a sacred oath to not reveal what is said in confessions—and she didn’t tell him any details, it must be someone else.
There’s Sam, a man who has been quietly poking around my life. I need to dig a little deeper there. And the only other person I can think of is the one person I’ve refused to let myself consider would do something like this. But maybe I have to.
I lied to Ivy.She isn’t the only person who told someone what happened twenty years ago.
CHAPTER
8
Ihave to be honest, I was surprised when I got your text.” Sam lifts a hand, calls the waiter over. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, especially not to meet for dinner.”
He’s not the only one surprised we’re on a date tonight. If none of this were happening—I wasn’t being haunted by the past and hadn’t found out he’dinvestigated me—I would probably never have spoken to him again. But I need to feel him out more, see if he has anything to do with what’s going on. Keep your enemies near and all . . .
My list of suspects has grown as fast as my paranoia—Ivy, Chief Unger, Father Preston,the man sitting across from me, not to mention the person I should never have told. After my conversation with Ivy a few days ago, I decided I need to rule them out methodically, one by one, and get to the bottom of this.
Sam orders a bottle of wine, makes some small talk. A few minutes later, the waiter pours us each a glass of pinot noir. I stare at the deep red color, swirling it around, watching the legs streak down the glass.
“So tell me,” I eventually say. “What else did you learn about me from your investigation?”
Sam frowns. “I told you, I didn’t investigate you. I ran asimple report.”
I wave my hand. “Semantics. Tell me what this report contains.”
He shrugs. “Basic background data.”
“Where does the data come from?”
“The NCIC database—National Crime Information Center.”
I’ve been relatively calm since we sat down, even knowing I might be sitting across from a man who holds the keys to my future, but the mention of the wordcrimemakes my blood pump faster. It swishes through my ears, leaving me instantly off-kilter.
I swallow. “And what does ‘basic background data’ contain? Do you now know the PIN to my ATM card? What about my bra size?”
“It just lists things the police department would want to know about someone—if you’ve ever been arrested or had a warrant issued, prior addresses, stolen property reported, known gang affiliations. For you, the only thing that popped up was a list of prior addresses.”
“Ah. And that’s how you found out I grew up in Louisiana?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Sam. If you’ve known I grew up there since shortly after we met, why didn’t you call me out when I told you I was born and raised in New York?”
He shrugs. “I assumed you had your reasons. You don’t talk about your family, so I thought maybe you had some difficult memories from that part of your life and preferred to not speak about it.”
“Difficult” is putting it mildly.
Sam gestures to my forehead. “I didn’t push for the same reason I didn’t push when I asked you how you got that faint scar on your hairline and you ignored me. You have a way of getting your point across without saying much, Elizabeth.” Sam sips his wine, watches me over the glass. “Is that what it is? You don’t want to talk about the past, so it’s easier not to open the door at all?”
I look away, debate how to navigate this. “My mother’s an alcoholic. So, yes, it’s a topic I prefer not to delve into.”
Sam reaches across the table and takes my hand. He squeezes and waits until I meet his eyes again. “Thank you for sharing that just now. I truly am sorry for running you. It wasn’t cool.”
“No, it wasn’t. I feel violated. An unspoken trust between us has been broken.”
He hangs his head, rubs the back of his neck. If he’s full of shit, this man should get the Academy Award for feigning guilt. “I understand.”
I count to ten in my head, try my best to keep focused, and take a deep breath. “Look at me, Sam.”
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