Page 49

“Manslaughter.”
It feels like my heart is trying to pound through the wall of my chest. “She killed someone?”
He nods. “Drunk driving, five years ago. Blew a stop sign. Hit an old man.”
I’d thought maybe Jocelyn had gotten married, or even died.Prisonhad never entered my brain. Though it makes sense, doesn’t it? Drinking. Being reckless. No doubt she’s struggled with both since what happened.Jocelyn hadn’t had it easy from the start. That’s why she let a forty-year-old man take advantage of her. I digest this new information, swallow it down. But then a new crop of questions bubbles from my gut. Could it still be her? From prison? They have computers and internet access there, right? At least that’s what it seems, though granted, my education on the subject comes fromLaw & Orderreruns.
Sam walks over to the leather bag he carries back and forth to work. He unzips, pulls out a piece of paper, and slides it across the counter to me. “This is her mug shot.”
I blink a few times, disappointment and relief hitting in equal measure. “That’s . . . that’s not Jocelyn.”
“Are you sure? You said you haven’t seen her since high school, right? I had to check the age listed twice myself after seeing the picture. She looks more like late fifties than late thirties. But hard living can do that to you.”
I shake my head. “People change, but their skin color doesn’t. That’s definitelynotJocelyn.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s good.”
Except . . . if she’s not in Florida, then where the hell is she?
“Is it possible that whatever database you searched can’t find her because she got married and goes by her married name?”
Sam shrugs. “Anything’s possible. But not likely. I ran the name straight and as an alias. So it should be everyone. Maybe your friend isn’t in Florida anymore. Does she have family back in Louisiana you could ask? If you know a parent or sibling’s name, I could probably get you contact information on them. What town did you say you were from again?”
I didn’t.And I’ve already shared too much, so I intend to keep it that way. “Would her name have come up in your search if she was dead?”
“It should. All deaths are reported to Social Security, and their records feed into the national database I pulled from. It’s pretty accurate. The only time I’veseen it wrong is when”—Sam catches my eyes—“someone doesn’t want to be found.”
“You want to watch a movie?” Sam tosses a hand towel onto the kitchen counter. We’ve just finished cleaning up after dinner. “Or maybe I could work on the knots in your neck some more. I still have that oil you like in my nightstand.”
A massage offer from a man is neverjustan offer for a massage. And the air feels too thick in this apartment for heavy breathing tonight. What I need to do is go home and take one of the sleeping pills I picked up but haven’t yet taken out of the white pharmacy bag. It’s time.
“I’m actually going to sleep at my place tonight. I have to work on some papers.”
“Can’t you do that here?” Sam glances over at the chair I put my stuff on when I came in. My laptop is sticking out of the top of my tote bag.
I try to soothe his bent feelings by pushing up against him. It hits me that I did the same thing to Noah only a week ago—used sex to worm my way out of a tight corner. I’m not proud of myself, but I also don’t stop. “It’s impossible to focus when you’re around.”
“I’ll go in the other room.”
“That won’t help. I need to go home.”
He pouts. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll call you an Uber.”
I shake my head. “I’ll take the subway.”
“Can you at least give me this one? You don’t see the shit I see happening on the trains at night.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll Uber. But I’ll call my own.”
He shakes his head, purses his lips. I manage to make a quick escape after that—a chaste kiss, a promise to text tomorrow that I probably won’t keep. The moment I step out onto the street, I feel much less constricted. Thatthought shifts my mind to Noah. There’s a much greater chance that Noah is the one sending me the chapters than Sam, yet I don’t feel suffocated around Noah. I wonder why that is. I cancel the Uber Sam watched me order and head to the subway station. It’s a four-block walk, and when I arrive I realize I don’t remember a single step of it. I can’t recall any of the buildings I passed, the faces of fellow pedestrians, or stopping at any crosswalks. Sam was right. I’d be safer as a passenger than on my own. Though I’m here at the station now, so I might as well keep going. A few steps into my descent down into the subway, my cell phone buzzes. I stop on the stairs since service under the city can be spotty. It’s an unknown number, but I swipe to answer anyway.
“Hello?”
The line is quiet. I climb back up the stairs to the street level, thinking maybe it’s the connection.
“Hello?”
A cab horn blares, and some sort of a siren screams in the distance. I cover the ear without a cell phone pressed to it, trying to drown out the sounds of Manhattan. I’m pretty certain I can hear someone breathing. It’s the second time that’s happened in the last few days.