Page 43

After I leave Thompson’s office, I long to return to my hotel suite.

Burrow in where I can relax and think. There will be none of that now.

Even if I could do it, I shouldn’t. I’d needed that time – desperately needed it – but I’d been hiding, too.

Hiding in a plush suite, eating all my favorite foods and waiting for PCTracy to solve my problem.

It’s midafternoon in the busiest city on the continent.

I just need to avoid the temptation to find a quiet place to hide because that’s where I get myself into trouble.

Empty streets and alleyways and parks. There is someone out there looking for me, and if he’s tracking me right now, I can do nothing about that except stay where there are too many people for him to make a move.

Could PCTracy be my stalker? The answer seems to be a resounding yes.

I know PCTracy is male, like my attacker.

Our conversation makes me feel as if he’s in my age bracket, same as my attacker.

Most damning, though? PCTracy admitted he could track me through the app.

He said he could only do it when I was on Wi-Fi, but the library was far from the first time I used that.

What about the guy in the park who went after my attacker? PCTracy could have brought in a colleague to play the role of rescuer so he could later confess to “saving” m e. Or the second man could have been an actual Good Samaritan.

I don’t want to believe PCTracy is my stalker. I must accept the possibility, though, which means the messaging app stays deleted.

I find myself a busy coffee shop and settle in as I check the Internet for more information on my case, busywork to calm my mind and hone my focus.

I find something right away. A site has leaked the hotel surveillance photo of me. At first, I almost ignore the link. I’ve seen that photograph already. Then I notice the time stamp, and my body goes cold.

The photo was captured at 3:35 a.m.

Hours before I arrived.

Reports had placed me in the hotel earlier, and I’d dismissed them because I knew I wasn’t. Yet here is the alleged proof.

I open the photo.

The picture is grainy and off-center, and I exhale as I realize that even if it’d been crystal clear, there’s no way anyone could prove I was this woman. She is walking past a lobby chair, and from that point of reference, I can tell she’s significantly shorter than I am.

The woman has her face turned away from the camera, and she’s wearing sunglasses, despite the fact it’s 3 a.m. Her hair is red and straight, like mine. As for her figure, that’s hidden by a fashionable shawl.

This woman is trying to be me. I’m certain of it. That shawl conceals her figure. The glasses and hair hide her face, and she’s deliberately looking away from the camera. She moves quickly through the lobby, leaving only an impression of a redheaded woman.

Tiana?

Even as I wonder that, I recoil. Not Tiana. She’s full-figured, where I am not.

But that shawl hides the woman’s figure. Tiana’s skin is darker than mine.

Not so dark that she couldn’t pass for me at a glance while people are focusing on the red hair. That’s always what they remember.

The woman is the right height for Tiana.

Stop that. It isn’t Tiana.

Why?

Because I don’t want it to be.

I take a deep breath. Then I open the email box I’d asked her to use, hoping for more. Instead, I find an email from PCTracy. The subject line reads: “Open Me.”

I almost delete it. That would be silly, though, and when I open it, I’m glad I did. He wants to talk, of course, but for now, he’s just passing on what he told me earlier he’d found.

You mentioned Isabella might have a lover. I’ve been chasing that lead, and I found this. I still don’t know who the guy is, but it’s a start.

I already know who Isabella’s lover is – Justice Kane – but I still read on in hopes of confirming that.

It’s a blind item from last fall. Such tidbits were hugely popular back in the days of gossip pages.

“Blind item” means the people involved aren’t named, adding the scintillating air of a delicious mystery along with an unearned aura of veracity – if someone fears naming names, clearly it must be true.

Today they’re more likely t o be found on social media, which is where this one turned up on Twitter.

@NYCGirl5ft2: Right place, right time. Club99 back hall. Me, lost, kinda drunk, looking for la toilette. Stumble on a couple going at it.

@NYCGirl5ft2: No, not “going at it” like that. Mind out of gutter, ppl. Fighting. Figured lovers’ quarrel. He’s hot. She’s hot. Must be a couple. Then I see his face

@NYCGirl5ft2: Boy-band hottie turned grown-man hottie. Nearly wet my pants. He so fine. That’s when I recognize the chick. Daddy’s a movie star. Action bro. Only, she don’t like dick… allegedly.

@NYCGirl5ft2: So I think, I got you, faker. You like dick just fine. Then, plot twist. I realize they’re fighting about her momma.

@NYCGirl5ft2: He’s banging her MOM. Her MOM. And she’s pissed. Spitting mad. I’m, like, I don’t know who to root for. Her, for being so fired up. Or her mom, for tapping THAT. #OldLadyGoals #IGotaSecret

The details fit Tiana and Justice. But NYCGirl5ft2 is just a regular person with a couple hundred followers. Naturally, her friends want details, but she refuses – those involved are rich and famous, and she jokes she’ll end up in the East River if she talks.

When her friends try to convince her to sell her story, she demurs, saying that she’s not going to ruin people’s lives for a few bucks.

Her friends assure her she could make more than “a few bucks,” and she reverts to her jokes about the East River.

While she’s enjoying the thrill of having a secret, she’s a decent person acting decently.

S he finally closes the thread with a Tweet that makes me kinda love her.

@NYCGirl5ft2: Look, I can joke about dude banging her mom, but when girl got up in his face, he never fired back. He said he was in love, totes respected her mom and just wanted to make her happy. #LifeGoals #WhereDoIGetOne?

One of her friends apparently wasn’t happy with that answer and posted it on a blind-item site, where people have been madly guessing at those involved.

Sure enough, Tiana came up a few times, given the “lesbian with action-hero father” clues.

It never went beyond that, but those comments explain how PCTracy found it.

Tiana was angry with Justice for having an affair with Isabella.

Is that important?

I’m not sure, but it confirms he’s the mystery lover and gets me wondering whether he’s still in New York. A quick search tells me yes. He’s here for the funeral, which he’ll attend as a family friend.

I need to talk to Justice.

The problem is finding him.

No, actually, that isn’t a problem at all. In his texts to Isabella, he mentioned he’s staying at the Baccarat. And I may not even need to go that far. I have the guy’s phone number, and just because he isn’t answering doesn’t mean he’s not checking texts.

“Hello, Justice,” I say as I walk around the fountain in front of Lincoln Center.

He’s sitting on the edge, and when I walk up, he has his elbows on his knees, head down, hood shadowing his face.

While the square is busy, there’s a bubble around him.

He might be a mega-selling rock star, but all they see today is a big Black guy in a hoodie and high-tops.

When he glances up, there’s a wry twist of a smile on his face, one that shoots me back in time to that night on the beach.

“Hey, Lucy.” He thumps the spot beside him, recognizing me despite the wig.

I slide in. “How’re you holding up?”

He shrugs. Then he cuts a look my way. “I presume from your text that you know about…”

“You and Isabella? Yes.”

“So the police are right. You have her phone.”

“I do, and I’m sorry about that. It’s a long story.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it, but I think we should talk someplace a little more private.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. I’ve… had trouble with that.”

His brows shoot up. “You okay?” He pauses and then shakes his head. “Dumb question. You’re wanted for murder. You are definitely not okay.”

“True. While a private talk makes sense, I accepted one with Tiana earlier today, and she notified the cops before I even arrived. After we spoke, she warned me, and I got out of there, but I’m being extra cautious.”

“Tiana…” He shakes his head again and eases back, long legs outstretched.

“When I was with the band, I was the ‘nice guy.’ That was my role, and not just in public. I was the one who made friends with every sound tech and roadie and superfan. There was this one roadie, though, an old-timer who decided he just didn’t like my face.

Or maybe t he color of my face. Whatever his problem, I made it my personal mission to win him over.

Never did, but I kept trying, like a puppy determined to get a pet from the one person who hates dogs.

These days, that’s me and Tiana. Even if she wasn’t Izzy’s kid, I’d like her, and she used to like me fine…

until she found out about me and her mom. ”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry she pulled that shit on you.

At least she came around in the end. Ti is complicated, like her momma.

Only, with Ti, there’s a prickly fence wrapped around that complicated interior, and most folks can’t breach it.

” Another look my way. “You did, once upon a time. Which probably makes this harder on her.”

I sigh, and he bumps his shoulder against mine. “That’s not an invitation to a guilt trip.”

I look over at him. “I didn’t kill Isabella.”