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34

Present Day—One Year Later

M y smile is brighter than the midday California sun as I saunter into the station with a ceramic plate wrapped in tinfoil. Astrid greets me at the front desk with a grin to match mine. “Must be a new month.” She stands from her rolling chair and eyes the hidden treats. “He’s with the chief now. You might be waiting a while.”

I glance at my invisible watch. “I have a Kindle, plenty of snacks, and nowhere else to be.” Plopping down in a waiting room chair, I settle in with a contented sigh. “Thanks, Astrid.”

“Any leads yet?”

“Not yet, but I’m patient.”

“Tanner uses a different word.” She purses her lips, tilting her head. “Relentless, is it?”

Inspecting my cuticles, I answer breezily, “Obnoxious.”

“That’s the one.”

Twenty minutes roll by as I tap my feet and whistle under my breath, playing on my phone while detectives and various office personnel stroll by with waves and cheery chitchat. When Tanner opens the door and spots me sitting in the waiting room with a platter of brownies in my lap, his shoulders drop. Exasperation steals his expression as he shakes his head and flicks his hand my way, trudging through the central room, toward his office.

I follow, my head held high and black pumps clapping in time with my steps, the double-fudge brownies glimmering against the window light.

Dropping the plate onto his work desk, I flip my curls over my shoulder and lift my chin with a pleasant smile. “Good morning.”

He glares at me. “Right.”

“I’m not sure why you’re always so grouchy. I bring you food.” I shrug, chin lifting. “Your co-workers love me.”

“That’s because they don’t have to deal with you. They only get to reap the benefits of your above-average baking abilities.” He looks down at the covered plate, unwrapping one of the edges and plucking a brownie from the pile. Powdered sugar dusts his fingers as he takes a big bite. “You’re a master manipulator, Everly Cross.”

“It’s Mayfield now.” I plant my hands on my hips and arch an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me?”

“Just stating the obvious. You’ve had a bug up your ass since our follow-up meeting, and now you’re trying to pull answers out of me—answers I clearly don’t have, mind you—with sugar and carbs.”

He’s not wrong.

Two weeks after I moved in with my mother, reduced to a broken-down mess of heartache, I scheduled that interview with Detective Tanner. I pressed him about Isaac. He was a stone block for most of the conversation, but then there was a moment I’ll never forget; a subtle interaction I can’t let go of.

I mentioned Sara, Isaac’s sister, and a look traveled across his face.

Painful.

Personal.

He blinked away what I’d already noticed and cleared his throat. “… So, did he tell you anything about her?”

My breath caught. I stared back at him, trying to see beyond the ruse. “You tell me.”

Tanner shut down and recovered quickly. “Listen…I’m sorry, but we found no evidence of him. I believe you, and I’m not saying you imagined this guy, but we did a thorough search of that place. All remains discovered were identified. He wasn’t there. If he made it out, he’s gone. Maybe he got on a plane, left the country. Changed his identity. You said he had multiple; sounds like he could be some sort of con artist.”

His words rang true, but…

My instincts are strong, and I trust them more than anything. I saw something that day. Felt a niggling intuition pinging in my bones. Tanner knows more than he’s letting on.

Now I’ve made it my mission to uncover the truth.

I’m not sure if he’s protecting me and withholding a death confirmation to spare me from more potential heartache, or if something more complex is simmering in the background. Either way, I’m stubborn. Once a month, I make the five-plus-hour commute from San Francisco to Los Angeles and stop by the station—a pitstop on the way to my mother’s house.

I bring treats. I bring smiles.

I bring a constant reminder that I’m not going away.

Before I can say anything else, another woman comes barging into Tanner’s office with box-dye red hair hacked off at the shoulders, tattoos covering both arms, and pillowy crimson lips. Fire spews from pale-green eyes.

“You need to back off,” she hisses, sweeping past me and planting both palms on his desk as she lurches forward. “I mean it.”

Tanner’s posture changes when he sees her, a new look inhabiting his gaze. Softness at first, but then something more volatile. “I’m busy, Shay.”

“Clear your schedule. I’ll wait.” The woman glances at me, doing a double take, as if just noticing my presence. She deflates a bit. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Is he giving you trouble, too?”

Tanner moves around the desk and grips her arm, leading her out of the office. “Vice versa. I don’t have time for either of you today.” They exit the room as Shay pries herself out of his hold. “You can make an appointment with Astrid. I’ll be available sometime next year.”

It appears I’m not the only one with a bug up her ass.

The inflamed redhead gets right in his face. “You have no right. Keep meddling in my business, and I’ll make your life hell.”

“I’m seeing that.”

“I’m serious, Luke.”

Tanner waves over a fellow detective, who approaches with an exasperated sigh. “You need to go. We can talk later. I’m in the middle of an appointment.”

“Another innocent victim you’re harassing, I’m sure.” She holds a hand up to the detective, an offer of compliance. “I’m leaving. No need to send your bodyguards after me.”

“I would never.” Tanner crosses his arms, eyes flickering with emotion. “I’ll be the one putting those handcuffs on you.”

“Your wet dream.” A smile paints her lips as she gazes up at him with otherworldly jade eyes. Then the smile morphs into hard steel. “Stay away from me, Luke.”

She storms off, her leather-clad hips and flaming-red hair sashaying behind her.

Tanner stares after her, tapping a hand on his thigh, before returning a moment later, looking rattled as he rubs his forehead with two fingers. “Sorry. Old friend.”

“Seemed very friendly.”

“You were on your way out?”

“Nope. Just got here. Tell me what you know.”

Tanner’s lips vibrate as he blows out a long breath and collapses into his work chair. Swiveling it from side to side, he studies me, brushing the pad of his index finger across his lips. “Okay. Fine.”

My eyes flare.

A surge of hope sweeps through me as I go still, waiting for what he’ll say next.

“You know, these unwarranted, excessive visits really did light a fire under me. I found him for you.” He pulls open a drawer, sifts around inside, and tosses a manila folder on the desk. “You’re welcome. Please never return.”

Bending forward, I rush to open the folder, my heart rate tripling. Then my eyes narrow with disdain when they land on the photograph inside. “You’re an asshole.”

“What? Why?” He feigns outrage. “It’s Isaac.”

I slam the folder shut. “Isaac Maurice Nottingham is ancient. He’s clearly in his late eighties. Minimum.”

“Ninety-one.”

“I hate you.”

“You said he was likely older than you. I’m not one to rule out a potential suspect based on how society perceives age gaps.” Leaning back in his chair, he folds both arms over his khaki button down and smiles with faux charm. “His family reported him missing for a few weeks about a year ago. The timeframe checked out.”

“He was probably napping.”

A noncommittal shrug. “Well, he stood out. He was found on his boat. Women love men with boats.”

“He’s missing all his teeth.”

“Teeth are overrated. Boats are not.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Huffing, I gape at him with fury in my eyes. He thinks this is a joke. “You’re making a mockery out of this. It’s not fair.”

Tanner’s lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. He falters, and I swear a flash of guilt skates across his face. “Everly, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say what you know. Tell me the truth. I didn’t make this man up. He was real. Isaac, Nick, whatever his name was.” Isaac —his real name was Isaac. “Dark hair. Brown eyes. Rough around the edges. Over six feet tall with a muscular build.”

He sighs, looks away.

I step closer to the desk. “He wasn’t my imaginary friend; he was my real friend. And if he’s dead…please, just tell me. I can’t live with these unknowns. They’re horrible, and they’re rotting me from the inside out.” My voice wavers. “It’s bad enough that my captor is still out there…I need closure.”

He cups a hand over his jaw and scratches at his stubble, his eyes glazing with sympathy. “I wish I could give you that. Truly. We’re still tracking Leonard Vincent. My team hasn’t stopped. But for now, that’s all I can promise.”

My stomach tightens, and a sharp pressure builds in my chest.

The name catches in my mind— Leonard Vincent . When Tanner first said it, I almost laughed. It sounded too ordinary, too human. Not like the monster I’ve always called “The Timekeeper.”

I remind myself he’s gone, that he’s forgotten me. He’s a businessman, the worst kind of narcissist, and I’m just a loose thread in his web. He wouldn’t waste his time chasing down a woman tied to his black-market ring. It’s too risky, too stupid, too…beneath him.

My lungs deflate.

I gaze at Tanner for several seconds, waiting for more, waiting for something . I try to read him, try to peel back every dirt-shrouded layer.

And I see it, clear as day, hiding in the depths of his regretful brown eyes.

I’m not wrong.

He knows exactly who Isaac is, and not even his well-trained detective mask can hide the truth from my inherent instincts.

One day, he’ll cave.

But today is not that day.

“Fine,” I murmur, peering down at my feet and grinding my teeth together. I pause for a moment before I spin around, my hair flying with me as I shoot him a halfhearted wave over my shoulder. “See you next month, Detective. I’ll bring blueberry scones.”

A few members of the department whoop and cheer.

Tanner’s grumble sees me out the door. “Can’t wait.”