I shook my head. “Aimee showed up at Theresa’s office. It looked like they were going out to lunch or something. Nick didn’t see them leave. But there’s more,” I said, peeling another cookie from the package. It had definitely been a two-Oreo morning. “He already knew she’s been meeting with Feliks Zhirov.”
“Shit,” she said. “That didn’t take long.”
“He’s still convinced she was involved in Harris’s disappearance, only now he thinks Feliks was behind it. Not only that, but Nick went back to The Lush and talked to Julian. He showed Julian a photo of Theresa, and when Julian insisted it wasn’t the same woman he’d talked to, Nick suspected Julian was just covering for her. So now, on top of everything else, Julian knows I lied to him.”
Vero winced. “It could be worse. You could have given him your real name. Then you’d really be in trouble.” She pushed her glass of milk across the table, letting me drown a corner of my Oreo in it. “You think Nick will find anything that’ll lead the investigation back to you?”
I sighed. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing connecting me to Feliks or his business.”
Vero pushed the entire bag of cookies at me. “Nothing but Andrei Borovkov.”
* * *
That night, I sat in front of my computer watching the cursor blink. I’d revised a solid chunk of my manuscript to keep my secrets safe. I’d written the hot young lawyer out of my story and replaced him with a hotshot cop, and while the heroine and the cop had great chemistry on the page, the lawyer’s absence from my story felt wrong for reasons I couldn’t seem to shake. I missed the banter between them and his easy smile. I missed the way he seemed to see right through her—through her wig-scarf and her makeup and her borrowed dress—and even though she was a killer with a complicated backstory, he still seemed to like what he saw underneath.
I nudged my phone closer and scrolled to Julian’s name, staring at his number. My finger hovered over the delete key. There were so many reasons I should press it. So many reasons I should have edited him out of my life days ago.
Instead, I picked up my phone, slid to the floor beside my desk, and tapped his name on the screen. Hugging my knees, I listened as Julian’s phone rang, waiting for the telltale voice-mail beep. When he actually answered, I was too stunned to speak.
The line was silent.
“My name isn’t Theresa,” I confessed quietly. “And I’m not really in real estate.” I listened for any sign he was still there. “I’m not blond. And you were right, about all those other things you said about me at the bar. I didn’t belong there. The dress I was wearing wasn’t even mine.”
I held my breath through a long pause, certain he’d hung up. I was just about to give up and disconnect when he asked, “Was any of it true?” There was no suggestion of blame in his tone. No expectation or demands.
“Some.” I buried my head in my hands, surprised by how guilty I felt. “I have two kids. I’m divorced. I’m in the middle of a messy custody fight with my ex.” I looked down at the Oreo crumbs on my stretched-out T. “And you more or less nailed my sense of style and dietary preferences.”
He sighed. Or maybe it was a heavyhearted laugh. “Who are you?” He sounded genuinely curious.
I leaned my head back against my desk. “I don’t think I can tell you. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I want to.” I raked my hair back, my nails dragging over the phantom itch in my scalp. “I just … need to clear some things up first.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I don’t want to be,” I said, fighting back tears. “I keep trying to do the right thing, and somehow it keeps backfiring.” All I had wanted was a chance to hold on to my kids. To prove to Steven that he was wrong about me. But what if he wasn’t?
“Did this Mickler guy—the one who went missing,” he asked gently, “did he hurt you?”
“No,” I said. But I thought about all those names on his phone. “Not me.”
“Did you hurt him?” There was no insinuation of guilt. No condemnation or judgment. Maybe there should have been.
“No. But I doubt anyone would believe me.”
“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I could help.” He sounded so earnest. So honest. I wondered if it would feel like confessing at church, to pour all my ugly truths into the phone to him. I wished I could utter a few Hail Marys and the rest of the world would absolve me the way Julian seemed to want to.