“Mi scusi,” I say.
He twirls. I step left—he blocks. Right—he follows.
“Come on, buddy.”
He points to his hat. I toss in some coins. He bows like I’ve knighted him. When I look up, Cybil’s gone. Classic misdirection. Rookie mistake.
I start scanning the storefronts and cafés, ignoring the gnawing déjà vu. I’ve chased Cybil before—usually with a snake in one hand and a lasso in the other—but this feels different. This chase has stakes. Real ones. I’m not giving up until I know why she lied to me last night... and why I found her ring in Ramirez’s office.
Maybe it’s completely innocent.
I want to believe that. Especially after Ruby called this morning.
She sent me a full dossier on Cybil—everything from her birth record to her credit history to the list of guys she’s dated. I deleted it without opening the file. Told Ruby I wasn’t interested in digging through Cybil’s life unless there were actual red flags.
There were two.
First, she was hired by Earl Edmond two weeks before she graduated from UNT. Second, she once dated a guy with a user account on a dark web forum calledThe Extraction Room. Handle: Toothbutcher.
Honestly, the first one barely qualifies as a red flag compared to the second. And I don’t know what unsettles me more—the fact that she dated a guy called Toothbutcher... or that I’m jealous of a guycalledToothbutcher.
I have no business poking around in Cybil’s dating life, but I felt a little better when Ruby told me she flagged Toothbutcher’s IP so the bureau could monitor his online activity. That should’ve been the end of it, but I haven’t stopped wondering what it would’ve been like to date Cybil myself.
I mean, if she was willing to date a demented dentist, I’ve gotta be at least one notch above that on the romantic food chain, right?
I’m about to turn around when I spot her. She’s perched on the patio of Bottega del Caffé. The old-world coffee shop is all old stone and rough-hewn beams that look a thousand years old. There’s a stone archway entry, but beyond that the entire sitting area is uncovered except for the trees and umbrellas.
She’s pretending not to see me as I walk over, but I know she does. Her gaze flicks to mine, and her face drops like she just found out I’m her blind date.
“Is it your life’s mission to aggravate me?” she mutters as I sit.
“Some people climb Everest. I choose you.”
She shoots me a glare that could blister paint. Her eyes flick to her phone. Then to the street. Then to me. “What are you doing here,Craig?”
“I appreciate the way you spit out my name. Delivers believability.”
She starts to push back her chair, and instincts kick in. I reach across the table and gently touch her hand. “Wait.”
She looks down where I’m holding her hand, then pulls away like I’ve burned her. “I don’t have time.”
“Please.” I catch the quick flick of her eyes to her phone. She’s stalling. Scrambling for a way out. “It won’t take long. And you haven’t had your coffee.”
Her lips press into a tight line as she stands from her chair. She’s searching for an excuse, but I’m already pulling the last card I’ve got. I reach into my pocket and hold up the ring.
“And I found this.”
She freezes. For a second, her whole body goes still, her eyes locked on the ring like she can’t believe it’s real. A flash of emotion passes across her face—something raw and real—but it’s gone in a blink, replaced with a look sharp enough to draw blood.
“Where did you find that?”
I nod to the chair she just vacated. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She swallows, eyes darting like she’s one second from bolting—and I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping her here is the fact that I’m still holding her father’s ring. When she opens her palm to me, I know I’m right.
“First”—I hold it up between my fingers—“tell me how you lost this.”
“It slipped off.” The answer comes quickly—too quickly. “Happy?”
