“You’re right. I’m not going to let that so-called doctor affect our reunion. Grab your things; it’s time to leave.”
Things? What things? I almost want to laugh at the stupidity of it all.
Don’t the police always say never let them take you to a second location? Does leaving now constitute a second or a third location?
“Now, Mia.”
I step toward the stairs, looking for anything I may have brought with me, determined to leave it behind as a clue in case they find out about this place. He opens the front door, and I slip off my cardigan, leaving it hanging on the banister.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alfie
“To you, the viewers, I need your help. On your screen should be a photo of Mia Sinclair. She’s worked with me for three years now. She’s beautiful, has long black hair, the brightest blue eyes, and she’s so happy because she just passed her degree and became a doctor of psychology. She’s qualified; she has a lot of things to look forward to, and I just want her to come home. I need her to come home.”
Dianne has a little tear in her eye, so unlike her given she’s usually chomping at the bit for a good story. I hear in my ear that the number of viewers is more than our average. They’re steadily increasing as the news thattheDr. Angel has broken down on television takes over. I’ll be a meme by midday, and I don’t give a shit. If it gets her home to me, I would do anything. Get me in a bikini, put me in a jello wrestling pool, because I’d agree to a new segment where they have me fight patients for all I care.
“You heard the man, people. We’re looking for Mia, and we need your help. We’ve set up a hotline number with the support of the police. If you see Mia out and about, please let us knowwhere she is. We have it on authority from the police that you should not approach her or anyone she may be with. She may be with someone who is dangerous and who has a history of mental illness. Isn’t that right, Dr. Adams?”
“Correct. We don’t want to escalate this situation. If you spot Mia, let the hotline know. But do not approach her or anyone that she might be with.”
“Do we have any description of the person she’s with?”
I hesitate for a second. Dr. Abraham’s words ring in my ears. He doesn’t think Nate did this, and I know I’m not thinking clearly. How could I when it comes to her? She’s all I see. It’s like I’m blinkered.
“No, we don’t know yet.”
I play it safe. I can’t throw my patients under the bus. Not when people might want to harm them.
“Okay, is there anything you want to say to Mia? Let’s assume she’s watching somewhere.”
I steel myself, taking a deep breath in. “Mia, love, I’m going to bring you home. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I need you back with me, and I’m going to take such good care of you. Everything I thought, everything I believed about myself. You’ve pushed through every limitation I had set. You showed me how to be a partner, not just a therapist. You showed me how to show up for people, not just my patients. You taught me how to love when I’ve never known how. Please, Mia, my love, if you can find your way back to me, please do. Because I’m going to come and find you. I promise you.”
Dianne swipes another tear, and I walk off the set, not waiting for the commercial break. When I reach Lottie, she rubs my shoulder, a stray tear falling down my cheek.
“You heard the man, people, keep an eye out for our Mia,” Dennis says before holding his finger up to his ear. “Our producers are telling me our phone is already ringing off thehook. Please keep your messages brief, and if you can take a photo without being spotted—please do. This will help us weed out the lookalikes.”
Dennis’s voice goes on as the studio becomes an impromptu headquarters for the Find Mia Sinclair campaign. As they cut to a commercial, the audience began to chatter amongst themselves, but I feel three hundred sets of eyes watching me. Some, with sympathy, their softened features and down-turned smiles let me know I have their support. Others, I imagine, are how Detective Jenkins looked whilst he asked me questions on the phone this morning. Suspicious, like I’m acting the grieving boyfriend when really I’m the one that’s hurt her. And I did, didn’t I? I pushed her away, and now she’s in danger because of that selfishness.
Speak of the devil.
Detective Jenkins trudges through the studio, flashing his badge at anyone who dares step in his path and shoulder-barging them if they don’t move quick enough.
“Outside, now,” he barks, and I follow as he turns on his heel and heads directly the way he came.
In the corridor, the clip of Lottie’s heels swiftly follows. She’s a woman on a mission. She’s used every available resource, every person who owes her a favor, to be involved in this.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the detective snaps, his junior officer flinching at his bite.
“I’m looking for my fucking girlfriend,” I seethe. “What do you think I’m supposed to be doing?”
“You’re supposed to do as you’re fucking told. I tell you to sit. You sit. I tell you to do media, you do media. You can’t just orchestrate a search party when we don’t even know if she’s missing yet.”
“You seem to be under the illusion that my fear of the law and my fear of the police override my love for Mia. So let me bevery clear to you. I will stop at nothing to find her. I will have her home with me, regardless of your laziness. Regardless of your incompetence. The fact that you don’t think she’s evenmissingtells me that you aren’t doing your fucking job. So yeah. I’ll take over what you should be doing.”
I storm out of the corridor desperately needing some air. The stifling heat of the studio lights is usually uncomfortable, but today is unbearable. The walls are closing in, my body sticky. My clothes are too clingy, my boots laced too tight. I can’t breathe. I burst through the emergency exit and suck in a lung full of cool air, scorching my lungs.
My phone rings and I scramble to tug it out of my pocket. Judge John Watson fills the screen. I answer, needing the distraction.
