Page 38 of City of Liars

I remembered that first phone conversation we’d had: Gray’s a liar and a cheater, I’d said. I’ve had quite enough of that in my life. And Theo had responded, So have I. I thought he’d been talking about an ex-girlfriend, but he hadn’t. He’d been talking about his father, who hadn’t even cared enough about his son to give Theo his name.

No wonder dating wasn’t Theo’s “thing,” as he’d told me that night on the phone. He came from a legacy of women who were punished for showing love. Why would he ever take the risk?

But if he could restore Lily to her sister, then he could heal his grandma, and, in turn, maybe save his mother from her demons. Because if Susi got Lily back, that would mean it was safe to love the people who mattered to her. Including her own daughter.

The man who’d told me he lived for work, not letting anyone close other than his brother, was doing all of this…for love.

Damn it. I didn’t want to fall for Theo; I wanted to believe that no matter how attractive I found him, this weekend was merely a means to an end. The more I got to know him, though, the more I began to worry that I was kidding myself. That no matter what we discovered in New York, the biggest risk I was taking involved my heart.

22

Theo

Liv and I shared a cab from LaGuardia, the driver dropping me off at my apartment at Columbus and 90th before taking her downtown. Saying goodbye was awkward. Should I wave? Hug her? What?

I threw my bag over my shoulder and leaned down to meet her eyes. “Call me when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Sure.” She bit her lip, like she wanted to say more.

I waited, but when she didn’t speak, I straightened and turned, striding up the sidewalk. Leaving like that didn’t sit well with me, but given the boundaries we’d set, I didn’t know what else to do.

I passed beneath the wine-colored awning of Columbus Common, mounting the short flight of steps that led to my building’s lobby. I’d lived here for eight years, grateful for the rotating cast of doormen who were the soul of discretion. On the rare occasions when I’d brought my one-night stands back here, they’d never said a word.

Tonight, Saul was working the front desk. He glanced up and smiled at me, as if I’d been gone for a couple of hours rather than a month and a half. “Welcome home, Mr. Dressler.”

I smiled, genuinely excited to see him. With a pang, it occurred to me that, aside from Will, my most enduring relationships were with my doormen. Whatever this said about me, I was sure it wasn’t good.

Saul and I exchanged pleasantries, catching up about his six grandchildren, Caiden, and Will’s soon-to-be-new baby. Then a guy with a double stroller appeared outside the building, struggling to open the door, and Saul excused himself, hustling over to help.

It was irrational, but a sudden sense of being surrounded by children engulfed me: Saul’s grandkids; Will’s progeny; the guy with the stroller. Like the universe was trying to tell me something. Panic gnawed at the edges of my vision, speckling it with gray, and a drumbeat pounded inside my head: Get away get away get away.

A better person would’ve held the elevator for the stroller dude—Will would have—but I was too preoccupied with not having a public meltdown. I stabbed at the elevator’s button, and thank Christ, the thing complied. With a sharp breath of relief, I stepped inside, sagging as the doors shut and the car began to move.

I leaned against the wall, afraid my narrowing vision and the anxiety cresting in my chest heralded the approach of one of the episodes Will referred to, with ultimate tact, as “Theo’s moods.” Closing my eyes, I forced myself to breathe, the way my therapist had taught me: in for a count of four, hold for four, out through my mouth for four again. It helped.

As my vision cleared, I searched deep inside myself for a hint of the darkness, creeping in to weigh my limbs and cloud my mind, but found nothing. For the moment, at least, I was okay, which was a relief. Liv knew nothing about that side of me—the part that had to dig deep for every bit of willpower to get out of bed when things were bad, that looked into the future and saw nothing but a bottomless pit of hopelessness. With luck, she never would.

By the time I unlocked the door to my apartment, I’d pulled myself together. Striding inside, I took in the familiar sights of home. The living room held a brown leather couch and matching ottoman, floating shelves with books and photos of Will’s family, a wall-mounted flat-screen TV. And, in the corner, my one concession to expense: a Fazioli baby grand piano.

I yanked the curtains wide, then flung myself down on the couch, soothed by the hum of passing traffic. It was dark outside, but in the morning the sun would stream through the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony. I liked to work out there, feeling a part of the city and above it at the same time. Much as I loved my beach house, the throb and pulse of New York invigorated me. It would always be home.

I texted Will, making plans to get together tomorrow night, then scheduled a car to pick up Grandma Susi at her assisted living facility. If anyone in my family remembered crucial details about Lily’s disappearance, it was her. Then I sat back against the couch, disliking the feeling of putting one over on my brother. I didn’t want to drag Will into this mess or burden him; my intention was to set him free by untangling the cluster fuck that had plagued our family for decades. Still, I hated the thought of lying to him, even by omission. Will was all I had, the only person who had ever stuck by me. The last thing I wanted was to alienate him.

Thinking about it bugged the hell out of me, so I turned to my usual go-to: work. I called Perez and checked in, but there were no problems to troubleshoot. The meeting with the head of Stellar was set for next week, and we’d already done our prep. I texted Jonas at Atomic, but there was nothing catastrophic going on there either. Out of ideas to distract myself, I Netflixed some true-crime docuseries, crawled into bed, and zoned out.

The next thing I knew, I was trapped in a maze of dim corridors. The walls were a dingy green, and the air reeked of disinfectant and decay. I wandered down one hallway, then another, trying to find my way out, but there was no escape.

Desperate, I called out, but my voice just echoed back to me through the deserted halls: “Help...elp...elp.” The ceiling pressed down, and panic rose, threatening to choke me.

Then, in the distance, the tinkling of notes broke the oppressive silence. I fled toward it as the walls closed in, running faster and faster to keep from being crushed.

I burst through a doorway and found myself in a huge room. Weak light filtered through the windows, falling on the woman who sat at a piano in the corner, her face half in shadow. She wore a green dress; her hair streamed over her shoulders. Her fingers rippled over the keys, playing a song I knew well: Bye Bye Blackbird.

With a shock, I realized she was playing my Fazioli; I recognized a stain on the lid, where a careless guest had once set a glass. The polished surface gleamed, as if in a spotlight.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, without turning.

I stepped closer, trying to make out her features. “Who are you? What is this place?”