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She frowns at me with deep sympathy in her eyes. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?” Apparently, I don’t. My memory gaps are well beyond my captivity.
She’s quiet for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. A bubble of emotion pushes into my chest. The ache and longing I have for this man. She watches me for a moment, processing the reaction I cannot hide. “He meant something to you, didn’t he?”
How could she possibly understand what he meant to me? I’m still trying to figure out what Nick meant to me, and the different versions of him I’m constructing.
She frowns and crinkles her nose, her eyes emanating an emotion inside her I can’t quite capture. “Did you know him?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” she says carefully. “I knew his old man and his grandfather. I know the family name. I make it my business to know everyone in these parts. I promise you, if someone is fucking with you, it’s not Nick Cross.”
My stomach sinks. “How do you know for sure?”
“Because that boy is dead.”
The air in the room grows thin and cold. I feel dizzy as the room starts to spin. Hearing her say it out loud is a punch to the gut. She straightens her back, pulls a piece of paper from her jacket, and hands it to me. “I called in a favor from forensics. He has a death certificate that’s dated from a year ago. The government has every reason to believe Nick Cross is no longer living.”
I crumble inside as I stare down at the piece of paper. “It’s not real,” I whisper. “It can’t be.”
She watches me for a moment. “Layla, I know this is hard to understand.”
“This isn’t real,” I breathe. “He was the one that took me.”
She runs her hair through her ponytail. “That’s impossible.”
“I was there!” I bite out. “I lived it…I lived through it.” I swallow hard, and goose bumps press over my spine.
She grabs my hand, and I snap it away. “It’s not a simple document to forge. I am one hundred percent certain he’s no longer here. He died a hero. That’s got to mean at least something.”
I try to stop the tears from flowing from my eyes. “What else can you tell me about him?”
She hesitates for a moment. “His father worked for your grandfather before he died. He was one of the victims I was investigating. Look, Layla, grief can do strange things to people.”
My heart shatters at what she’s saying, and my eyes meet hers. “And you never once considered it was Nick when I went missing?”
She shrugs. “No reason to. He went away, never came back.”
“What happened to him?”
“Here’s what I know. He was a quiet kid, joined the army right after turning eighteen. He was impressive, truly elite, and went into military special operations, part of the Joint Task Force 2, counter terrorism stuff. During a combat mission overseas, his unit was hit by a grenade. The army had nothing but praise for his service. They called him Nick the Archer Cross. Fitting nickname too, since he was born in December.” For a moment, I’m back with him. He’s deep inside me, filling the aching hole in my soul. Sarah watches my clear and obvious reaction to the name. “That’s not what has my attention about him, though,” she adds.
I shoot her a look. “I’m listening.”
“His old man used to work for your grandfather. Died at one of the lumberyards.” She opens her lips to say more but doesn’t.
“On his birthday?” I ask.
She nods.
“It must be him then. He’s after me. He wants revenge.”
“He’s dead, Layla.”
I fix her with a stare. “What if I can prove to you, he isn’t dead?”
Her forehead furrows. “I’m a detective, kid. I’d say show me the proof.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Someone was in my apartment, and we had sex while I was sleeping. At first, I thought it was a hallucination because I dream about him every night. But this one felt too real, like he was really inside me. So, the next night, I went to get a rape kit at the clinic.”
Her body bristles. “When did this happen?”
