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He stares at me, a blank look on his face. His jaw ticks. “Fine. I’ll cancel my trip.”
“You will do no such thing!”
“Then come with me.” Ugh. This conversation is going around in circles, making me dizzy. Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. Looking up at Chase, I see a myriad of emotions crossing his face. Most prominent is concern. He’s still worried about the mystery person in my apartment. He told me everything was taken care of, that I was safe. Why does he look so nervous?
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The look on his face says it all. He’s hiding something. “Look, I didn’t want to freak you out.” His voice is low and calm, like he’s talking to a wounded animal.
“Tell me, Chase.”
He runs both hands through his hair. “Well . . . although facial recognition didn’t work, there were other ways to identify who was in your apartment.”
“Go on,” I coax. We are standing in front of each other, so close, I can feel the tension coming off him in waves, but far enough that I can’t touch him.
“It definitely wasn’t a woman.”
“I kind of figured that. What else?”
“He was tall, between six-foot and six-foot-three.”
“Okay.”
“A witness said they saw an unfamiliar white male, tall, sandy blonde hair with a maintenance uniform on.”
“That could be a lot of people Chase, get to the point.”
“They said he had a tattoo.” Chase watches me carefully, gauging my reaction. “It was a Celtic cross with your name through it.”
“So, there are a lot of people named Olivia.”
“My firm has a private investigator on retainer. I had him do some digging.” Stopping to compose himself, he murmurs softly, “Evan has that exact tattoo.”
Okay, now I think he’s lost it. “Evan doesn’t have any tattoos,” I say, essentially dismissing him. Evan would never do something like this. Would he?
Chase stands firm. “He had it done recently. That’s how I was able to find out it was him.”
“No, that’s impossible. Evan wouldn’t do that. No way.”
“Olivia, they are ninety-nine percent sure it was him. The problem is there isn’t any proof of him being in the apartment.” I shake my head, refusing to believe my ex got in to my apartme
nt.
I never told him where I lived.
I never told him. Oh, God. I can feel the blood drain from my face and Chase looks at me with obvious concern. Holding up my hand, I signal for him to wait and pick up my phone. There’s only one person who could’ve told him.
“Hi, mom,” I say, my voice full of fake cheer. “Quick question. Did you ever mention to Evan or Rachael where I lived?”
“Um . . .” There’s silence and I imagine her looking up at the ceiling as she thinks. “Yes, after your housewarming, I spoke with Rachael. Told her all about your new place. Why?” A wave of nausea hits me. I stare down at the floor, trying to keep my lunch from coming up. Looking up at Chase, I finish the conversation.
“Nothing, just wondering. Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, sweetie.” I hang up and drop my phone, suddenly feeling faint. What reason would Evan have to go into my apartment and steal my underwear?
“My . . . mom . . .” I stutter, “he knows where I live.” I’m horrified. I don’t know what’s worse—having a stranger invade your privacy or someone you thought you once loved. Chase pulls me into his arms, holding me tight. “I don’t want to fight with you,” I mumble into his chest.
“Do you see why I want you to go with me?” Even though I’m totally freaked out, I put on a brave face for Chase.
