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Besides, Nicky wasn't in the business of adding more people to her life. It was too complicated. Too much work.
She wrote back:Sorry, I'm pretty busy with work right now. Great to hear from you, though.
After she sent the message, Nicky still felt uneasy. She'd always had a soft spot for Matt--and even if she didn't want to admit it, she knew the reason why.
It was the one thing she couldn't escape: she was lonely.
For the past few months, she'd had a fling with another member of the team--a hotshot profiler name Fernando Torres. But it had been more of a physical thing, and that was fine by Nicky. They'd each gotten what they wanted out of it, and it hadn't cost anything, other than the occasional night together--and even then, that was more of a convenience than anything else.
Her old friends were busy living their lives. And Nicky didn't have time for a real relationship.
Matt texted back immediately.
Okay. But I'm staying in town for a few weeks. I'd love to see you.
Nicky shut off her phone. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a liar. She'd made up her mind. She wasn't going to see Matt. So that was that.
Sighing, Nicky took another swig of her drink and stood up. She was beginning to feel numb. She wandered through her apartment, still holding the drink, with one destination in mind.
Nicky rented a two-bedroom apartment, but the second bedroom wasn't for her.
It was for Rosie.
Nicky entered the room, where she had a massive whiteboard set up.
Clippings of newspapers. Articles. Pictures of her sister.
Everything Nicky knew about Rosie Lyons's kidnapping was in this room. Not only on the whiteboard--but also in Nicky's own memory.
She shut her eyes and pictured the lake. The rippling water...
Maybe it was messed up that she still thought about the lake at that horrible, wretched place as a means to keep her anxiety at bay. The worst days of Nicky's life had happened at that lake house.
But looking out at that water had also been the last time she'd been with Rosie.
In that sense, the nightmare that was the lake house was also a dream.
But Nicky still held onto hope. It had been thirteen years since Rosie was last seen. They never found a body.
She took out her phone and dialed the number of the local police department in Nelly, West Virginia, her hometown. A long way from Florida, where she lived now.
A familiar, gruff female voice sounded on the other end. "Hello?"
Nicky paused. Her voice was thick in her throat. She'd called so many times; the operator, Martha, would recognize her voice. "Hi there, I was calling to ask if any information had come up in a case--"
"It’s you again," Martha said. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but there's still nothing new. The case has been cold for years, darling… you know that.”
Nicky closed her eyes. This was a call she made every week. She'd called ever since she left her hometown and went into the FBI academy. At this point, it was more of a compulsion than anything. Dr. Graham had mentioned something about that once. He suggested that Nicky making the calls was her way of latching onto hope, because she—and the FBI—had already exhausted every possible lead as to what had happened to Rosie Lyons. The case was colder than the Appalachian Mountains. But Nicky just… needed to call.
"Okay, well... thanks." She hung up.
She headed back into the living room, where she kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch with her cell phone.
Another dead end, as always. But at least it helped keep Rosie's memory alive.
Just as Nicky was about to get up and pour another drink, her phone buzzed. She frowned at the name on the screen. It was late for her boss, Eric Franco, to be calling her, but she picked up.
"Chief, what's going on?" Nicky asked.
