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“I like taking care of you. It makes me feel important.”
“Is Christine like that? The nursing type?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t getting anywhere with my online search. I know I have the best resource at my fingertips, but Jackson’s my last resort. It’s bad enough I’m missing training—he doesn’t need to know how truly distracted I’ve become.
“Do you miss her?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, my mind elsewhere.
After a few minutes of silence, and me reading the same websites over and over—I finally cave.
Ky: Hey. I need a favor.
Jackson: Anything.
***
Madison: I need a favor.
Jackson: Who is this?
Madison: Madison.
Jackson: What do you need?
22
KY
DOCTOR AROMA STARES at me.
I stare back.
Her eyes narrow a little.
I squirm under her gaze.
“What?” she asks.
I look around the room, wondering if she’s speaking to me because I haven’t said a word. There’s no one else here. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay, Doc?”
“I’m fine.” She pours a glass of water, then downs the entire thing in one swig. Her eyes stay on me.
I wait until she’s set the glass back down and ask, “Do you think relationships can work if there are secrets involved?”
“Ah ha!” she almost shouts, pointing her finger at me.
I rear back in surprise and stupidly look around the room again.
She clears her throat. “Carry on.”
“Okay...” I eye her sideways before continuing. “I guess I’m just wondering how important it is to share absolutely everything. And if the feeling of suspicion will always linger because you know the person is holding back.”
Doctor Aroma sits forward a little, her gaze penetrating mine even more. “I don’t know, Ky,” she says, her eyes thinning to slits. “Depends on what the secret is and if it involves the skanky whore that runs the impound lot at the police station.”
I stifle my laugh and trap my lips between my teeth, watching her eyes widen with her sudden admission. She looks at the clock. “Time’s up,” she says.
“I just sat down.”
“You’re excused.”
“No.” I shake my head and cross my arms, loving the switch in power. “I think I’m going to sit here and talk. You can stay silent if you want. Or you can talk.”
She matches my stance. “Fine.”
“So today I think I’m going take a page from your book and talk about all of my best friend’s crushes when he was in high school. You may know him as Detective Davis...”
***
I wake up the next morning in an empty bed.
Quickly, I get up and search my apartment for Madison, but she isn’t there. Neither is her bag. I check my phone. There are no missed calls. No messages. My heart stops. I dial her number. She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey babe!”
“Jesus Christ, Maddy where the hell are you?”
“I just checked in on Debbie.”
“You should have sent a text—”
She laughs. “I left you a note.”
“Who the hell leaves notes these days!”
She laughs harder. “I’ll be back soon. You better have calmed down by then because I’m not putting up with Grumpy Ky all day.”
Just as I’m about to respond, there’s a knock on the door. Figuring it was Madison, I open the door in my boxers—half-mast.
“Dude!” Jackson yells, shielding his eyes from my dick. “Put that thing away.”
“I’ll call you back,” I tell Madison, and hang up.
With a laugh, I leave the door open for Jackson and go to the bedroom to put on some clothes. “What are you doing here?” I yell out.
I hear the front door close and then the TV switch on. “I have no idea,” he shouts back.
Once my pants are on and I’ve shrugged on a shirt, I join him on the couch. “What the hell do you mean you have no idea?”
“Your girl messaged me—asked me to meet her here.” He looks around the apartment. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Out.”
He mutes the TV. “She’s not here?”
“Nope.”
He taps my chest with the back of his hand. I face him. “So I have that info you asked for, but I don’t know how you’re going to react to it.”
“Hit me.”
“She doesn’t exist—Madison Haynes—at least not anyone that matches her description.”
I rub my jaw and puff out a breath. “I kind of knew that already.”
“You knew?”
“Well yeah, that’s why I asked you. But I thought you’d be able to find a birth certificate...something.”
“Ky, I searched. I can’t find shit about anyone with that name. What the hell do you mean—”
“I can’t tell you,” I cut in. “It’s not my story to tell, Jax.”
“Fine. But there’s more.”
My attention spikes. “More?”
“So I looked into the lease on her apartment...”
“And?”
“It was paid three months in advance—cash. And the name on the lease? Cash.”
I shrug. “That’s not a big deal. I mean, maybe that’s all she could afford. It’s not like she has a credit history or social security.”
