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“I knew Sam casually for a couple of years before I interviewed with them,” I say, slowly. “We didn’t start dating right away, though.”
“He plays a long game,” Max says. “Just speculating, but maybe his father mentioned you as a promising candidate. He might have checked you out, then pursued you.”
My past crumbles before my eyes. I don’t know what’s real and what Sam constructed.
I glance at the flute I’m still gripping, pour a second helping, gulp it down, and pour a third. “Do you know where he is?”
Max sits forward. Cress slides off his lap and comes to rest at his feet.
“’Fraid not. I think he has yet another identity, just for this eventuality. And I’m positive the text from your former boss is really from Sam. He either ‘borrowed’ or stole his dad’s phone. Must be wondering why you haven’t responded.”
“Should I?” I don’t want to, but maybe that’s the way to catch him.
“No.” Max’s response explodes into the silence. My breath whooshes out.
“We let him stew. At some point, his frustration will explode and he’ll make another move. He’s preparing the dénouement. We can be patient. In the meantime, GSU has some guys watching his father in case they get together.”
“Are you bugging Fred’s phone?”
“That would be illegal. And doing a wiretap on the head of a law firm would beg for a lawsuit.” Max’s eyes twinkle. “We’ve passed on information about their connection to the police, so they might do something.”
“Haven’t they told you anything?”
“No. I wouldn’t expect it. They might tell you something as the victim, but even that’s doubtful.” He looks at me with pity. “Turn on your phone, Micki. All we can do is wait.”
The cheese I munched earlier curdles in my stomach and the wine seems to have gone to my head. I grit my teeth and slide the orange button down to turn my phone on. Wait. Again. Even though the pieces are coming together, waiting is all that seems to happen.
ChapterThirty-One
When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it. —Henry Ford
JL
My Timex,a gift from Maman when I graduated from high school, reads 4:00 p.m. through the scratched crystal. Yannick drives us back to the hospital so we can update Maman on our progress.
We signed the contract with Joe. He did the listing on his laptop. The sign is on the lawn. Not sure what she will think about the house when I tell her Joe estimates two and a half million. He’ll have an inspector tomorrow to check everything out. The open house will be this weekend. By then, we’ll be in Chicago.
A bit of breathing space gives me time to text Micki. I want to arrange a long call for tonight. Even if we say little, just her breath on the other end of the line will ease my heart. The email from Max, telling me who Sam is, makes me itch to get back. We need to flush out the fucker and get him locked away for the rest of his life.
ME: Miss you so much.
MICKI: MISS YOU TOO
ME: You free for a call tonight?
ME: I need to update you on what’s happening.
MICKI: I have news too. What time?
ME: Nine Chicago time?
MICKI: Can’t wait ??
ME: ??
By the time we finish, Yannick is maneuvering into a parking space far away from other cars.
“Not taking any chances with my darling.” He runs his hand over the hood.
