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For the past twenty minutes, ever since I saw Detective Curtis waiting in the lobby, I’ve been working in very intense panic mode, every sense and reflex primed for fight or flight.
For the past four weeks, ever since I turned into Amber, I’ve been living a lie, constantly on guard against being found out.
For the past eight months, ever since I had that twenty-minute conversation with Montaigne about the custom pendant for his mother, I’ve been scanning every crowd, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to make his final move.
For the past nine years, ever since I left home, I’ve been trying to run away from anyone who might make me feel and from the girl I was before—the one who always trusted and always ended up hurt.
All of it is just too hard. I don’t want to do it anymore.
I cry for a long time in the tub, making sure to stifle the sound although it’s a little early for William to emerge from his office. When I’ve cried myself out, the water is starting to cool, so I drain the tub and get out, drying myself off with the thick towel I heated on the fancy towel warmer.
I put on a set of new pajamas I bought last week. They’re made of this thick, soft knit I love—smoky lavender with loose pants and a sleeveless top. I cover them with a long sweater and pour a glass of red wine. Then, still restless and uneasy, I walk outside onto the large terrace, stand near the high railing, and stare out at the expansive view of the city in the evening.
I can just leave. Finally give up on Amber, who clearly isn’t interested in a genuine reconciliation. Forget about this crazy scheme and find a little town where no one knows me. Get a job at a diner or a bookstore and start life again.
But I don’t have the resources to establish a new identity, which means Montaigne will eventually find me, unless I can somehow live on cash without setting up a bank account, car registration, and utilities.
It doesn’t sound feasible.
I can go to another law enforcement agency and tell them my story. Hope they’ll take me seriously. Pray they don’t have anyone bribable in their ranks.
Or I can keep doing what I’m doing.
Those are the only options I can think of.
I wish there was someone I could confide in, someone who I could turn to for support and comfort. I suddenly miss Amber—the Amber I remember from our childhood—so much my chest constricts. For a moment, I can’t even breathe.
I fight the tears since I’ve already cried more than I ever allow myself. But I’m only starting to regain my breath when a voice from behind me surprises me so much I jerk and slop my wine.
“Are you all right?” William asks, having joined me on the terrace without my realizing it.
I manage to compose my face and turn around, wiping my hand on the sweater since wine sloshed on it. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”
William’s eyes are dark in the glow of the terrace lights, and they’re fixed on my face. “You don’t look fine.”
“I am.” I’m slightly impatient. This man normally stays distracted by work, so it’s annoying and troubling when he suddenly decides to pry into my business like this. I turn back toward the view. Away from him. “I’m fine.”
He steps over so he’s beside me next to the terrace railing. “Tell me about your sister.”
I knew this question would come up soon. “There’s not much to tell. Her name is Jade. Jade and Amber. Nice, huh? We’re twins. She’s… I’m a couple of hours older. We’re not that much alike.”
“Curtis said you were identical.”
“We are. I mean, we’re identical twins. We look alike, but we’re different in every other way.” I suddenly realize this is an important moment for me. If William believes Amber and I are interchangeable, he might start to suspect why the woman he knows as Amber has been acting so different lately. I can’t let that happen. “We’re not exactly alike. There are some differences. But, yeah, we’re twins. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her.”
“You told Curtis it’s been nine years since you’ve talked to her. So you haven’t spoken to her since you were eighteen?”
I frown, wishing William wasn’t so good at remembering details. “Yes. That’s right. She ran away from home. Left me and my dad.”
“Why did she run away?”
I shrug.
“You must know something.”
With a sniff, I say lightly, “Our dad was… difficult. She felt trapped by him, I think. So she left.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Then, “And she never tried to stay in touch even with you?”
