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“How does that work?” I ask. “You just follow him until you catch him…”
“This was for planting an electronic listening device. But the court order is only good for thirty days until we have to file for an extension or disclose our surveillance.”
“Planting a…” Shifting a little, I stare at Aiden. “You did that? When you went to see Sascha?”
“It wasn’t as dangerous as it sounds.” He frowns as if thinking back over something strange. “Sascha was distracted with the news about Elizabeth, and I just slipped it behind a book.”
A shiver passes through me at the thought. “At the Mousetrap?”
He nods.
“So, you just listen in and hope he incriminates himself?” It doesn’t sound like the best plan. My knowledge of Sascha indicates that he’s not an idiot. He probably knows the cops are watching him.
“It’s a long shot,” Aiden admits with a tired sigh. “It was always a long shot. But the department is giving the team grief about the resources it’s taking to accumulate evidence against him.”
He glances at me, almost apologetically.
“Would it help if I came in?” I ask. “Maybe recount what I remember from my time there?” I’m not asking because I want to. I know that Toni would hate me even suggesting it. Lizzie would have just laughed at me. I’m asking because I’m quickly realizing that I’d do anything for this man.
But he says no. “Until we have more. Maybe another girl with more details and the same brand, I don’t want to put you through that. The information you gave me,” he pauses and grabs my hand, reassuring me even as he’s delivering bad news, “it’s not enough, Cat. It might be useful later, but right now, it would just make you a target the moment Sascha got out on bail.”
The wordbailcoming out of his mouth reminds me of something I’ve always wondered about. “Aiden…” I slap his arm excitedly, “who paid my bail? The last time I was arrested?”
“What?” He looks at me.
“The last time I was arrested, I was working a party for whoever…” I touch the scar on my chest, “whoever gave me this. And I was bailed out. Who? Who paid it?”
He looks at me like he’s discovering a whole new part of me. “I don’t know. If you were bailed out, you had to have gone to an arraignment…”
“I did. But my lawyer filed a pretrial motion to dismiss the case. He said there was insufficient evidence, and the judge agreed…”
“So, the charges were thrown out…Cat…”
“What?” I ask, thinking he’s onto something.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He stares at me. “You’re really smart.”
That’s all he says.
I take the beer from his hand and take a long swig, trying to hide the fact that I’m completely out of my depth. “Thanks.” But the word is choked. Nobody has ever called me smart before. Beautiful, sure. Sexy, of course. Butsmart. Never. Not once. Not in school. Not in college. And that’s not the most astounding realization I have. The most astounding realization I have is that somewhere, a long time ago, being perceived as smart stopped being important to me.
Chapter 27
Catherine
July 6, 2008
By the time I get backto Clementine Lane on Sunday morning, the girls are all up and about. Toni is sitting at the dining room table with a stack of paper contracts and a Bloody Mary in front of her. Juliette is lying on the sofa watchingNCISreruns. Although I can’t see Lyla, the whirr of the blender tells me she’s in the kitchen, making her post-run breakfast smoothie.
Everything is as it should be, and yet, I can’t shake the feeling of foreboding that settles into the house with me; it leaves me wondering if it followed me in or if it was here already, waiting for me to arrive.
“Morning,” I greet Toni first.
She’s still in her PJ’s, a matching set of silk shorts and a top with short sleeves. The red fabric looks deliberately seductive against her tanned skin. “Morning.” She doesn’t watch me as I approach. She shuffles the paperwork in her hands and clips the top before placing the bundle back on the table, her movements quick and no-nonsense.
I sit opposite her as she links her hands together and steeples them on the table like a principal about to chastise an errant student. Her face is calm, no flicker of what she’s thinking flitting through. “And?”
There’s so much I want to tell her. This woman, who has been more of a mother, a sister, and a friend than even my own family. I want to tell her that I’m in love with Aiden and that I’m moving out. I want to tell her that I have no idea what I’m going to do but that I’ll figure it out. “He said he’s in love with me,” I say instead.
