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“Are you going back to the coffee shop at all?” Klein stands from the table, Finnegan sitting back in his chair, eyes leaving the file that has now been closed.
“No, although my car is still in the parking lot.”
“Don’t collect your car. I’ll get an officer to drop it around to your house.” He pulls a blank piece of paper from the file on the table and pushes it toward me with a pen. “Write the make and reg and your address on here, and I’ll make the arrangements.” I slowly reach for the paper, my hand fumbling with the pen.
“Is there a problem with me going back to the shop?”
Finnegan raises his head, shooting a look at Klein as he pulls on his mustache as if he’s checking its authenticity.
“I wouldn’t advise being near the shop. Just until we’ve followed up on some things.” Klein rests his hand on the table, leaning into me. “We aren’t sure what his next move might be.”
His words land in my brain like a juggler who’s dropped a ball.His next move.I’m still dealing with his first move, let alone any repercussions.
Both men are holding back on me. I sense they know more than I do.
“Don’t speak to anyone from the press and don’t put anything on social media.” I nod, my neck feeling stiff and bruised from carrying everything in my head. “This isn’t merely protocol, you understand,” Klein adds as if I’m not taking him seriously. “You need to think about your safety.”
“Okay,” I add with another nod.
Finnegan rises from his chair, and Klein makes his way to the door, signaling our time is over.
“If you remember anything else, anything at all, no matter how insignificant you may think it is, then call me.” He holds the door handle, not yet opening it, stranded between leaving and staying. “And remember what I said.” Klein’s mustache twitches as he screws up his eyes, analyzing me while I wait for him. “Don’t talk to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
Klein pulls the door open, stepping aside to let me through. “We will be in touch.” And I don’t doubt they will be.
ChapterTwenty-Six
My face fills the tiny mirror of the sun visor as I sit in the car after the interview. I push my hand through my hair, assessing the damage of twenty-four hours of neglect. I shudder at the image staring back at me. It isn’t me anymore. My eyeliner left my eyes looking small and beady. The messy updo resembles something from the nineteen eighties, and the haphazard blusher and highlighter left my cheekbones nonexistent. I’d tried to change my appearance but created something much worse instead. I feel as if I’ve aged overnight like my face is crumbling with the pressure in my head. I fling the sun visor back up, nausea rolling in my stomach when I realize what I see in the mirror. I don’t see Chloe Daniels. She isn’t there. I’m not seeingmyface. I am looking athers.
Gianni’s wife glares back at me. Despair rips through me that I’ll never see my face again.
I thought Carl and I would die in that room. And I would have been fine with that. Anything to make him disappear. The fact we didn’t was thanks to our neighbor, Mrs. Wentworth, who had been in her garden at the time. She saw the smoke billowing from our house and called the fire department They arrived right about the time Carl and I had been unable to continue our fight due to lack of oxygen.
I’ll never forget being carried from my home and placed on the driveway to watch thick black smoke envelop the house that had been my world since I was a little girl.
Everything was gone.
Our home, our lives, and our memories all blackened and singed. Mom and Dad would be heartbroken. Frank would be horrified.
Carl survived. They pulled him out with me. They laid him on the driveway next to me, and a paramedic attended to him with an oxygen mask and breathing apparatus.They will take him to the hospital to recover. He will live. And I feel nothing but despair.
I heave into my hands as the avalanche of tears finally breaks me. I let them roll.
I have to let this out, or it will consume me—Lewis, Carl, Gianni, his stupid fucking wife. Their eyes are all over me, laughing at the disheveled mess I’ve become. I push the last of my tears out, allowing myself to cry for several more minutes before I sit upright in my seat. I pull my shoulders back, breathing in a large gulp of air before feeling my body return to some degree of normality. But I don’t feel normal. I don’t feel much of anything, and this is the problem. I don’t own my image. It has been claimed byher,a woman whose name I don’t even know.
And my face is now dangerous. Carl is still out there and has yet to wreak his revenge. I have no doubt that he will come looking for me. He will not be concerned about Lewis—the collateral damage. He will only be thinking about one thing—me.He will be watching and waiting.
I fire up the engine, and the car roars to life with an unfamiliar sound. I’m driving my dad’s Audi, which has been hibernating in the garage. He only drives it when he’s home. I am doing him a favor as the car needs to be driven weekly to keep the engine running well, but this is normally Frank’s job.
I drive the car from the police station, knowing what I must do. I can’t sit around dwelling on what has happened. This isn’t me.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
“Long time no see.” Belinda flounces up to my chair, my eyes moving from my damning reflection to her perfect auburn hair, her sun-kissed skin, and glossy lips. Sitting here, surrounded by mirrors, I’m faced with the image of a dead woman. This only makes me more determined in what I’m about to do.
“It’s been a while, I guess.” I hadn’t wanted to come to Belinda’s salon. She isn’t my normal hairdresser. I get my hair dyed and cut every six weeks by a girl named Alisha, who is happy to bleach my hair to within an inch of its life. She was also completely booked up today. She’d offered me an appointment later in the week, which I declined. I needed to do this now before I changed my mind.
