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"Not one. I surveilled for two weeks and didn’t see anyone coming or going from her apartment, other than a lot of takeout food."
"A lot? How much is a lot?" I ask, growing suspicious. Has she moved in with someone?
"Oh, just one small bag at a time, but the frequency. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner most days. Very few grocery deliveries, and when she did have those, they were just mundane things. Household cleaners, fruit juice, milk… that kind of thing."
"So you don’t think anyone else is in the apartment?"
"No way," Malcolm says. "There’s never any movement in the windows except her, and the trash only shows one person’s contents. She did do one weird thing, and that’s throw out all of her candles. I thought chicks loved candles. Some of them were high-end, too, or at least they were expensive for a candle."
That’s an unusual thing to find in the trash, I think, agreeing with Malcolm’s view of it.
"This is all very helpful, thank you. My secretary has your check, you can pick it up on the way out," I tell him, closing the folder. "I assume these are mine?"
"Yup. You paid for ‘em," he says, grinning and holding out his hands as though he was giving them to me. "But is all that enough, or do I keep working?"
"Hmm. Stay on for another two weeks. I plan to pay her a visit, and she might get spooked and run off again."
"Fine by me, but I’m legally obligated to remind you of my terms," he says, his easygoing demeanor turning serious for a moment. "You agreed when you signed my contract, remember? If anything happens to her, I’ll file the police report myself and testify against you about the services rendered. And I mean so much as a stubbed toe. I don’t help guys hurt women."
"Jesus Man…I’m glad to know you’re such an honorable person but I assure you, I have absolutely no intention of hurting her. In fact, I want to promise her that…" I began, but I stopped. Mere words weren’t going to be effective. I didn’t possess theright vocabulary to explain how much I love Chloe, and what I would do for her.
"Hey, that part’s your business. Just remember what I said." Malcolm grimaces and nods sharply, then he leaves my office.
When I’m alone, I study the file in great detail. I inspect every photo, looking for any sign that Chloe is unhappy or lonely. She’s as beautiful as ever, and my heart physically aches at seeing her. There’s a haunted look, though, giving her eyes a distant appearance. She doesn’t seem to be her same bright, sparkly self, but that doesn’t mean missing me is the cause. Damien’s theory that something may have happened to someone else in her life comes to mind, but I can’t play the "grasping at straws" game.
There’s something mesmerizing about getting to see her when she thinks no one is looking at her. She’s simply going about her day in each of Malcolm’s photos, unaware that I am staring at her now with such longing. It’s like getting to watch someone sleep, only they’re up and doing normal things.
"Maggie, I’m going out," I tell my secretary over the phone’s intercom.
"Yes, Mr. Aaron," she says in her take-charge, overly competent tone.
I copy down the address Malcolm got me and stare at it for a moment. I tuck the file safely in a drawer beside my desk and throw my suit jacket on from the back of my chair. Chloe will either see me and talk to me, or she’ll slam the door in my face. If so, then that will be my final answer. But I’m not playing games anymore. I’ll know where her heart lies, one way or another.
On the drive over to Chloe’s new apartment, I rehearse what I want to say. What I’m not prepared for is just how angry I feel. Her new apartment is just on the other side of Manhattan. From the looks of it, it’s not a major upgrade from her old one. What would cause her to break her lease, pack up an entire apartment, and move, just to get away from me?
I park and walk up to the front door and realize my first obstacle. She hasn’t even changed the name on the buzzer downstairs. I know her apartment number. If I buzz to be let in, she’ll know it’s me. She’ll just refuse. As I’m considering my next move, I hear her call out from behind me.
"Jeremy?" she asks, her voice and posture wary.
"The one and only," I joke half-heartedly.
"How did you find me?" Chloe asks, looking around. Is she looking for an escape? For someone to help her get away from me?
"I used legal means," I admit without saying anything more about the investigator. "If you just have to be away from me, I have no choice but to respect that. But I deserve an explanation. You know that. I did nothing wrong, and I’ve never hurt you. I’m worth the truth, Chloe."
She opens her mouth to answer, but then she stops. She looks around, a helpless sort of expression on her face that makes my blood run cold. There is one thing I know for certain about Chloe Stevens, and it’s that she is absolutely not helpless. Something is wrong, and I will know what it is.
"Chloe," I press when she doesn’t answer, "what gives you the right to walk in and out of my life without an explanation? And taking my heart with you?"
"I’m just… I’m going through some things right now. That’s all," she answers.
"That’s bullshit. If that were true, you could have asked for my help. I’m smart enough, caring enough, and dammit, I’m rich enough to solve pretty much any problem you could have had in the last month. So what’s really behind this?"
I’m trying very hard not to let my anger show, but I do not take kindly to lies and pathetic excuses. My irritation is probably not making Chloe feel like she can trust me, but that’s her problem.
"Like I said, problems. But most of all, it’s Ella. I just can’t do this to her."
"Do what to her? What does our relationship have to do with her?" I demand, my frustration growing. "She’s my daughter, and if she cares about either one of us, she’d wish for our happiness. Do you think she’d rather seethis? You hiding from me, me chasing after you and begging for answers? Is that what she wants?"
