Four Seconds to Lose

As if I’m never going to hear from her again.

The thought of that brings a sting to my eyes. No . . . this can’t be happening. Checking the clock to see that it reads ten a.m.—I must have drifted off on Charlie’s couch around six—I hit number two on speed dial. I don’t even wait for John’s greeting. The second I hear someone pick up, I throw out my demand. “Get your ass to Miami. Today.”

* * *

“Still a fucking looker, I see,” John booms, stalking into my office to slap his meaty hand against mine.

“And you’re still not, I see,” I retort with a wry grin, softly punching his substantial gut. “What is this?”

“The women love it!” With a boom of laughter, John turns to appraise Nate’s size with a whistle. The last time they saw each other, Nate was still a scrawny teenager. “What have you been feeding this runt?”

Nate’s face splits wide open in a grin as he takes John’s hand within his own.

Nodding slowly, John murmurs, “Good to see you two again. I can’t believe it’s been so long since . . .”

“Nine years,” I confirm. After that night, John seemed to make a point of swinging by my apartment weekly, offering any little bits of info on my family’s murder. Bits that didn’t add up to anything, but I appreciated it all the same because it meant the cops hadn’t already dismissed it. He came around enough, saw enough of my black eyes and bruised knuckles, that he had to know I was fighting. He never questioned me, though.

The night that John showed up at my house three months after the murder with two mug shots was the night he earned my trust. Tossing them onto the table, he told me to memorize those faces and to run in the other direction should I ever see them. They belonged to the men who the police suspected were involved and sometimes, especially in drug-related crimes that involved money, family members and friends become targets. If he knew anything about the money I stole, he never let on.

He warned me that the lead was circumstantial at best and wouldn’t hold up in court but maybe, just maybe, they’d find concrete evidence. But he added that the police force was overextended, that they had some high-profile cases on their desk already, that sometimes, despite knowing who the guilty persons are, those nails in their coffins could remain elusive.

Basically, John was telling me not to get my hopes up.

That was the last night we ever talked about my family’s murder.

Tossing his duffel bag onto the floor—he obviously came straight from the airport—John takes a seat on the couch as I pour him a fresh glass of cognac. And he dives right into business. “So, her phone hasn’t been used since an outgoing text to you at ten-oh-four this morning, eastern standard time. Looks like it’s no longer operational. She must have pulled the sim card out. Banks accounts are drained. I’ve got her credit card being monitored and I’ll get notified if it’s used. I’ve got people searching the airlines out of here. But, if she took a bus and paid cash, we’re S.O.L.”

Nate and I exchange a serious look as John takes a sip of his drink. When I filled Nate in on everything earlier, I thought he was going to throttle me. He started to ask why the hell I ever let her leave with that guy, but he stopped short, knowing I was already beating myself senseless over it.

I’ll never forgive myself for that.

“Oh, and that uncle you were asking me about?” John sets his drink down on a side table with a frown as he drags his bag closer. Pulling out a manila envelope that’s tucked into a side pocket, he confirms, “His name is Phillip. Fifty years old. Mechanic. Here.” He hands me a picture of a thin, brown-haired man, confirming one hundred percent that the man I met last night is not Charlie’s uncle. Or that everything I know about her past isn’t true.

Fuck, which is it?

“Cain, why the hell did you drag me all the way here to give you this information? I assume it’s for something good. I mean, I don’t mind seeing you.” His hand gestures in the direction of the club with a knowing smirk. “I certainly don’t mind visiting you here. But I could have given you all this information over the phone.”

I pause to inhale the rest of my drink. “I’ve got another lead for finding her.”

“Well then . . .” He moves with surprising agility for such a large, unfit man. “Let’s get on with it.”

Despite my sour mood, I smile. “Thanks for dropping everything to come out, John.”

“All-expense-paid trip to Miami?” he snorts. “Why would I say no to that!” He takes the few steps around my desk to settle a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Besides, you know I’m a sucker for love.”

chapter forty-two * * * CHARLIE

I wonder if someone actually went out of his way to cover this small, musty motel room in blue peacock wallpaper.

Maybe it was a special price that he couldn’t pass up. Along with a discount on the cheap furniture, the puce shag carpet, and the mint-green floral bedspread.

Or maybe this is how all shady motels in Mobile, Alabama are decorated.

It took one transfer and nineteen hours but I made it to my destination, care of the coin toss when I purchased my bus ticket. After spending hours looking for a motel that didn’t require a credit card or an ID to rent a room, I finally found this one. All the scraggly-haired guy at the front desk seemed to require was an extra-tight T-shirt and cash.

Luckily, I had both.

I haven’t slept in days.

I keep reaching into my purse for my phone, only to realize that I don’t have one anymore. Nor do I have a driver’s license or a credit card, or a social security number, or a passport. It’s all gone, cut up into small pieces and burned.

I am no one.

I strip all the covers off the bed and pull on a T-shirt of Cain’s that I had in my car, inhaling the fresh, woodsy smell until my lungs feel like they’re about to explode.

Aside from my memories, this is all I have left of him. Even if I don’t wash it, I wonder how long it will be before his scent is gone.

I burst out in a fresh round of ragged sobs at the thought, my arms clinging to my body as if the act will keep me together.

As if it will keep my heart from falling apart.

chapter forty-three * * * CAIN

“I’ve been on that guy for almost two weeks, Cain. I’m telling you, he’s barely left his place. Aside from the hooker he picked up two nights ago and a trip to the grocery store for two steaks, one bag of jerky, two pound of bacon, three dozen eggs, one pack of burgers . . .” John ticks off Ronald Sullivan’s grocery list on his fingers to prove how good of a detective he really is, adding, “Oh, and a jug of OJ to round out his dietary needs. Aside from that, he hasn’t left his apartment. I’ve got a GPS on his car for the times when I have to do things like use the can or grab some food. Or, dare I say, sleep.”

I’ve been riding John pretty hard these past two weeks. He’s staying at my condo, but he’s rarely there. “Don’t you think that’s weird?” I say.

“Of course it is! But unless he leads me somewhere, he’s useless.”

“Cell phone?”