Reid was fully laughing now. “That guy looked ridiculous. But also, I think we can cross him off our suspect list. No way was that guy bending over to pick up a cat in someone’s courtyard.”
“You’re probably right. I doubt he’d even be caught dead in my part of town,” I said with a sigh, before perking up in my seat. “Wait. Did you say we?”
Reid scratched his chin absentmindedly. “What? Uh, yeah. We can cross him off the list.”
“So, you’re not done with me? You still want to help?”
He looked so focused. Hands at ten and two, shoulders squared, eyes unwavering on the empty road in front of us.
“Well, yeah.” We came to a stop at the next red light, and he turned in his seat. “But I’m not doing that again, that’s for sure. We’re doing it my way next time.”
I winced. “Understood.”
“It might seem slow or frustrating to someone who likes to take action, but trust me, okay?”
“I do trust you,” I said, somehow believing it. One of my flaws was trusting too easily. It had landed me in trouble before—phony friendships, deadbeat exes, even the occasional internet scam. But with Reid, I had a good feeling. Being around him felt…steady. His presence was calming in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Not since that last dinner with my grandmother, when we had curled up on her sofa to watch a movie afterward.
The memory slammed into me and my smile faded.
We rode the rest of the way to my building in silence.
The drive back had given me plenty of time to stew about my outburst, and the embarrassment had finally hit. Based on my behavior, one could assume I didn’t give a shit what people thought about me. And they would be correct…mostly. But Reid was so together. So buttoned-up. I wanted him to have at least an ounce of respect for me.
Reid turned off the ignition and tossed me the keys before we unbuckled and got out of the car.
“Uh, sorry about all this. The whole morning, really,” I said, as we stood outside my front gate.
He nodded before tilting his head toward my gated courtyard. “This the scene of the crime?” he asked, then stepped toward the gate and slid his fingers through the wrought iron bars, peering into the small space.
“That would be it,” I said, joining him. “Vermont loved being outside. And I felt so bad that he had to be taken in by a surrogate mother that I wanted him to be happy. He’d dart for the door every time I opened it. I have a small private balcony, and I wanted to make him a cute little caged-in area, but…”
“Hey, you might still be able to do that. Don’t give up hope yet.” He gave my arm a gentle squeeze, like grounding me came naturally. Butterflies stirred in my stomach at the touch, but I did my best to play it cool.
“What’s next?” I asked.
His jaw clenched as he squinted through his glasses, taking in the full stretch of the front of my apartment complex. There wasn’t much to see. It was a two-story, twelve-unit, U-shaped building surrounding a small grassy courtyard. The place was old, and owned by one of those sleazy new property management companies that had snapped up nearly every apartment in the area, cutting corners and charging rent like they were running a luxury hotel.
“Next, we do things my way.”
“Do tell. What is your way?” I asked.
He gave me a little smirk. “That’smy way.” He pointed to the far-right portion of the roof that hung over the gate. Mounted there was a small black camera I had never noticed before.
Positioned to face the courtyard.
SEVEN
Hazel
The internet was rottingour brains. Wasn’t that what the experts said? After what must have been at least three hours straight of mindlessly scrolling on my phone, I was starting to believe it. Every new and mildly interesting post was like a small hit of dopamine—exciting, and incredibly short-lived. It wasn’t until I finally snapped out of my internet haze that I realized just how numb and depressed I felt.
I pulled up the recent photo I’d received of Vermont.
It had been Reid’s idea to ask the number for a “proof of life” picture. He thought the person might slip up and send something incriminating.
This new pic was just of Vermont, though, splayed out on a generic gray rug, belly up. He looked content. Too content, honestly. I was grateful he was safe, but where the hell did he get off looking so goddamn comfortable? Didn’t he know I was sick out of my mind with worry? He could at least have the decency to look contrite.
Without taking my eyes off my phone, I got off my couch and moved to the kitchen to grab a cookie from the plastic container on top of my microwave. It was almost eleven, but I hadn’t had breakfast yet. My only clients were later this afternoon,so I was taking the opportunity to waste away on my couch.
