“We’re not having much luck getting in touch with anyone listed.” His gaze held hers for a long moment, then he shrugged. “I know you think we’re not trying. I promise I am, but these cases aren’t easy to solve.”
He’d told her the same thing the first day, but easy didn’t mean impossible. She’d prayed, wished on stars, and had considered a Marc Swindell voodoo doll if it might at least hit a satisfying nerve. That wasn’t a very Christian thing to do, though, not even after what he did.
“We’ve talked about this before,” he continued. “Cons have been around for centuries. Unfortunately, the victims rarely come forward, because they don’t want others to know what they’ve fallen prey to.”
“Like me.” He’d said that before too. She understood better each day why people kept quiet. “I can’t. I’m not ready.”
“I get it,” Randy said. “But this wasn’t a Judge Judy court case over a little loan mistaken as a gift. This was an elaborate scheme. He’ll do it again.”
His gaze was challenging. She didn’t want to feel responsible for the next lady to get taken. “Lucky me. I got the royal treatment.” She wished she hadn’t said that out loud. Sniping at the one person who might be able to bring that rat scumbag to justice wasn’t helping a thing.
“You don’t have to come here all the time. You could call, ya know. I mean, I like that you drop in.” He paused for a second, his smile quirking at the edge. “I’ve grown to look forward to your visits, but while you’re spending your days driving across town to check in with me for an update, that guy is living the great life on your money and your belongings. You need to get back to living yours.”
“I know.”
“He’s probably already reeling in his next victim, getting ready to do the same thing to someone else, if he hasn’t already.”
He knew how to press her guilt button, but she still had her pride. “I hate to think that’s true.” A queasy feeling hung in the pit of her gut.
“I’m going to connect those dots at some point. You won’t be his last victim… unless someone finally speaks up and helps us. I’m not going to give up.”
“I can’t give up hope.”
“I don’t want you to.” He let out a long breath and shook his head. “You shouldn’t.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
His well-muscled forearms didn’t go unnoticed. Still tan, probably from summer activities, he looked the type to golf, fish, or maybe he had a boat. His watch wasn’t expensive, just a black diver’s watch. Too bad he’d met her when her life began to fold, spindle, and mutilate.
“I know you want answers. Natalie, you deserve them. I’d like nothing more than to be the one to help make that happen, but I don’t want to give you false hope either. I honestly don’t know if we’ll ever find the jerk. I am keeping my feelers out on any other cases that might be similar. Right now it’s my best chance for a lead.”
Frustrated, she lifted her gaze from him to the ceiling. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t fair to get upset with him. She stared at the tired acoustical ceiling until the texture on the aged tiles reversed—looking like bumps instead of holes.
That was kind of how she felt today. Inside out and backward.
His voice was patient, but brought her back to the moment. “You need to concentrate on the things you can control,” hesaid. “Your future. Recouping your savings. I don’t know, maybe find a hobby to concentrate on. This guy took everything. It’s bad, I get it, but he didn’t take your life. You’re wasting your energy on him. Don’t let him take that too. You deserve better.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She brushed at it. She really wasn’t sad anymore. They were more tears of frustration and anger, and being tired of the whole mess.
He plucked a tissue out of the box on the desk.
She took it and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, then blotted the tears that had made it to her chin. “Look. I know you’re busy, overworked, and I’m not helping by showing up like this. I need restitution to start over. Is that too much to ask?”
“It’s not.”
She swept a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. You’ve put up with more tears from me than if I was your girlfriend.” She forced a smile, laughing to try to lighten the mood. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry this time.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got a whole box.” He pulled out another tissue and waved it in front of her. “The situation sucks. What do you say we take a break, and get some air? There’s a place around the corner where we can grab a cup of coffee.”
“You’re busy. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t. Come on. I want to.” He got up, and gave her an encouraging look. “No agenda. You can trust me. I’m a nice guy.”
“That’s whathesaid.”
He nodded toward the door. “Probably true, but I’m not Swindle.”
“Swindell,” she whispered, correcting him for the fiftieth time. “Doesn’t matter. Probably Jones or Smith this time.” She managed a laugh and raised her gaze to meet his.
