My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. All of a sudden, my skin prickles. The air shifts. This girl’s in trouble. I can feel it down to my bones.
Later,when I’m home, I call my friend, Max. We go way back… our families, college, the works. He’s a billionaire tech whiz who built an empire creating security software, but spends much of his time digging through the dark web, still searching for his sister, who sadly went missing as a teenager.
If anyone can find out what’s going on with Char, it’s him. I tell him what little I know: her first name, the salon she owns down in Florida, and her license plate.
“Give me a few hours,” he says.
Later,when Max calls back, there’s an edge in his voice I notice immediately. I don’t like it.
“Dave, something’s off. I can’t find anything on her before her seventeenth birthday. No school records, no address history, no medical data. It’s like she just appeared out of thin air.”
My stomach drops.
He exhales low. “I’ll send you what I’ve got, but my gut says she’s running from something.”
Or someone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAR
Several days later,I’m at Elliot’s Hot Chicken perched on my usual stool at the bar while Ellie hunches over her winter menu like it’s a final exam. She’s muttering to herself, scribbling notes in the margins, then erasing half of them two seconds later.
It’s comforting, this normalcy. Something in my chaotic world that hasn’t been set on fire yet. But I have to admit, it makes me sad for the state of To Dye For.
I swirl the straw in my sweet tea, trying not to drown in my own thoughts. I still can’t believe how quickly I just… left. Packed a single suitcase, grabbed what I could, and peeled out of Candy Cane Key like the devil was on my tail.
Because he was.
I left everything behind. The salon. My clients. Norma Jean, Liz, and Margaret. God, all of the money I’ve sunk into the place. Years of savings and sweat poured into those four walls. And I simply walked away. But safety seemed like the only thing that mattered at the time.
I glance at Ellie, watching her bite down on her lower lip in concentration as she scribbles down items like buttermilk-brined wings andlemon loaf withcranberry chutney. She’s glowing, her belly rounding beautifully under that soft pink sweater, her hand absently resting over where her twins are nesting.
And suddenly, guilt squeezes my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe. What was I thinking, coming here? Is it fair to risk bringing any harm to her or that perfect little family? I’ll have to figure out where I can go once the babies arrive. I can’t keep putting them in danger.
I take a long sip from my tea, the ice clinking against the glass.Maybe I should’ve trusted the police in Candy Cane Key.But that ragtag group of keystone cops couldn’t solve a crime without posting for help on Snapchat. Finding that letter was the only sign I needed to get the hell out of there.
I knew I couldn’t depend on anyone else. The witness protection program probably wrote me off years ago, and I wasn’t about to test whether their promises still held water.
“Hey, babe.” Matt’s deep voice pulls me out of my spiral. He strides over, wraps Ellie in his arms, and kisses the top of her head. She melts against him like she’s been waiting all day for that moment.
My heart cracks a little. Don’t get me wrong. I’m so happy for her. Truly. Ellie deserves everything about this life she’s growing with Matt. But watching my best friend’s dreams come true in technicolor is like continuing to accidentally press on a bruise. A constant reminder of all the things I’ll never have.
What I’d give to take a chance with the right guy. Someone I could trust. A man who could look at me and not see all the broken pieces I’ve been hiding.
As if the universe is feeling particularly cruel today, the door swings open.And in walks Dave.
Tall, steady, ruggedly attractive in a way that makes my pulse skip every single time I see him. His hair’s a little longer now, the beard too. His big brown eyes scan the room until, of course, they find me.
I look away first, pretending to study the menu like I’m deeply invested in the difference between “mild” and “medium hot.” But it’s short lived. My eyes seem to gravitate in his direction whenever he’s around. The spark he ignited all of those months ago is still alive and well. My pulse is thrumming in my ears. I’m not sure I have the strength to keep pushing away a man like this.
There’s a flicker in his narrowed gaze. Something unclear I can’t put my finger on. And before I can even strategize my exit plan, he’s making his way toward me.
Great. My anxiety had just come down from existential crisis level after unpacking my bags, now this.Thanks for the push, universe.
“Char.” It’s only my name. But his voice has this low rumble that hits me square in the ovaries.
I force what I hope is a friendly grin. “Dave.” I turn on my stool so I’m facing him, hoping I can come up with a way to cut this ever present tension I’ve created between us. “What brings you to the land of finger-licking spicy southern chicken and napkin shortages?”
