Leo's eyes widen in surprise.
"Right." He sets it on the coffee table with careful precision. "So. You want to tell me about her, or should I start guessing?"
"There's nothing to tell. Tale as old as time. Met a girl, fucked her, and she left."
"Adrian." Leo sits in the chair across from me, that infuriating patience in his expression. "I've known you since we were twelve. I can count on one hand the number of times you've slept past six. I can count on one finger the number of times a woman has left your apartment without an escort."
"She's not relevant."
"She's relevant enough that you want to keep her earring."
"I want you to find her."
"Find her." Leo doesn't sound surprised. Doesn't sound anything. "You have a name?"
"Seraphina."
"Last name?"
"No."
"Address?"
"No."
"Phone number?"
"No."
Leo leans back, a slight smile playing at his mouth. "So, you want me to find a woman named Seraphina in a city of eight million people, based on what? Good sex?"
"Based on the fact that she works with rare books. Probably restoration, given how she talked about manuscripts. She was at the gala networking for a position, likely at a museum or library. Mid-twenties. Lives in the city. She was wearing a borrowed dress, so that means that she's likely broke, so probably has roommates, or a second job."
Leo looks like he wants to argue.
"Seraphina isn't a common name," I say. "Which should help you."
"You're serious?"
"Obviously."
Leo pulls out his phone, already working. "You're right. Her name isn't common. I'll cross-reference with the gala guest list, employment records for rare book specialists, museum staff."
"How long?"
"Could be a day. Could be a week. Depends how deep she's buried."
"Find her faster."
"Adrian." Leo's voice shifts, gets that edge it only gets when he's about to say something I won't want to hear. "What do you want with this girl?"
Good question.
I stand, walk back to the window. The city sprawls below, millions of lives, millions of stories. Somewhere down there, Seraphina is going about her day. Working with her books. Living her life. Thinking last night is over.
"She ran," I say quietly.
"So?"
