She looked at him, her eyes full of tender sympathy. “Mr. Reese, I’m so—”
“Call me Hugo.”
“Hugo,” she said. “You can call me Lucy. Or Hart Attack, I guess. That’s what you called me back then.”
“Sounds like me. Classic ass back then.”
“Only back then?” she said with a grin.
“Offensive,” he said. “But not inaccurate.”
“Hey, that’s my line.”
Hugo wanted to say something, to keep chatting her up, but they were out of time. Every clock in the entire sitting room and library began to toll the hour.
“We should go in,” he said when the clocks were silent again. “Jack will show his face soon, I hope.”
“Once more into the breach.” She reached for the doorknob.
Before he could stop himself, he put his hand on the door, preventing her from opening it.
“Do you remember the name of the man who drove you here?” he asked and immediately regretted it.
“Mike. Mikey if you likey. Why?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
She put on a brave face and opened the door.
“Lucy,” he said, and she looked back at him. “Good luck.”
Chapter Twelve
Lucy’s hand shook withnerves as she pushed open the library door. When she stepped inside the library, three pairs of eyes turned her way, scrutinizing her, sizing her up. Her competition.
She smiled shyly as she made her way into the room. “Evening, fellow runaways,” she said, giving them a little wave. “I’m Lucy.”
“Hi, Lucy. I’m Melanie. It’s nice not to be the only girl here.” An Asian woman in her late thirties with a Canadian accent approached her and held out her hand to shake. She was tall and thin with long dark hair pulled into one of those perfectly sleek ponytails that Lucy had never been able to master. She wore a soft cream-colored sweater, cashmere from the look of it, slim dark jeans, and brown leather boots.
Lucy shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Melanie waved her hand at a handsome Black man standing by the sideboard in a dark blue suit. “This is Andre Watkins. Attorney from Atlanta.”
“How you doing, Lucy?” Andre took a step forward and shook her hand vigorously, like a politician. “You were great on TV. A real pro.”
“So were you,” Lucy said. “You nearly made Hoda fall out of her chair.”
“It’s what I do,” Andre said. Lucy could picture him running for governor of Georgia in a few years.
“Dustin,” said the other man in the room. “Welcome to the party.”
Lucy said her hellos. Dustin, she recalled, was the ER doctor. He looked like someone who hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. He was wearing jeans and a blazer, a crisp white button-down underneath. Everyone was better dressed than she was. Better dressed and older, and they seemed much more comfortable. She felt as if she’d shown up a day late at summer camp, and everyone had already made friends. It didn’t help that the library was so grand and imposing—dark wood and a massive fireplace, dark green wallpaper, and even one of those rolling library ladders.
“Sorry if I held things up. Long flight from California.” Lucy found the coffee on a sideboard, poured a cup for herself. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten real food since breakfast.
“Thought you were from around here,” Dustin said, head cocked to the side as if he were weighing her in his mind.
She hadn’t expected these people to know her life story, but if they saw her as the competition, she guessed it made sense. She’d watched them on TV and googledtheirlife stories. They’d been watching and googling her too.
