Keeping myself busy for the better part of the day is harder than I imagined, even while using some of the time to look for a job. I find myself checking my phone repeatedly, and not just because I’m looking for a message from Liv. Special Agent Landry has been at the forefront of my mind since I left the podcast studio.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve replayed what happened when I first sat down. I thought I had my anxiety under control, or at least that I was concealing it from them, but clearly, I was wrong. The fact that he shone his flashlight around the room under the guise of looking for a pen that was in his lap proves that.
I was too grateful to be concerned with how I looked when it happened, but after leaving, I started to wonder what I did that tipped him off that I was wary of the shadowy room. The fact that he’s a renowned profiler eased my embarrassment a little, but then I started to think about how kind it was of him not to bring it to Macey’s attention and how the gesture was protective, instead of a common courtesy. I told myself to stop analyzing his motives, especially since I’m doing it to fit my narrative, but it wasn’t easy to dismiss. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of anything as protective, and I’m not even surprised by how much I liked it. I haven’t felt safe since the day I found my sister’s mutilated body, yet for a moment today, I wasn’t worried about who might sneak up behind me.
When my phone vibrates with a text, I nearly trip over my feet in my haste to get to the low table in front of the couch where I left it. In the brief moment it takes me to get close enough to the screen to see it, I know I’m in trouble when the thought of it being Livy crosses my mind, and disappointment rears its ugly head.
Guilt dampens my mood when I see the text is, in fact, from an unnamed contact in my phone, but it doesn’t last long. I tell myself I wanted it to be Landry because I think he can help with my sister’s case, even though, deep down, I know that isn’t the only reason. Hell, it isn’t even the biggest reason.
I drop onto the couch at the same time I pick up my phone. With my thumb over the text bubble, I briefly wonder if I should give it a second before responding, so it doesn’t looklike I’ve been sitting here waiting for him, but then I decide he probably already knows how desperate I am to speak with him, considering I told him he could call in the middle of the night.
Unknown: I’ve been looking over Hayzel’s case notes. Is now a good time to talk?
Me: Absolutely.
I leaveoff the exclamation mark I nearly typed. My phone rings almost immediately, and my heart plummets into my stomach. Ignoring it, I tap the icon to accept and bring the phone up to my ear. If my voice is a little breathy when I say hello, I can easily blame it on nerves.
“Harlyn?” His voice is just as rich over the phone as it is in person. I don’t know why that catches me off guard, or maybe it’s my reaction to it that upends my thoughts.
“Yes, Special Agent Landry?” I reply, then I drop my head in awkwardness. Of course it’s him. When a second or two passes without him acknowledging my greeting, I begin to think maybe I was wrong.
“Yeah,” he finally answers slowly. “Sorry, I was reading something.”
“No problem.” My reply comes easily, but nothing else. I don’t know what to say or how to get the ball rolling.
“Just so we’re on the same page, Macey provided me with the details she had on Hayzel’s case.”
I experience a strange sense of gratitude and annoyance at the mention of Macey, which makes no sense. “Great.” I try to sound upbeat, but it isn’t something I excel at, especially lately.
“I didn’t find any mention of the stalker angle.”
“No, they?—”
“Not even in any of the articles I could find.” He cuts me off, and the disappointment I felt earlier for being a bad friend is amplified tenfold to a true sense of defeat. He doesn’t believe me, just like the others.
“I’m glad they were able to keep that out of the media,” he continues, nearly giving me whiplash from my mixed emotions. Before I have a chance to say something embarrassing, like thanking him for even entertaining the idea, he knocks me for another loop. “Are you available to meet?”
“Yes!” I say too eagerly, but I wouldn’t take it back even if I could.
“This evening?” The leading way he says it makes it clear it’s a question, but it doesn’t need to be.
“Anytime, I’m available anytime.” I try to slow down the second half of my answer, but I’ve already played my hand, not that I’m trying to be coy. I just don’t want to come off like a stalker myself.
I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “You may regret that answer. I tend to become a little… fixated.”
“I’m not even sure what that word means,” I tease, surprising myself.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Are you staying at a local hotel?”
“No…” I don’t mean to sound sad, but that’s how my one-word answer comes out.
“I was going to say we could meet up, but the phone works for now.”
“Oh, we can meet up. I’m in a condo a few minutes from the studio, but I can come to you.”
The line is quiet for a heartbeat too long, and I start to worry about what I said, or if it came off as too eager. “Have you eaten dinner yet? I just realized I’m starving.”
I look over at the marinated chicken thighs I just pulled out of the fridge to make for dinner and do something totallyout of character. “I was just starting dinner. I have more than enough…” I stop short of actually inviting him, but the intent is there all the same.
