My mother’s ring? Gone. To control me. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about the ring, willing it to reappear on my finger. It’s a green emerald set in gold, with swirling vines of roses etched into the band. It was my grandmother’s ring, and my mother wore it until she gifted it to me at the end of my senior year of high school, right before she died.
Honey Bunny was nowhere to be found. Shane fucked with myrabbit.
But as I cried to Lola on the phone with the door of the apartment wide open, the sweet old lady who lived next door popped out and told me she’d found my poor bunny hopping around the hallway unsupervised, so she took him in and gave him water and lettuce.
I probably could’ve convinced the landlord to let me stayin our old apartment, but I didn’t want to be alone there in case Shane decided to come back. And since Dad’s fancy apartment in Portland sold right away, I ended up at Jake’s.
A second later, I feel the comforter shift as my giant lop-eared rabbit jumps up from the floor and hops over to snuggle up next to my thigh.
“Hey Honey Bunny.” I scratch the top of the rabbit’s soft head and sigh. “I know you’ll be happy never to see that asshole again, huh.”
Finally, two weeks ago, the inheritance check arrived, and I deposited it to the account Shane doesn’t know about.
Now all I want is to find that asshole and my ring, and get him to sign the divorce papers so I can be well and done before starting a new life far from here. Lola hates the idea of me leaving as she thinks I’m running away from my problems, but while Jake hasn’t explicitly said how he feels about it, I bet he’ll be happy to get rid of all my drama.
I’d picked a Master’s in Library Science program across the country. With my share of Dad’s estate, I can start over and get a degree to become an actual librarian, a big promotion from the library assistant job I do now. I’d wanted to do that for years, but Shane sneered at the idea.
It’s time to move on.
I’m going to live a quiet, completely non-criminal life far from here.
My phone pings with a Gone message. I tap through to the message and breathe out in relief because Hawk agreed to talk. I send a day and time to meet at a coffee shop in Portland.
Lola thinks I’m nuts for reaching out to this guy. Of course, she’s usually too busy making heart eyes at my brother to pay much attention. I did promise her I wouldn’tdo anything stupid, so I’m going to have to stretch the truth a little so she doesn’t freak out.
Everyone ignores me anyway, so they’ll probably not even notice.
And maybe starting Friday, when I meet up with Hawk, I can get some answers that lead me to Shane and my mother’s ring.
Chapter 3
Single for a Reason
WES
I’m not sure what she’s trying to do here, but if it’s watching me without me noticing, Callie Callahan is the worst fucking… stalker? I’ve ever encountered.
I spotted her the second I turned onto the Portland side street and ducked into Maine Coffee Co.
Thanks to her offering me her full government name, I know a lot about Callie. I don’t blame her for thinking she’s still mostly anonymous, as not everyone has my particular skill set, but lordy, she should be more careful. With my previous knowledge of the Callahan family and a little digging, I confirmed that her family is the organized crime group I thought it was, including her late father, her brother who she lives with, and the man she’s looking for—her husband. The family is involved in fight clubs, smuggling, and drugs. Lovely people, I’m sure.
Callie’s in a pink puffy coat leaning against the building across the street and blatantly staring at me. She’s clearly freezing standing out there in the February bitter cold, and a few stray snowflakes drift down from thesky, a warning about the storm to come. She’s wearing gloves and a black beanie hat and looks adorable, yet also like she might be on the verge of frostbite. For a second, I wish I were here to meet her on a date instead of as a client, but my line of work means I’m not able to have a normal dating life. So I basically just don’t have one at all.
I order a second coffee at the counter from the barista, who has short blue hair and a nose ring. She scans my tattoo sleeves peeking out of my hoodie and the ink that snakes up the side of my neck. I nod politely but ignore her interested expression and return to the table. It’s logical to assume most women don’t want to date serial killers, so why bother? I prop my phone in front of me and open my baking-focused social media account.
Ruth Roy’s latest Pinterest-worthy photo of pie distracts me. Fuuuuck me, that same perfect apple pie with rich streusel crumbles that has won her first place four years in a row.
That eighty-year-old menace hates me, but I like to think it’s because she feels threatened as I beat her the first time I entered the pie competition five years ago. I make a mental note to swing by the winter farmer’s market this weekend to grab some fresh fruit. I need to decide on what kind of top crust I’ll go for this year.
Remembering my purpose today, I click off the screen so I don’t lose track of Callie. The woman is still staring blatantly at the coffee shop, the least subtle person on the face of the planet. I know she’s watching, so I make a show of tapping my phone again and opening Gone.
Me
You on your way? I’m here
Without turning my head, I watch Callie slip her phoneout of her pocket and make a distressed face. She glances my way, clearly indecisive.
I bite back a smirk and wait to see what she’ll do.
