“No.”
“Helicopter?”
“No.”
“Car with dark windows?”
I pushed the pad onto the floor.
“There is no list.”
“The evidence remains visible.”
“I’m listening now.”
“That was also on the list.”
“It was a good list.”
Her mouth curved, but the smile did not stay.
“I need to say this once,” she said. “I don’t want us repeating the same argument every time we speak.”
I nodded.
“You knew enough about me to decide whether you wanted to get involved.”
I stayed quiet.
“You knew my name. Where I worked. Where I lived. You met Hank. You knew what my life looked like.”
“Yes.”
“I knew you liked cheese.”
“That was significant.”
“Annie.”
“Sorry.”
She rubbed her thumb over the bracelet around her wrist.
Still there.
“I was making choices without the information you had,” she said. “That is what I can’t get past.”
“I understand.”
“No. You understand the sentence.”
The distinction landed.
“I respected what you asked,” she continued. “I didn’t search. I didn’t push. Then a stranger said your name, and suddenly I was the only person there who didn’t know who I was holding hands with.”
My stomach tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
