Chapter Thirty-Four

Gabe’s eyes flick over my shoulder as though he’s going to find the source of my fear there. And when I see the troubled look etched into his face, I have a belated realization.

You might be putting him in danger, too.

“I should go,” I blurt.

His attention drops to my face. “What?”

“I should—”

“I heard you. I just don’t buy it.”

Pressure is mounting in my chest. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” he says. “I sure as hell don’t understand.”

I swear that I’m going to turn and leave. Instead, I find myself being pulled into Gabe’s foyer while he closes the door behind me. Then I find myself following him to his living room, where he guides me to the couch and gently pushes me to a seated position.

“I know that before the other day, I hadn’t seen or even talked to you in twenty years or so, so this might sound off, Trin…” he says as he sits beside me. “But you’ve been acting weird since the second you got into Whimsy.”

I’m going to agree that it does sound off. And I’m going to deny any weirdness, too. But then I remember that I said something similar to Asher—how much a person can change over the years, but that it’s still possible to know when something is wrong—and the words stick in my throat. I try to clear away the thickness to no avail. Silence prevails.

With a frown playing over his features, Gabe shifts on the couch and reaches for my hand. And somehow, the movement manages to dislodge my phone from my pocket. The slim electronic device clatters to the floor and bounces over the area rug to a spot under the coffee table. We both reach for it, but Gabe is faster. And once he has it in his hands, he doesn’t immediately offer it to me. I’m only puzzled for a second before I see why he’s maintaining his grip on it. His eyes are on the screen, which has come to life and is currently showcasing the last message.

“What is this?” Gabe asks, his voice low.

“A text.”

“Yeah, Trin, I realize that. But what the hell does it mean?”

I open my mouth to tell him it’s nothing. But I can’t manage the lie.

“I feel like maybe I need some more of that dessert wine.”

“Really?”

I make a face. “No. Not even a little bit.”

Despite his tone a moment earlier, he chuckles. “Okay, then. Maybe you’d better just spit out whatever it is you want to tell me.”

I nod, but I drop my eyes to my lap as I speak. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever wondered what happened to the person who killed Savannah?”

Silence hangs in the air again, and now it’s pensive. I know I should look up and meet his eyes. But I can’t make myself do it. I’m too afraid that Gabe will see the guilt in my gaze. Or that I’ll find an accusation in his. When he at last clears his throat and answers me, though, his voice is almost flat.

“What you should be wondering is if a day ever goes by when I don’t think about that,” he states.

“Yes, I get that.”

“Why are you asking about this now? What does it have to do with that text message?”

I breathe out. “You know how the authorities always claimed to believe the perp must’ve been someone from out of town?”

“Yes, I remember. They said if there was evidence that her killer was local, then they would’ve found it.” He pauses again. “Do you know something, Trin? Because if you do…”

I finally manage to lift my eyes. “I don’t know anything. Not for sure. Or even not for sure.”

Gabe’s expression is utterly unreadable. “Then what are you saying?”

I feel a need to get up and pace the room, and after a second, I give in to the urge. Thankfully, my movements make it easier for me to talk.

“Five weeks ago,” I say, “another Whimsy U student went missing. She had no family to track her. No one except her roommate to wonder where she went. And the police dismissed it. And truthfully, I probably would have, too. But Jennika—”

“Hang on,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“Did you just say Jennika?”

Belatedly, I remember that Asher had tossed the name at him as an accusation. “Yes. Jennika Flagstaff.”

“So this info…” he says. “It came from Professor Phillip?”

“It did,” I admit.

“That’s why you’ve been here from the start? What he wanted help with?”

“That’s right,” I say. “But I didn’t know if there was anything even remotely real about any of it. You’ve seen how he is. And honestly, I still don’t know much at all. But over the last forty-eight hours, some things have happened that have me thinking he might be right. This text is just the latest manifestation.”

I’m going to continue, but Gabe’s expression is stony. Chiseled from ice. And I finally falter. I’m aware that Asher isn’t his favorite person, but the look on his face is beyond simple dislike.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You didn’t think to mention that to me from the beginning?” His voice is tinged with an icy quality that makes me blink.

“Gabe? What—”

“You didn’t think that when we were standing beside her grave, that I might like to know that you were in Whimsy because of something to do with her?” he says. “There wasn’t enough time when we were having dinner? It didn’t even slip out with all that wine last night?”

I suck in a breath and say his name again. “Gabe…”

“Maybe you could’ve mentioned it before you kissed me in the hall at your hotel today.”

I flinch. “That has nothing to—”

He stands up, and I practically have to jump out of the way. I blink again as he strides past me. He pauses a few feet away and runs his hand over his hair, the silver bracelet on his wrist flashing with the jerky movement.

“You need to give me a minute here, Trin.” His tone is too low to be called angry but saying that his words have come out in a growl isn’t a stretch. “I need to process.”

Uncertainty creeps through me. “I…okay.”

He stares at me for a very long moment. His brown eyes are so dark that they’re almost black, and it reminds me so much of how he looked after Savannah died that it scares me a little. It’s the shell-shocked, hopeless look of someone who’s just lost everything. But it’s almost worse when he tugs his gaze away.

As I watch, he moves across the room again, then disappears into the hall. Momentary silence is followed by a thump and then the clink of what sounds like glass. And seconds later, Gabe comes back, a snifter of amber liquid in his hand. He takes a solid gulp before addressing me again, and even then, it’s just to issue an order.

“Tell me,” he says.

“Tell you what?” I reply.

“The things that make you think the professor might be right.”

“Oh.”

I feel less in control than I have in years, and nothing like the competent police officer I am in day-to-day life. If the reaction I’m getting from Gabe had been coming from anyone else—a suspect, a witness, a fellow cop—I would’ve simply shut it down. Stopped talking until he resumed a reasonable tone. But with him, it hurts.

And if he’s reacting like this right now, how would he react if he knew about your role in Savannah’s death?

My throat wants to close. My eyes sting. I’m glad I haven’t said anything about it. And I wonder now if I’ll ever be able to. But Gabe seems oblivious to my emotional conundrum.

“Trin.” My name is just shy of a snap, and he’s all but glaring at me.

I swallow. “Right.”

I take a quick breath, then recount the events of the last two days, trying to keep it all in order as best as I can. First, I reveal the details of Asher’s crazy wall. I explain the coincidence of Monica Burns’s disappearance and wonder aloud if it actually is a coincidence. I mention the way my hotel room was left open. I come clean about talking to the bartender at Schmidt’s, and guilt slices through me as Gabe’s jaw tightens. But I push on. I describe how I saw the hooded man in our old neighborhood and also recount my conversation with Jennika’s roommate. I tell him about my experience with the dating app, and I admit that when Gabe dragged me away from the oncoming car, I’d been chasing the person I thought might be on the other end. Reluctantly, I add the piece about his sister and the fact that she’d possibly met a man right before her death as well. And finally, I draw attention to the text message that he’s seen already, pointing out its obviously threatening nature. But when I’m done, Gabe doesn’t speak.

I swallow. “I’m sorry for not saying anything before.”

He doesn’t acknowledge the apology. Instead, he tips his glass back, drains it, then sets it down on the table and sits on the couch.

“Putting aside all of the mis truths you’ve tossed my way since you got here,” he says, “did it occur to you that all of this might mean it’s a bad idea to get involved?”

It’s not a question I’m expecting. “What?”

“What if the person on the dating app is a killer? What if he knows what you’re here for, and he doesn’t like it one bit?” he asks.

At last, I regain a little of my composure. “It’s just part of my job.”

“Oh. So this is a job for you? Your boss at the VPD knows what you’re doing?”

I order my face not to get warm, but I’m not entirely successful. “No.”

He picks up his glass, puts it to his lips, realizes that it’s empty, then sets it down and shoves it away as he repeats my last word. “No.”

“Just because it’s not my case doesn’t mean I’m not approaching it in a similar way.”

“So you already accepted that you might be risking your life. Then what changed your mind?”

“What changed my mind about what?” I ask.

“Telling me,” he says. “Why not just carry on and leave me in the dark? If you’re not worried for your safety, then why fill me in at all?”

I think about how I felt after reading the text. Not scared, really. I’m too accustomed to dangerous situations to be terribly afraid over something like that.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because keeping the truth from you felt wrong this whole time. Or maybe because you’re the only other person on the planet who knows how hard it was after Savannah died.”

Gabe’s hard expression softens, but his reply is still cool. “Does this mean that it matters to you what I think?”

“Of course it does,” I say.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Then I gotta tell you…I think you should leave it alone, Trin.”

I actually think I must’ve misheard. “What?”

“Stop looking into it,” he states. “Savannah has been dead and gone for twenty years. Her killer is probably long gone, too.”

“What about the text?”

“From everything you’ve said, my best guess is that Asher sent it.”

“I…” I trail off and blink, my denial dying before it can really form, because the suggestion might actually fit.

“Think about it a little,” Gabe adds. “You just told me how unstable he’s been. How unpredictable.”

My shoulders sag. It makes sense. Or at least it makes as much sense as anything has over the last two days. I did task Asher with getting a new phone. And it’s already crossed my mind that he might’ve gone an extra step and got himself a new number, too. His paranoia is more than enough to have prodded him to go the unlisted route. It’s not as though his other means of getting my attention have been conventional. And as far as him not replying when I asked who it was…even that’s not out of line with everything that I’ve seen from Asher. Neither is the message itself. Who knows what he might mean? Who knows what his motivation is, or what he thinks he’s telling me with the text?

Gabe stands again, this time to step toward me. He places both his hands on my upper arms and squeezes gently as he looks down at my face. “And if, by some strange and cruelly miraculous turn of events, Asher isn’t the one who sent the message…then don’t do anything more to attract this guy’s attention.”

“But if it’s connected…” I say.

“Then it’s done. Jennika is as dead as Savannah.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it,” Gabe says vehemently. “Trust me on this. I’ve looked at my sister’s murder from every angle. I hounded the fucking police for a full year after they found her body. And I’ve been sending them a letter on the anniversary of her disappearance for two decades. They have never—not once—found anything new. If this guy is a local, and he’s repeating his crime, he’s the slickest fucker in the world.”

“They always make a mistake,” I reply.

“Then let the local police find that mistake.”

“Don’t you want to know who killed her?”

“Don’t you want to be able to let her go?”

I shake my head. “No. Of course I don’t want to let her go. She was—”

“A fantastic, dynamic, well-loved person,” he interrupts. “Who deserves to be allowed to rest in peace. Just like we deserve to be allowed the same.”

I stare up at him, looking right into his eyes, wondering if we’ve reached an impasse. But then his hand comes to my cheek, and any trace of frustration is gone from his face.

“Trinity…” he says, my name an ache.

I gulp in a breath. “It hurts.”

“I know.”

“It’s been hurting for twenty years.”

A small, sad smile curves up one side of his mouth. “No shit.”

I want to bury my face in his chest. I don’t want to upset him all over again. But I know I need to tell him the truth about the day that his sister went missing. And I need to do it now.

“She called me that morning,” I say.

If he’s very surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Savannah did?”

I nod. “I don’t know if you know, but we hadn’t spoken in about six months.”

“Yeah, you guys were headed down different paths. I figured that you’d eventually sort it out, but—” Gabe stops and studies my expression, and his voice drops to a soft tone. “But you never got a chance to. Is that why you haven’t been able to move on, Trin?”

“It’s more than that,” I say. “I can’t even count how many times I’ve asked myself over the years whether or not calling her back would’ve made a difference. What if, instead of meeting up with the man who killed her, she’d met up with me? What if—”

His lips cut me off, the force of them taking away my breath and my thoughts at the same time. He lingers just long enough to make me near senseless before pulling back again.

“It’s not your fault,” he says gruffly. “It’s never been your fault. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. None of us could have.”

As much as I try to stop myself, I shake my head. “Yes. But logic doesn’t apply here, does it?”

He presses his forehead to mine. “What’s it gonna take to convince you? Do you have to solve a hundred more murders to make up for it? Two hundred?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

“So then try it my way.”

“Try what? Letting go?”

He nods. “If you can’t do it for your own sake, then maybe you can for mine.”

“Got any suggestion on how I might start?” I reply.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How much longer are you going to be in town?”

I answer honestly. “I won’t just walk away from Asher. Not with him in the state that he’s in. I feel like I need to do something about that.”

Gabe’s jaw barely ticks at the mention of Asher’s name. “I get it. But maybe I can help with that part.”

“How?”

“I’ll reach out to a friend I’ve got at the assisted living place over on Elm Avenue. Not because I think the professor needs that, but because they’ll have some resources and suggestions.” His hand lifts to my cheek, and he swipes a loose strand of hair back from my face. “In the meantime, stay here with me for the rest of your time in Whimsy.”

I blink. “What?”

“I’ll be a distraction for you,” he says. “And if you try to leave, I can tackle you and tie you to a chair.”

“Not funny, considering where my head has been,” I reply, but I do feel a little lighter.

“Fine. I’ll just slip you some dessert wine. No tackling needed.” Despite the teasing, his eyes hold an intense seriousness. “If it’s just for tonight, that’s fine. But even if it’s days or weeks, I don’t care, Trin. I’ll go get your stuff from the hotel, and you can settle into the guest room. We’ll come up with a workable plan to get your friend the help he needs.”

“It’s a generous offer, Gabe, but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“I’m making a wicked-ass paella for dinner tonight, if that sways you at all.”

“A wicked-ass paella?” I echo.

“Yes. A wicked-ass paella.”

“What about the ragout?”

“Consider it an appetizer.”

“And then what?”

I don’t mean the question to sound suggestive, but as soon as the words are out, I realize that’s exactly how it does come across. And Gabe hears it, too. His mouth curves up. His thumb slides over my lower lip. And for a few seconds, I forget that we’re in the midst of a serious conversation. His minutes-earlier anger seems miles away. Even the fact that my heart is trying to let go of the thing that’s weighed it down for twenty years is unimportant.

“Let me do this for you.” His voice is gruff. “After that, we can talk about ‘then what,’ if that’s what you want.” Then he steps away and holds out his palm.

I’ve been in town for two days, I think, and in those two days, Gabe has picked me up a half a dozen times already. Literally at least twice. Why don’t you just take his offer, Calhoun? Give your brain and your body a rest.

Finally, I nod. “Okay. But I reserve the right to escape if I want to.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He holds out his palm. “Hand over your keycard.”

I clue in that he really intends to follow through on his promise to get my stuff. “You don’t have to go to the hotel. I can get my own things.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“I could at least come with you.”

“You could,” he agrees. “Or…you could just stay here. Turn on the fireplace. Use the stupidly convenient, one-button coffee thing I’ve got in the kitchen to make yourself something. Take a nap. Or maybe rifle through my very old-fashioned music collection and mock it a bit.”

I laugh, and the last of the pressure in my chest eases. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Least I can do.”

“Because you scared me in a graveyard?”

“That. And because Savannah has mattered to you for this long.”

My throat immediately aches, but I nod. “Better hurry up, before I change my mind.”

“Guess I’d better.”

He leans in to ghost a kiss on my cheek, then turns to go. But before he gets fully out of the living room, he stops again and faces me.

“By the way…” he says. “Just in case you still happen to be thinking about it…the man that someone claimed that Savannah had met? He’s not some mystery guy.”

My skin prickles. “He’s not? How do you know?”

“Because she was seeing that bastard, Buddy Jim.” A dark look flashes across his features, and then he’s gone.