“You okay?” Stacy asked.

“Fine.”

“When I said Montauk—”

“We were there once,” Kat said quickly, “in Amagansett, not Montauk, it was wonderful, I’m over it, move on.”

“Good,” Stacy said. “So here’s the deal. Eighteen years ago, Jeff Raynes leaves New York City and moves to Cincinnati. We know that he got into a brawl at a bar called Longsworth’s.”

“I remember that place. He took me there once. It used to be a firehouse.”

“Wow, great story,” Stacy said.

“Was that sarcasm?”

“It was, yes. Mind if I continue?”

“Please.”

“Jeff was arrested, but he pleaded down to a misdemeanor and paid a fine. No big deal. But here is where things get a little hairy.”

Kat took another sip. The brown liquor warmed her chest.

“There is absolutely no sign of Jeff Raynes after the plea. Whatever made him change his name, it must have had something to do with the fight.”

“Who did he fight with?”

“Whom.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry. Two other men were arrested that night. They were friends, I guess. Grew up together in Anderson Township. Both also pleaded down to a misdemeanor and paid a fine. According to the arrest report, all three men were inebriated. It started when one of the guys was being rude to his girlfriend. He may have grabbed her arm hard; the testimony is a little fuzzy on that. Anyway, Jeff stepped in and told him to knock it off.”

“How chivalrous,” Kat said.

“To quote you, ‘Was that sarcasm?’”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Because it sounds a little like bitterness.”

“What’s the difference?” Kat asked.

“Fair point. Anyway, Jeff steps in to protect the girl. The drunk boyfriend, who’s been arrested before for these kinds of altercations, snapped back with the classic mind-your-own-business-or-else. Jeff said he’ll mind his own business if he leaves the lady alone. You know how it goes.”

Kat did. Her earlier comment may have been sarcastic or bitter, but misguided chivalry too often leads to brawls. “So who threw the first punch?”

“Reportedly, the drunk boyfriend. But Jeff supposedly retaliated with a fury. Broke the guy’s orbital bone and two ribs. Surprised?”

“Not really,” Kat said. “Were there any lawsuits?”

“No. But not long after this, Jeff Raynes quits his job—he was working at The Cincinnati Post—and is pretty much never heard from again. Two years later, I have the first sign of Ron Kochman in a byline in something called Vibe magazine.”

“And now he lives in Montauk?”

“All signs point that way. The thing is, he has a sixteen-year-old daughter.”

Kat blinked and took a deeper sip.

“There’s no sign of a wife.”

“On YouAreJustMyType.com, it says he’s a widow.”

“That might be true, but I can’t say for sure. I only know he has a daughter named Melinda. She attends East Hampton High School, so I was able to access their address via the school records.”

Kat and Stacy both stood there, at midnight, alone in some master of the universe’s opulent office. Stacy dug into her pocket and took out a slip of paper.

“Do you want me to give you the address, Kat?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he’s done his damnedest not to be found. He changed not only his name, but he’s created an entirely new ID. He doesn’t use credit cards. He doesn’t have bank accounts.”

“Yet he went on Facebook and YouAreJustMyType.”

“Using aliases, right?”

“No. I mean, he used an alias on YouAreJustMyType. Brandon said his mom called him Jack. But on Facebook, he was Ron Kochman. How do you explain that?”

“I don’t know.”

Kat nodded. “But either way, your point remains. Jeff doesn’t want to be found.”

“Right.”

“And when I contacted him on YouAreJustMyType, he said that he didn’t want to talk to me and that he needed a fresh start.”

“Right again.”

“So driving up to Montauk out of the blue would be irrational.”

“Totally.”

Kat stuck out her hand. “So why am I going first thing in the morning?”

Stacy handed her the address. “Because the heart don’t know from rational.”

Chapter 30

Kat’s bottle of Jack tasted like fish ass after the cognac and Macallan 25.

She didn’t sleep. She barely tried. She just lay in bed and let all the possibilities swirl in her head. She tried to sort through them, tried to figure a way they could make sense, and every time she came up with an answer about what to do next, she’d close her eyes and the swirling would start again and she’d change her mind.

She got out of bed at five in the morning. She could wait and go to Aqua’s class—that might help clear her head—but with the way he’d been freaking out lately, it might do more to muddy the waters. Besides, in the end, Kat was again stalling. There really was only one choice here.

She had to drive out to Montauk and figure out what happened to Jeff.

Yes, she could list a million reasons why that was a dumb move, but the truth was, until she knew all, Kat could never let Jeff go. She might be able to resist taking the drive for a month, maybe two, but it would be that proverbial itch that would eventually need to be scratched raw. The choice had been made for her. She didn’t have the discipline to stay away forever.

There had never been closure with Jeff. There had never been closure with her father. She had let that stand for eighteen years.

No more.

There was no reason to put it off, either. She would drive to Montauk today, right now even. Chaz had already agreed to loan her his car. It was in the garage on 68th Street, waiting for her. She had no idea what she’d find in Montauk. Jeff probably wasn’t even there. She could wait to make the trip until . . . until what? He may never return, right? Weren’t they moving to Costa Rica?

It might be denial, but she still wasn’t buying that. She was missing something here.

Didn’t matter. Kat had the time. If Jeff had gone away with Dana Phelps, Kat could find out where and clear up that little mystery too. She grabbed a cup of coffee at the Starbucks on Columbus Avenue and started the drive. She was halfway to Montauk when she realized she had no plan. Would she simply knock on his door? Would she wait till he appeared in his yard or something?