Chapter Seven

I STAND at the top of the landing, watching Conner make his way through the crowd of police and witnesses, and just as he opens the door to exit the building, a familiar dark-haired girl gets up in his face.

She’s one angry chick. Her manicured finger is pointing, her sensible nurse shoe is tapping, and her electric pink scrubs make her very hard to ignore. Even for Conner, the master at indifference.

He stands still for a moment as the girl says something, and then he turns and points straight at me.

And that’s when I see her face.

Bebe Chambers.

She actually pushes Conner out of the way, almost mows down a uniformed police officer, and heads straight for the stairs.

I look over at that asshole detective to see if he’s gonna stop her, but he’s sporting a smug smile. OK. Here we go. My very first in-person meeting with Bebe the BFF and it’s not gonna be pretty.

“You,” she accuses me loudly. Loud enough to make people stop talking. “You are the reason she’s gone.”

I walk down the stairs slowly and put on my movie-star smile. “Miss Chambers. It’s unfortunate that we have to meet under these circumstances—”

“Oh, no,” she says, putting her hand up as I reach the bottom of the steps. She’s tall. A lot taller than Grace. And she’s seething. “You do not get to pretend like we are meeting under normal circumstances, Mr. Asher.” My name comes off like an insult. “My best friend was fine for ten years and you come along and rip her life apart in a matter of weeks. If something happens to her, I will—” And then her eyes well up and tears burst forth. “I’ll… I’ll make you pay somehow. If she’s hurt. If that freak has her again. If you did something to her and dumped her body—”

“Whoa, Bebe. You can’t really believe that I’d hurt her?”

“I really can, Mr. Asher. I read that spread about you in that magazine. They paint a pretty convincing picture of a sociopath.”

“Socio—” I can’t even say the word. “Look, Bebe. I love her. I realize we’ve had an unusual start to our relationship, and I understand that there are some very unique problems we have to work through. But you can’t really think I’d hurt her.”

“Then where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Her entire Filthy Blue Bird account is gone from Twitter! Just gone! She was on there for years! And now it’s gone!”

“Miss Chambers, is it?” That asshole detective appears by her side. “We’ve contacted the corporate office and we’re trying to retrieve her account, if that helps. We need to make sure there’s no more incriminating evidence against Mr. Asher before we allow it to be deleted. Come, have a seat over here and let’s try and piece together what might’ve happened.” Bebe is led off and takes a seat on the couch I slept on last night. I follow them, but the detective stops me with a hand. “You stay there. I’d like her opinion without your interference.”

Interference? Now I’m interference?

My phone buzzes in my pants and I pull it up. A text from Conner. Are you playing nice? Just hold tight, the lawyers are outside. I’m down the street with Felicity, she’s putting together a profile now.

I text back, OK, and let it go with that.

When I look back up from my phone, Bigmy is coming down the stairs. He motions for me to head to the back door with a tilt of his head, and then walks right past me.

I look around, then follow him. We stop just before we get to the back door that leads to the alley and he scrubs his face with a large meaty hand. “Boss, Ray thinks the guy took her off the roof.”

“Obviously, Big. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“We found a pair of goggles on the rooftop of the adjacent building.”

“Goggles?”

He nods. “Invisible Man goggles.”

Fuck. I look over my shoulder at the detective and then have a small wave of relief when the lawyers are ushered though the front door. “He really is trying to pin it on me. But—” I look back to Bigmy. “It’s absurd, right? I mean, this is like Scooby-Doo villains planting clues. Right?”

“Mmmm.” The big man balks. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a lot of circumstantial evidence that adds up to only one conclusion. You did something to her.”

“I was on the fucking couch all night.”

“You were the last one to see her.”

“She’s not dead! She’s been kidnapped by that freak who took her ten years ago.”

He shushes me with a hand. “I know that. Ray knows that. We all know that. But I’m just telling you, he’s setting you up. When a girl goes missing they always look at the boyfriend or husband first. You are their prime suspect and these clues he’s dropping will make it very difficult for the police to take our suspicions seriously.”

“So they’re not gonna look for her?”

“They’re gonna go with the most obvious choice and that’s you.”

“How long do you think she’s been gone?”

“All night and all morning. So twelve hours, I suppose.”

“Did they look for her phone?”

“We did,” the detective says from behind me. “And do you want to know where we found it, Mr. Asher?”

From the tone of his voice, no. I’m pretty sure I do not want to know where they found it.

“In a car parked two blocks over.”

“OK. So whose car is it?”

“Yours.”

“It’s not my car. I don’t even live here.”

“It’s a rental, taken out in your name last night.”

I’m just about to open my mouth to protest when my lawyers walk up. They are all tall, large, and menacing-looking in their black suits and briefcases. “No more questions,” the oldest one says. I do not know his name. I don’t have much occasion to meet with them in person. I’ve never been arrested in my life. I’ve never even been to court for a speeding ticket.

And then, before the detective can protest or make any more absurd accusations, they usher me out the back door of the building to a waiting car. “Get in, Mr. Asher. Don’t talk to anyone but your family. The car will take you to your brother and then we’ll regroup later.”