Page 72 of The Hanging Dolls
It was Scott.
He was leaning heavily against the doorframe. His eyes were bloodshot, half-lidded, and his clothes were disheveled. The stench of alcohol hit her immediately—strong, sour, and overpowering.
“Scott?” Zoe’s voice was low, cautious. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He swayed slightly, his hand slipping off the frame as he tried to focus on her. “Zoe… I… I needed to see you.”
She scanned the hallway behind him, ensuring he hadn’t been followed, then opened the door wider, stepping back to let him in. Scott stumbled forward, almost falling over before Zoe quickly reached out to steady him.
He was a mess, his body sagging with the weight of whatever had driven him here. He smelled like cheap whiskey and sweat, clinging to him like a second skin.
“Jesus, Scott,” she muttered, guiding him toward the bed. “You’re drunk as hell.”
He collapsed onto the bed with a groan, his head lolling to one side as he stared up at the ceiling. Zoe kept her distance, unsure of what to do or say.
“Lucy…” Scott’s voice was slurred, thick with emotion. “Lucy… she’s…”
Zoe froze, her blood running cold at the mention of Carly’s daughter. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She could tell from their interaction at the station that they had a history. The guilt of this unsolved case reaching someone he knew must have driven him to have a breakdown. But then he said something that disrupted her train of thoughts, sending them wayward.
His eyes glassy, unfocused. “She’s mine, Zoe… Carly just told me… She’s my daughter.”
The words hit Zoe like a physical blow. “What? Are you sure?”
Scott let out a bitter laugh, his eyes welling with tears. “Yeah… I’m sure. Carly’s known all along but was so bitter about me leaving her that she didn’t tell… until just now. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to a bar and I?—”
“Scott…” she began, struggling to find the right words, but he cut her off, his voice cracking.
“I didn’t know, Zoe… I didn’t know,” he mumbled, his body sinking further into the bed, his hand coming up to cover his eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Zoe stood there, towel still wrapped around her, the Glock hanging loosely at her side.
“Just… just get some rest, Scott,” she finally said. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
Scott didn’t respond, his breathing already slowing as the alcohol took its final toll, dragging him into unconsciousness. Zoe watched him for a moment longer, her mind racing, before she quietly set the Glock back on the nightstand.
This was too much even for her. Another girl was missing. The biological daughter of the lead detective on the case. But her thoughts were too mushy and shapeless. She couldn’t think straight. She was about to call him a cab but the sound of him snoring soon joined the sound of crickets. She was thinking about crashing on the couch when there was another knock on the door.
Her mind was too preoccupied with Scott being Lucy’s father so she opened the door without thinking. Alarm ghosted down her spine. It was Simon’s wife—Nancy.
“Nancy!” Zoe’s eyes widened. “What are you doinghere?”
Nancy’s hold on her bag tightened. “It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’re staying. I just had to look into my husband’s phone. We need to talk.”
Her brain short-circuited, still trying to absorb the sight of her. “About what?”
Nancy pressed her teeth together, breathing hard and bubbling with frazzled energy. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish before finally spitting out the words, “Stay out of my marriage.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen you and Simon at work always laughing and teasing. And then he tells you about his friend dying but not his wife?” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I checked his phone the other day. He was talking to you and notDale?—”
“Itiswork, Nancy. We only talk about work.”
“Then why did he say your name in his sleep yesterday?” Her voice cracked, her face creased with desperation and hatred.
A sharp, throbbing pain began blossoming in the center of her forehead. “I don’t know what to tell you, Nancy. But I’m not having an affair with your husband.”
