Page 12 of Pieces of Perfect
Had she expected too much of him? She knew her insecurities often got the best of her, especially in a romantic relationship. They made her assume the worst. Made her hold back. Made her afraid to take a risk for fear she’d only get hurt. That was how she’d wound up with Mark to begin with. He was bold and felt he should have anything he wanted, so he went after it.
She tended to do the opposite.
“I miss you,” she said.
“I miss you, too,” he said softly.
There was a knock at the door. “Lorelei? Are you in there?”
Afraid she’d already said too much, that Finn would feel as though she was trying to make something out of nothing, she dropped her head in her hand. “Serenity needs me,” she told him. “I’d better go.”
“Lorelei?” he said.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” she called out to Serenity before returning to her conversation with Finn. “What?”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“That’s not all.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I’ve never gotten over you. I don’t think I ever will,” she said and disconnected.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Lorelei got home, she couldn’t pick up Lucy because Mark and Francine had taken her to the birthday party of Francine’s niece. Returning to an empty house was a letdown, but she’d had a great time with her sisters. Already, she couldn’t wait for Tahoe. She’d take Lucy with her when she went to California, and Reagan would bring her daughter, Summer, too.
“Tahoe’s only four weeks away,” she said aloud, to encourage herself. Finn had also texted her to confirm he’d be there. She was more excited to see him than ever.
As soon as she let herself in, she turned on the air-conditioner. It was sweltering inside, since the house had been shut up for four days. She wished she could move closer to Serenity—which would put her closer to Finn, too—but she couldn’t leave Florida, couldn’t take Lucy away from her father.
She was wheeling her luggage into the bedroom when her phone went off. Leon Rutledge. It’d been almost two months since she’d hired him. Other than a weekly email updating her on his progress, and the call she’d placed to him from Mississippi, telling him about her visit with Greenstone, she hadn’t heard from him.
“Thanks for letting me know what he had to say, but I didn’t think Greenstone had anything to do with it,” he’d said when she told him about the conversation she’d had at Parchman Prison.
Slightly offended that he could dismiss her attempt to learn more so easily, as if he’d known all along it would be a waste of time, she’d attempted to explain why she’d felt the trip was necessary. “I was hoping he could tell ussomething. I didn’t know he was already in custody when my mother was killed.”
“I did,” Rutledge had said. “I checked that first thing.”
Then why hadn’t he put it in one of his updates? She didn’t ask. She supposed he was doing more than he said and had gotten off the phone quickly after that. Now it was time for her to send him another check, but she was thinking she’d made a mistake hiring a private investigator for such an old case. Should she just let the past go? As much as she craved answers when it came to Sarah Ryan, as much as she believed the poor woman deserved justice, some things simply couldn’t be fixed. Maybe she had to accept that. Rutledge had tried to tell her she’d be wasting her money and, five thousand dollars later, she was beginning to believe him.
When she answered, she was prepared to tell him she’d changed her mind. There were so many other places her money needed to go, most notably saving for Lucy’s college education. But when she answered, he started out with, “I might have something for you,” and she was so surprised she nearly dropped her phone.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I managed to track down Mitch Ryan.”
She sank onto the bed. “In Canada?”
“He’s no longer living in Canada. Hasn’t been there for more than twenty years. He’s on his third wife and living in Chicago.”
“How did you track him down?” She’d done some rudimentary searching herself—on the internet—to no avail.
“I have access to certain databases you don’t, and it certainly took some time,” he said. “That’s what I’ve been doing all month. Haven’t you been getting my emails?”
She had, but his emails were full of bullet points and long shots, no conclusions—nothing that gave her much hope. “I guess I just…talked myself out of expecting anything.”
“No doubt I had a hand in that. I wasn’t optimistic when I took on this case.”
“And now?”
“I’m feeling a lot more hopeful about it.”
