Page 67 of Dying to Meet You
May. He’s been in Portland for more than a month.
And I’m the fool who told the cops that we hadn’t heard from him in fifteen years. I told themrepeatedly.
This is bad.
I blow out a shaky breath and picture Natalie sitting in the bar, clapping along with the band, five paces from the man who blew up both our lives.
I find Detective Riley’s card and compose a text.
Rowan: This is Rowan Gallagher. Tonight I learned that Natalie’s father is back in Portland, and my daughter has been in touch with him. I didn’t know.
After sending it, I drop the phone and go down to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. A tall one. When I pass Natalie’s bedroomdoor, I can hear her speaking to someone in a low voice. She must be using her laptop to talk to Tessa. Maybe taking her phone doesn’t even matter.
Do any of my parenting decisions matter?
In my room again, I pick up my phone to find that Detective Riley has already responded to my text.
Riley: Thank you for telling me. Can you do me a favor and click on this link? I need to know if you think this footage is Harrison.
Oh God. It’s suddenly hard to catch my breath, and I tug my sports bra away from my chest.
If the footage is of Harrison throwing a gun into a dumpster, I don’t know what I’ll tell my child.
When the link appears, I click, and a video loads. It shows the fishbowl view that’s common to doorbell cameras. But there’s no dumpster in view. It’s a house.Ourhouse.
A man walks up the short path from the sidewalk to the front door. He has a guitar case strapped onto his back.
I feel sick.
The picture isn’t great, and our little front porch casts gloomy shadows over him as he steps up to our door and knocks. My heart is in my mouth as I picture Natalie opening the door and letting him inside.
But that’s not what happens. Nobody comes. He knocks twice more and then gives up, turning around to retreat down the walkway, his gait so familiar that it socks me in the chest. The set of his shoulders, and the loping, confident stride. I used to light up inside whenever I saw him coming toward me. He’d give me a slow smile.How’s it going, Gallagher?
Now he’s back, at the worst possible time, and I feel more crushed than afraid.What have you done, Harrison?
I slide off the bed and cross to the bedroom window, staring down at the darkened street. As if he might be out there right now.
After yanking the curtains shut, I go back to my texts with Riley.
Rowan: Where did you get this?
Riley: Your neighbor’s doorbell camera. Do you recognize him? Is it Harrison?
I tap out the wordyes, but I hesitate before sending it. What will she do if I confirm this? The police found a receipt from Docksiders in Tim’s car.
Seriously? Could Harrison have killed him?
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. It’s Riley, of course. I answer with “When was this video taken?”
“I can’t provide that information,” she says coolly.
“Why not?”
“This is an ongoing murder investigation.”
Jesus Christ. Like I don’t know that?
“How did you learn he was in town?” she asks. “You said you found out tonight?”
