Flicking my dark hair over my shoulders, I applied some gloss and paid no particular attention to the restroom door opening. Only when I could feel a watchful stare did I notice the woman blocking the exit. Catching her reflection in the mirror, her gaze was stern and far from friendly, arms folded over her chest. I recognized her by her clothes alone, as one of the occupants of the blue sedan I’d seen parked on the curb.
“Can I help you?” I asked because she made no attempt to initiate.
The woman tilted her head slightly to the side before answering. “Gemma Sinclair?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“It’s your birthday today?” she asked, wearing a peculiar smile and not waiting for an answer. “Hmm…” she agreed with herself. “How interesting.”
Closing my clutch, I turned to her, slightly puzzled over the interaction. She looked like a hard woman. Her make-up free face was slightly pock-marked, and she had deep hollows under her pale blue eyes. She wore her hair out, and it looked two days overdue for a wash. “If I can’t help you, who at least are you?”
“I’m Agent Walsh, I work for the Delaware County Police District.”
Delaware.
A cold shiver ran up my spine.
“And you can help me,” she insisted. “I understand you haven’t been back to Delaware for quite some time.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s right.”
“Any reason for that?”
“I can give you plenty of reasons, but none that could help you in any shape or form.”
This time her smile was condescending. “I’d certainly like to hear those reasons, and I’ll be the judge whether or not they help.”
“Would you like to share what this is about? We’ve barely made introductions.”
“Speaking of sharing… you share the same birthday as Lucas Carter.”
Bam!
My heart thudded so hard, I had to clutch the counter for support. That was a name I hadn’t heard muttered in many years, those closest to me knowing never to breathe it. But every year on this day I remembered Lucas Carter. To hear his name, however, it always rattled my soul.
“So what if I do?” I turned away defiantly, pumping more soap into my already washed hands and proceeded to scrub. It was a mere distraction to avoid her crushing insinuations.
“Well, you were best friends after all. For best friends to share a birthday… that’s a special bond, don’t you think?”
I yanked hard on the towel dispenser pulling out way more paper than necessary. “Perhaps. What you’re referring to was a long time ago. I haven’t heard from Lucas Carter in ten years.”
“What about his brother, Mason? Heard from him?”
I could feel my face visibly pale. The Agent noticed, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Internally, I died a little, my heart pounding out of control.
“There was never any reason to stay in touch,” I replied firmly, “especially with Mason Carter.” Stepping forward toward the door, she moved to block me. Irritated, I faced off with the woman. “If you don’t mind, I have a party to get back to.”
Reluctantly, Agent Walsh stepped to the side, her arms still crossed.
I had already pushed the door open when her voice stopped me. “Ms. Sinclair?” It was a tone loaded with promise that this, whatever it was, was far from over. I met her gaze over my shoulder, eyes glistening with a familiarity I was uncomfortable with, a smile playing on her thin lips. “Happy Birthday.”
“What happened to you?” Charlie asked as I walked back to the group, his brows knitted together, one arm draped around a man I didn’t know. Over his shoulders, however, another set of watchful eyes met mine. A man with sandy-colored hair and a strong jawline sat perched on a bar stool, observing my every move with keen interest. Judging by his demeanor and the glass of water next to him, he was the second half of the detective team. “I’m fine,” I lied, answering Charlie.
He unhooked himself from his acquaintance and gave his sole attention. “Fine is not the word that comes to mind. Spooked maybe, but not fine.”
Charlie was not only a colleague but a dear friend, and he saw right through my lies. I could feel the detectives watching, their stares burning right through me. Whatever news they brought with them, it couldn’t be good, and it certainly wasn’t something I was mentally ready to address. I felt the overwhelming need to run. Fight or flight. I was indeed flight. I had no intention of reopening that portal to the past.
“Truly, I’m fine.” Without another word, I squeezed his arm and sought out Peter. It was time to leave or in this situation, escape. He and David were exactly where I’d left them, but instead of conversing, David watched on as Peter engaged in flirty conversation with one of the barely-legal girls I’d seen leaving the bathroom. She threw her head back, laughing at something Peter said, while affectionately touching his arm in what I considered overfamiliarity given they were perfect strangers less than five minutes ago. I approached, oddly unaffected by the obvious display. For a moment, I stood awkwardly waiting for the girl to finish her flighty, lack-of-substance story before Peter finally glanced my way.
“You disappeared,” he greeted with a casual smile. Beside him, the girl pursed her duck pout together, obviously put out by the intrusion.
“Someone was chatting to me in the bathroom, and I um… I’m just not… well…” the words tumbled out. Three sets of confused eyes watched me flounder. “Look, do you mind if we head off?”
David’s curious look passed between us knowing something was off but unsure exactly what.
“Of course,” Peter obligatorily replied.
The unimpressed young thing rolled her eyes at the time wasted on a taken man, and left to find her pack without so much as a ‘nice meeting you.’
We both farewelled David, his kiss on the corner of my mouth and caressing hand on the small of my back noticed by Peter. Despite David being separated from his wife, I was not in the market for his advances, and it was a dreaded and uncomfortable conversation that would have to be had on the Monday morning.
Once again leaving Cocoon, the warm air greeted us, and this time so did the hardened faces of the two detectives. They both leaned against the newspaper stand waiting for me, arms crossed. I came to a stop in front of them, swallowing hard at their scrutinizing stares. They excelled in making me feel implicated in whatever it was they were investigating. Detective Walsh stepped forward, arm extended, a card in hand. When I made no effort to claim it, she raised a challenging eyebrow. Simply to appease the situation and avoid confrontation in front of Peter, I accepted.
“Call us if you feel the need to chat?”
Feel the need to chat?
A subtle, silent message passed between us. One that carried a warning. One that told me to make the right decisions. I couldn’t think of those right decisions because I was being watched. My skin prickled. The detective noticed.
I shuddered. She frowned.
Searching the street, I looked for the cause of my unease. Her suspicious eyes followed. This feeling was one I’d experienced many times before tonight, yet it seemed amplified after the impromptu meeting with the detectives.
“Something wrong?” asked Detective Walsh.
There was a lot wrong.
“No,” I lied. “Goodnight.”
I steered Peter down the street, and despite his curious glances, we remained silent until we entered my apartment. I needed that time to stomach the events of the night. I needed to figure out why my past had reared its ugly head and how deeply I was implicated.
~
Wiping a circle of steam from the mirror, I pulled the brush through my long dark hair. Behind me, Peter sat on the edge of my bed, his face downcast to the floor.
There had been a huge shift in the evening’s mood, and I knew he had questions.
“So…” he finally started, breaking the silence between us. “Are you going to tell me who they were or are we going to pretend like everything is fine?”
“Who?” I asked, returning the brush to its rightful place in the drawer.
“The two detectives whose card you now have in your purse.”
I stood in the doorway to face him. The soft light from the nightstand cast a golden sheen over his already golden tan. He flew to LA every week and had acquired a healthy Californian sun glow.