Page 39 of Four Seconds to Lose

My stomach tightens as I silently await his verdict, wondering what he uncovered. I’ve been dreading this moment.

“You’ve got yourself a runaway there, Cain. Charlie Rourke was last seen four years ago in Indianapolis. She took off on her eighteenth birthday and no one’s seen her since. No police record to speak of. She’s been a ghost until she opened a bank account and booked a flight from New York to Miami in May.”

“Huh.” I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet I am. I’ve had other runaways here before. Kacey, an exceptionally bright redheaded bartender and Storm’s best friend, was one. It hadn’t taken John long to gather the basics that explained the unapproachable fiery-haired woman—the accident that killed her parents, her serious injuries, the long physical recovery, the nonexistent mental recovery.

The self-destructive aftereffects.

But it wasn’t hard to figure out what Kacey was trying to escape. “What’s Charlie running from?”

“My guess is her drunk, abusive father. Beat the shit out of her mother, who finally bit the bullet three years ago. Daddy-O’s in Pendleton for life for that one.”

“Shit...” I run a hand back through my hair. If she’s been on the run for four years, I wonder if she even knows that her mother is dead. “Any other family?”

“Useless uncle. Father’s brother. Otherwise, no one.”

“So she’s legit. I mean, her age, everything else checks out?” I hold my breath. There’s nothing about the woman teasing me on that stage that says “child.”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

I sink back into my chair, weeks of tension pouring out ofme.

“Driver’s license that came up is the same as the one you sent me. No previous one on file. I also found an older picture of her. They look like the same girl. Hard to tell with those, though, especially when your girl’s all done up like she is.”

That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen Charlie under all that makeup. She looks like a completely different person. “Her eye color?”

“Blue, I think. Wait...” There’s a rustling sound. “Yup... blue.”

Violet could be mistaken for blue. Unless the photo is a good-quality close-up, no one would be able to tell. “And I wasn’t able to confirm her working at that club in Vegas, but my sources tell me the owner’s been known to do under-the-table hires, so it’s quite possible she’s telling the truth.”

“Huh.” I don’t doubt that she worked there. The way she dances, she knows what she’s doing. “Okay, good.”

“Why... you tapping that?”

“John...”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” His disbelief annoys me. “I’m gonna be in Miami in a few months, I think. I’ll swing by. Enjoy a show or two.”

“You do that. Ask for Mercy. Your fat, old ass will have a heart attack.”

The responding roar of laughter makes me shake my head and smile. John is in his early fifties and, if he’s as I remember him, he’s still living off black coffee and greasy burgers. “It’d be good to see you again, my friend.”

Hanging up the phone, I flip through the stack of papers with Charlie’s scrawled handwriting. So, she’s been off the grid for four years. She would have been crashing at friends’ places. Guys’ places. Taking jobs under the table to make ends meet. I guess that’s why there’s no record of her. No gas bills, no credit cards. Nothing.

Maybe she was afraid of being found and that’s why she laid low. Or maybe she found out that her dad is in jail for life and figures she’s safe, so she’s come out of hiding.

Speculation. That’s all I’ve got.

That she refused Rick Cassidy’s demands tells me she probably wasn’t making ends meet in alleyways. I find myself breathing easier over that knowledge. But she’s got the designer shoes and clothes. And the brand-new car that she got from a supposed inheritance. I find that detail hard to believe, especially now.

I rub my chin slowly as I ponder this riddle. There’s an excellent possibility that Charlie was getting paid for sex, but if so, with a very wealthy clientele. A sugar daddy, even. But then, where’s all the money? Where did it go? Why no bank account until a few months ago?

It doesn’t matter, I decide, with steely resolve. If she’s here, she must be trying to start over. And it’s time that I stop avoiding her because, just maybe, I can help.

If she’ll trust me.

And if I can control myself around her.

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