Page 97 of Four Seconds to Lose

“Some people need sleep,” John mutters groggily.

“Then don’t sleep with your phone by the bed,” I retort.

With a loud groan, followed by a coughing fit that leaves me cringing at the sound of morning phlegm in John’s lungs, my P.I. demands, “What do you need?”

“Is there any chance that her ID is fake?”

“I assume you mean Charlie?”

“Yes,” I snap with impatience. When I came back to my office after half an hour, Charlie was gone. She took either a bus or a cab, because she didn’t have her truck here.

I have half a mind to drive over to her place and force the truth out of her. I can’t bring myself to do it yet, though.

“It’s damn solid if it is. She’s got a valid passport, birth certificate... everything. Maybe it’s a stolen ID. You’d need a ton of cash and major connections to pull that off.”

“But it’s possible.” Is everything that I know about Charlie a lie? Has she been lying to me all this time?

His heavy exhales blows into the phone. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay. Can you see what else you can dig up on Charlie Rourke? Old school pictures, gymnastics pictures, anything. And find out if there’s anyone by the name of ‘Sam’ in her life.”

“Will do.”

I hang up. I stare at my phone, the lump in my throat choking. I want to call her. But, right now, I’m pissed off, too.

More, though, I’m something I haven’t felt in years.

I’m hurt.

chapter thirty-two

¦¦¦

CHARLIE

I knew it was coming.

I’ve sat on a park bench overlooking the water for hours, staring out at all the people who live their own lives, who worry about paying their rent and what bar they’re going to go to on the weekend.

Waiting for my phone to ring. And now it’s ringing, the display reading “unknown caller.”

He’s anything but unknown.

My stomach twists into knots as I answer.

“Hello, little mouse.”

“Hi.” I’m still shocked that he called my phone. It’s registered under “Charlie Rourke” and I’m sure he’s using a burner phone, but still, he’s breaking one of his rules.

“How are things?”

“Good.”

“Good. The weather’s lovely at home.” Small talk. Sam always did like to keep it simple.

“It’s nice here, too.”

“Good, good.” There’s a pause. “I need you to check your email.”

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