Page 35 of Another Girl Lost

“Do I know you?”

I shifted my gaze to the waitress who’d taken my order. This time I noticed her name tag:Tonja. “I don’t think so.”

Eyes narrowed. “You look familiar to me.”

“I have that kind of face.”

“Pretty distinctive.” Her head shook slowly as recognition flickered in her gaze. “I’d almost forgotten about you until that cop came here yesterday.”

I didn’t respond.

She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “You’re the girl that worked with that weirdo Tanner.”

I’d been accused of working with Tanner before. Many cops, especially after my arrests post-escape, didn’t totally believe me. But it had been a long time since the accusation had been hurled at me.

I’d learned not to engage. “Can I get my meal to go?”

“Don’t you want to talk about it? Don’t you want to know what I remember?” She looked past me. “Do you have a reporter with you? A book deal?”

I reached in my purse, fished out a twenty, and tossed it on the bar. Rising, I shouldered my bag. “On second thought, keep the food.”

“Did Tiffany finally rope you into a story? She’s been trying to cash in for a long time.”

“When’s the last time Tiffany was here?”

Her lips flattened. “I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Tiffany had been on fragile ground mentally before I’d waltzed into this diner with conflicted dreams of escape. When I shouted for Tiffany to run, I thought I’d saved her. But she’d shattered. She’d survived, but not really.

“Why did you pick her?” Tonja asked. “The kid was always struggling. And you sent her over the edge.”

Guilt clawed at my insides. “If you see Tiffany, tell her to give Scarlett a call.”

I spent the afternoon carving my print stamp, zeroing my focus in on one arching wave. The small detail required my full attention, and finally the fine print work, like the climbing wall, narrowed my thoughts.

The alarm on my phone went off. Date with Luke. Shit. That was the last thing I needed. I wanted a hot shower and to curl up under the blankets on my small couch and sleep.

But I also wasn’t keen on having a nightmare. And given Dawson, Sandra Taylor, and the Della look-alike, I was ripe for one.

I’d seen enough shrinks to know my tendency to self-isolate wasn’t healthy. I had a date with Luke, and I’d keep the date.

I moved to the back of the warehouse, where behind a silk screen was my bed and beyond it a small bathroom. I turned on the water, waiting and waiting for it to heat up. Experience had taught me I had about five minutes of heat before the water turned cold. I could call a plumber, but plumbers took forever to arrive, and when they did, they were expensive. So I got used to quick showers.

I downed two aspirin and ducked under the spray, quickly working shampoo and conditioner into my shoulder-length hair. I’d just rinsed the last of the soap when the heat vanished and sent a cold chill down my spine. Instead of jumping out of the shower, I braced and let the ice slide over my skin. The cold would help with the bruising and stiffness from the fall, and it reminded me I was alive and could step out of the shower anytime I wanted. I was in control of this special brand of misery.

Finally, I shut off the water, grabbed a gray cotton towel, and dried off. I dressed in jeans and a sleeveless light-blue silk top. I slid my feet into black open-toed sandals before walking to a mirror and fluffing my hair dry until the natural waves sprang to life. Makeup wasn’t a normaldaily thing for me, but tonight I swabbed on red lipstick and then a bit of mascara. The goal was to look pulled together but not sexy.

I’d been on a few dates in the last decade, but they’d all ended within the first hour. The unsuspecting guy would try to hold my hand, or God help him, kiss me, and I would freeze, or worse, shove him back. I’d only punched one man, but that was years ago.

Odds were good this drink with Luke was going to be quick. He wasn’t a kid. A guy in his midthirties wasn’t interested in women acting like stiff matrons.

I grabbed my purse and carefully edged it onto a rigid shoulder. The aspirin was kicking in and hopefully would hold the line against the real stiffness that would come in the next twelve hours. This wasn’t the first time I’d been battered, and I understood the patterns of pain the body endured as it tried to heal.

The evening air was warm, and the streets weren’t that busy. This time of night, most of this area cleared out. There’d be pockets of people near the restaurants around the corner, but this block was always quiet.

My phone buzzed. I would have hoped it was Luke canceling, but we hadn’t exchanged numbers. When I glanced at the display, I was disappointed and relieved. It was the Judge. I stopped walking and angled my back toward a brick wall—one of the million random safety tips I practiced all the time. Walking while talking on a cell created a sense of connection and safety, but the reality was the brain could concentrate on only one thing at a time. If I was listening to the Judge, my attention wasn’t on the streets around me.

“Thank you for coming to the opening.” A chair squeaked in the background, and I pictured the Judge still in her office. She always worked late.

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