Page 60 of Another Girl Lost

He waited for me to sit before he retook his place. A bourbon neat sat in front of him, and there was a white wine at my place setting. “You drank white wine last time.”

A detail man. Good memory. Also, quick, efficient, and ready for this date to end sooner rather than later. “That’s perfect.”

He didn’t appear in a rush as he sipped his bourbon. “How was your day?”

My back was to the front door. Not ideal, but at least I wouldn’t have any Della sightings staring at Luke and the framed picture behind him.

I glanced at the glass of wine he’d ordered me. I never took open beverages from strangers. But I was tired of always being on guard, always afraid. I took a sip of wine, savoring the soothing, buttery smoothness. “I’m making a series of prints. Each of these prints will require a total of five colors. Today I applied the first color.” I glanced at my hands and the faintest flecks of blue. I waggled my fingers. “Blue.”

“Let me guess. It features the waterfront.”

Norfolk was surrounded by water, so the guess was logical. “It does. It’s a popular design with tourists, and I get a lot of visitor foot traffic at the art fairs. They’ll sell well.”

“A marketing decision.”

“In part. It’s a little abstract, but any artist who wants to eat on a regular basis needs to keep her eye to what sells.”

He sat back, and I sensed he was methodically ticking through the small talk until he could breach the bigger questions on his mind.

I sipped my wine. “You looked me up.”

“I did.” He swirled the caramel liquid in his glass. “Quite the story.”

He was a hard one to read, and that was unsettling. Della had taught me to dissect facial expressions down to the micro level. A slight frown, a heavy sigh, a hardening of a gaze could all make the difference between living or dying.

I drew in a slow, steady breath, rummaging for the forgiveness the psychologists preached. “Any questions?”

Sharp hawk eyes peered over his glass. “Why did you run the other night? Was it something I said or did?”

How could I explain that desperation had captured me in an iron muscled grip, making refusal impossible. “I saw a woman. She reminded me of Della, the other girl locked up with me.”

“Della was never found, according to the articles. The cops concluded that she wasn’t real.”

“Lately, I’ve had my own doubts. But when I block out all the noise, I know she was real. I don’t know how she got away or what happened to her. But I thought I saw her that night. Likely, I was wrong. I’ve been mistaken a lot over the years when it comes to Della sightings.” Could a measured tone make crazy words sound a little less insane?

“Did you find the woman you saw?”

“I did not. I lost whoever it was I was chasing.” I drew in a slow, steady sigh, determined to keep calm and not cling to my frustration.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said. “That kind of trauma would leave a mark on anyone.”

“I do have a few quirks.”

“Such as?”

“I spend a lot of time alone. I’m obsessed with exercise and fitness so I’m always capable of running if necessary.” Did I want to tell him there’d been no man before or since Tanner? No. TMI. Dawson’s visit regarding Sandra Taylor’s death and Tiffany’s disappearance might also be a bridge too far. “I rarely date. Lots of locks on my door.”

“Are you in counseling?”

“I have been many times. It helped, but when it’s all said and done, I had to find a way to live with it all.”

“You look like you’re winning.”

I tipped my glass toward him. “Except for the occasional freak-out.”

That prompted a slight smile. “I’ve had dates that ended worse.”

I frowned. “Why would you even bother with me? You’re a good-looking guy and seem to have your act together.”

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