Page 91 of Another Girl Lost

6:45 p.m.

As I washed the murky black ink from my hands, a restless urge passed through my body. My thoughts kept returning to Margo.

She’d texted me two hours ago.Drinks at my place tonight?

Sure.

A glance up toward her apartment told me the lights were on, and I saw Margo pass in front of the window. I showered and changed into clean jeans, a black graphic T-shirt, and sandals. I didn’t have a bottle of wine or anything to bring. So I set out across the street, waved to the front desk attendant, and entered the building.

“Hey,” I said. “Me again. I’m meeting Margo Larsen.”

“Fifth floor. Apartment 512.”

“Thanks. How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain. You talk to that redhead?”

“No.”

He grunted. “When you do, tell her not to sit on my front doorstep. It’s not a great look.”

“I’ll do my best.” Tiffany flaked often and it could be weeks before I saw her. Maybe I’d never see her again.

I strode toward the elevator and stepped inside. As the doors closed, I drew in a breath, easing the tightness. Glancing up, I watched as the buttons ticked toward the fifth floor. I had no idea what I was going to say to Margo or why I was here. She was a cop, but she had Della’s demeanor.

The doors opened, and I walked down the hallway to 512. I knocked, took a step back, and slid a nervous hand into my jeans pocket. Booted heels echoed in what sounded like a hollow space.

The door snapped open. Margo wore dark pants, a fitted top, and low-heeled boots. Her badge was hooked to her belt and her hair was brushed back. “Scarlett. Right on time.”

I looked into her eyes, and suddenly felt as if I was looking at Della. “Hey.”

“Come in.”

I stepped past her. The unit was stripped bare and was all hard angles, metal, and glass. It bordered on cold, but the soft glow of the evening sun streaming through the windows warmed up all the darkened corners.

“So, this is my new home,” Margo said. “What do you think?”

I cleared my throat. “Nice.”

“I’m lucky to have found it. I hear units in this area get snapped up quickly. Apparently, the last tenant just took off without warning and broke her lease.”

“It happens.” I crossed to the window and stared out over the warehouses across the street to the river beyond. People walked past my building, going about their lives, never really paying attention to their surroundings.

From this vantage, I could see directly into my warehouse. If Margo wanted to watch me, she could do it easily from here. Good. Let her watch.

“How did you find the place?” I asked.

“Nothing like staying in a second-rate hotel to motivate a house search. Found it online. My timing was perfect. The unit had only been listed for an hour.”

I faced her, staring into her eyes. “You’re a police officer?”

“That’s right.” She walked toward a granite countertop to an open bottle of wine and two paper cups. “For eight years now. I started in Northern Virginia, got a little tired of the traffic, and decided to move closer to the water.”

“You originally from the DC area?”

“Newport News.” The city was located across the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel on the mainland and in light traffic took twenty minutes to reach.

“So, like coming home.”

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