Page 47 of Escaping Our Reality

Well, his detailed pedigree may be found at the county jail, depending on the day you look.

“He’s good to me. Really good. Isn’t that what’s important?” I fling my backpack over my shoulder and grab my purse. “Mom, I’m heading out.”

“Where are you off to now?”

“I’m going to see Detective Marcum. I’m going to check on things.”

And then, she remembers she has a daughter who’s missing. She wipes at her eyes and sniffles. “Oh, my sweet Caroline. I’ve been praying for her so hard as of late. I just feel her presence reaching out to me.” Straightening the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist, she nods in my direction before walking down the hall. “Be careful, my darling. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you too.”

I do. Collect the insurance money and take a relaxing trip to Fiji.

***

After covering every square inch of Colson’s desk in yellow sticky notes, I plop down in front of Marcum, flinging my feet up on the chair next to me.

Detective Leary groans, cursing under his breath. “Son of a bitch, why does this copy machine mess up every single thing I copy.” Grabbing a large stack of papers, he stalks out of the room.

As he’s passing me, I smile up at him. “Ever heard of user error?”

He smirks, flicking me on the earlobe.

Marcum studies the yellow blob that is now Colson’s desk. “You know he’s gonna blame me for this? Say I have no control over you.”

“Iamquite the unruly girl.” I hold out my hands, awaiting the stack of evidence pictures.

They seem different now. Every image holds a different meaning. Deeper. Hidden. I’m trying to piece together Carrie’s secret life. Secrets she kept from me. Secrets I should have known.

Marcum leans back in his chair and flicks his ink pen against his chin. “You seem different. What’s up with you lately?”

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, being nonchalant. He’s playing detective with me now. Waiting on me to make the first move.

I’m learning more from him than I am the crime shows I keep watching.

I then realize something. If Carrie kept her pills in the tin mint container—like Catie—why wasn’t one in her purse. It wasn’t in the evidence log, and it wasn’t in the purse itself. Not in the car, either.

Someone must’ve taken it.

A random junkie? Trash? Trey? The supplier?

The person who took my sister?

***

I snuggle deeper in the blanket, mesmerized by the show on my laptop. Ry’s been working tonight, engrossed in the homework on his own laptop. The firepit crackles, drawing his attention. Stoking the fire, he stands and stretches his arms high above his head. The hem of his long-sleeve black T-shirt rides up, giving me a small glimpse of his boxer briefs. He touches something on the left side of his chest, studying his T-shirt. Grabbing a lantern, he walks away, toward his truck. “I’ll be right back.”

I sit up and watch. What’s he doing? He just got us fresh drinks a little bit ago. I follow him, carefully watching my step in the dark. Quietly, I tiptoe across the dead leaves and crunchy gravel. Ry’s standing in the open doorway of his truck, pulling a fresh T-shirt out of one of his duffle bags. Grabbing his collar, he yanks his shirt over his head, gifting me the sight of his bare back. A large lump forms in the back of my throat. His broad shoulders look even better than I imagined. Every smallmovement has the firm lines of his lower back flexing, begging to be touched.

And then he spins around.

He freezes when he sees me. He stands there, watching me watch him.

Desire floods my heart, flows into my stomach, and sinks down into my groin. Tingles build between my legs, and I rub my thighs together, begging the tension to release. These feelings. I want these feelings more and more, every day. Touching myself, thinking of Ry. I haven’t been able to bring myself to orgasm yet, but I want to. I want to, so badly. And trust me, I’ve been trying—a lot.

The muscles of his waist taper into a V, riding low beneath the waistband of his jeans. A six pack of abs ripple across his midsection. His pectorals jump under the perusal of my eyes, bringing a peak to his brown nipples.

But something else catches my attention. A small crease of blood on his upper left chest.

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