Page 41 of That's Not My Name

“And…you decided to break into my house to make sure?”

He laughs. “I tried to call, but your phone is on silent or something.”

“So naturally your next step was to come in through the window?” Autumn asks. “Have you heard of the front door?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” I mumble.

She glares at me. “Whatever.”

“You came in through the window too?” Max asks.

“Well, I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Really? I used to do it all the time. So what’s up? Are we going to find Lola, or what?”

I hold up both my hands to stop them. This conversation is making my head spin. “Wait. What?”

Max stretches his long legs and crosses his ankles as he folds his hands behind his neck. “I heard you from the tree. You said you were the only one looking for Lola, right? Let’s fix that. I’m in.”

“You’re in…what?”

“This, dummy,” Autumn says, picking my Lola board from the floor, and propping it against the headboard. “We’re in this. Let’s find her.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “Five seconds ago you thought I was an evil piece of shit and now you want to join forces? You wrote ‘Murderer’ on my damn locker today.”

She winces. “Sorry about that. Five minutes ago you were a probable creep. Now you’re her piece of shit ex-boyfriend who’s trying to make amends.”

The “ex” in that sentence makes me flinch. But fuck, that’s what I am.

I push that supremely uncomfortable thought from my head. “Okay…but how are we going to find her? Hang more fliers?”

Max snorts. “Yeah, because that’s been so helpful.”

“It’s not like I had another option. Besides, the fliers would have been helpful if anyone called in real information,” I say, trying not to grumble.

“What about the official tip-line recordings? The number is all over the news every time they show her face,” Max says, using his fist as an imaginary microphone. “‘If you see this girl, or have any information regarding her current whereabouts, please call five-oh-three blah blah blah.’”

“Yeah right, and how are we going to get ahold of those? They go straight to my dad’s office,” Autumn says, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her sparkly sweatshirt. “What could they even tell us? She’s been gone too long. All the information is old now, and my dad already talked to everyone who saw her that night.”

“New information could still help,” I say. “The official tip line would have more reach because of the media coverage, and I’m sure Roane isn’t keeping up with new tips if his focus has shifted entirely to me.”

“What if we ask my dad to review the recent ones?” Autumn asks. “I can tell him I was wrong about the voicemail.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure his teenage daughter’s sudden change of heart will bejustenough to make a seasoned police official completely change the direction of his investigation. Maybe you can also tell him I’m a Libra, and my sign is known for diplomacy, not murder.”

She scowls at me. “You’re stupid.”

“Not as stupid as that plan.”

“I have a better one,” Max says, leaning back in the chair. The front legs lift off the floor, and he almost wipes out before he catches himself.He carries on like it never happened. “We should bypass Roane and listen to them ourselves.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Autumn asks.

Max grins, and I already know I’m not going to like this. “Duh. We break into the police station.”

TWELVE

DREW

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