Page 73 of Stone Rules

“Excuse me.” We look up to see an older lady standing at our table, staring at Charlie. Good, I needed the distraction. “I’m sorry to bother you while you eat, dear, but I just had to stop by and tell you I was a big fan of your mother. I was crushed to hear of her passing and wanted to give you my condolences. She was an amazing actress.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Charlie is the spitting image of her mom. She gets stopped all the time, especially on nights like tonight, when her hair is down. And tonight, much like every other time, Charlie’s eyes glaze over and she forces a smile before simply saying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear. I hope you enjoy the rest of your meal,” the woman says before returning to her table.

“You are getting better at that,” I tell Charlie.

“I know,” she says, twisting the stem of her water glass. “It’s because I stopped listening to them.”

“Stopped listening?”

She lifts her chin at the lady across the room. “Every time someone does that, I tune them out. I think of a song in my head.”

“Really? What song?”

“Um, it was the song you played on your harmonica. The one you played for Cat. You were right, it is calming. And every time I get upset, I think of it.” A look of worry crosses her face. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, Charlie. That’s all part of the process.”

“What process?”

“Healing,” I tell her.

She smiles sadly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be healed, Ethan.” She looks down and touches her barely-there belly. “But somehow I think this helps.”

“Yeah. Kids have a way of doing that. Especially when they are meant to be.” I wink at her.

Her sad smile turns happy. Her beautiful face radiates with hope. And suddenly, the future looks brighter than ever.

Chapter Thirty-four

It’s been three weeks since our official first date. Three weeks and nine dates. And each one has only gotten better.

I stare at a picture of Charlie in the new frame next to my laptop. She once said I needed more stuff on my desk, so last week on one of our walks, when the sun was setting over the trees of Central Park, I snapped a picture on my phone. It’s true what they say about pregnancy. She was genuinely glowing and I’ve never seen her happier.

She hasn’t mentioned the list in weeks. I know she hasn’t forgotten about it. And I worry that one day she’ll want to pick up where she left off. But I’m determined to keep that from happening. I’ve done more digging on the remaining eleven. I’m using every resource I have to keep tabs on them.

It disgusts me to think of those dirt bags living their lives as free men. I’ve had more than a few thoughts of how I could use my connections to take care of them. I’ve mentioned the word prosecution to Charlie a couple of times. But she’s been through so much already. She wants to avoid what would be a lot of very public exposure considering who she is and who some of the men are. And she’s not naïve, she understands the chances of conviction after all these years are slim. I’m not sure I could take watching her testify in eleven trials; putting her through eleven nightmares all over again.

There is a knock on my office door.

“Yeah, come on in.”

Melissa walks into my office and sits down. She doesn’t ever do that. I know she has information for me. “Tell me,” I say.

“His name is Zachary Thompson. He’s twenty-five years old. Single and not looking for a relationship. Although he did proposition me for a one-night stand. He wasn’t very happy when I said no. He spent the rest of the night going from woman to woman until he found one who took the bait. He bought a lot of drinks for a lot of girls in the process. The guy is a certified asshole, Ethan.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask. “I mean, other than the fact that he’s just there to get laid.”

“Well, he’s a liar, for one. I was close enough to hear his conversations with several different women. He told each one a different story. That he was only in town for one night. Or that his grandmother just died and he’s trying to get over the loss. Or that he’s out celebrating getting hired as the youngest VP for some record company. One girl slapped him because she said he hit on her a few weeks ago and was too stupid to remember, and that he must have a lot of grandmothers.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” I say, shaking my head.

“He’s a scam artist, too,” she says. “Two times, with two different bartenders, when they handed him his change, he told them he gave them a twenty, when he’d only given them a ten. One of the bartenders called him on it. The other one fell for it.”

“Wonderful,” I say sarcastically. “Pictures?”

“Yeah, check your email, I sent them a few minutes ago. I did a little digging around online this morning and found him on Facebook. I sent you what I could piece together about employment, but if you run a background check, I’m sure you’ll get more.”

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