Page 29 of The Missing Half

I follow her gaze to the front door of the restaurant. It’s open, and Steve McLean is walking through.

Chapter Fifteen

Through the windshield, we watch McLean cross the parking lot, unlock his car, and sink into the driver’s seat. My heartbeat quickens. It’s one thing to talk through a theory from the comfort of Jenna’s living room. It’s another to follow Steve McLean home. I feel better with Jenna by my side, and she’s put her pepper spray in the top pocket of her purse, but seeking out the presence of the man who may have taken Kasey feels like lighting a match to test the heat of its flame.

Jenna waits as he pulls out of the parking lot, then turns her key in the ignition. Grape Road is almost empty, and she follows at a distance. We’re anticipating the trip to his house to take at least fifteen minutes, but after only traveling a few blocks south, he turns. Not into a residential area but into the parking lot of O’Reilly’s, an Irish pub off Grape Road. Jenna pulls into a spot a few down from his, and we look at each other.

“What d’you think?” I say.

She shrugs. “It’s definitely safer to do it in public.”

“Yeah, but will he talk?” My hesitation is half-hearted. We’ve come this far. I want to see it through.

We give McLean a few minutes’ head start to curb any unlikelysuspicions he may have that someone is following him, then we headin.

The bar is dark and bustling. There’s a muffled roar of voices and the clinking sounds of the bartender making drinks.

“Hey,” Jenna says beside me. Her eyes are locked on the far end of the bar. I follow her gaze to find McLean, sitting alone in a booth, an already half-empty glass of beer in front of him.

We walk over, my heartbeat thumping in my stomach, my ears, my armpits. When McLean’s eyes catch on us, he looks surprised, then a grin spreads across his face. “Well, well,” he says. “If it isn’t you two.”

“Hi.” Jenna’s voice is friendly. She’s a much better actor than I am. “Mind if we join you?”

He can’t believe his luck. “By all means.” He waves a hand to the seat across from him and we slide in. I’m on the inside, between Jenna and the wall. It makes me itchy, claustrophobic.

“I’m Jenna.” When I don’t say anything, she adds, “This is my friend Nic.”

McLean looks from her to me, and I see him clock my standoffishness, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s clearly pleased with the turn his night has taken.

“Steve. You ladies want something to drink?” He waves at a waiter who’s already walking our way.

I order a club soda with lime and Jenna orders a glass of white wine. I know she’s doing it for the pretense. One sober woman is a coincidence, two looks fishy. McLean orders another beer. My loathing for this guy is so strong that it’s reorienting his features into something deformed and monstrous. But up close, even I can see an objective sort of attractiveness in his face. He has a sharp jaw, bright blue eyes. I can see how he’s lured women in. But there’s something else just beneath the surface that gives him away, a too-eager glint in his eyes. Would Kasey have pulled over if she recognized him on the road? I like to think she wouldn’t have, but that feels wishful.

“Actually,” I say as the waiter turns to leave. “Make mine a red wine.”

Jenna’s eyes flick over my face, but she stays quiet. “You know,Steve,” she says, “you look so familiar to me. I feel like I’ve seen you before tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” He seems to be interpreting her easy tone for flirting, and maybe that’s what she’s going for.

“Yeah. How long have you worked at the restaurant?”

“Long fucking time. Maybe I’ve made you a drink before.”

“Maybe. Have you always been the bartender?”

“Used to be the manager, but it wasn’t my bag. Making drinks is just so much sexier.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes.

“Wasn’t it called something else back in the day?” Jenna says. “The restaurant, I mean. Something like—” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, I can’t remember.”

“Famous Jake’s,” McLean says.

“That’s right! You know, my baby sister actually used to work there.” She’s never used the wordbabyto describe Jules, and it crawls up my skin even though I know she’s baiting the hook for him. Again, I realize just how good Jenna is at talking her way into getting what she wants.

“No shit?”

“Her name was Jules.” She uses the past tense. We’re not hiding anymore. “Jules Connor.”

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