I press a kiss to his forehead. “And I love you, too. And how can I be sad when I have you in my life?”
I’ve no sooner exited the floor and stepped back onto the elevator when my phone vibrates with a text.
Sam:Dinner tonight?
I sigh. The only plan I have for the evening is to take one of the sleeping pills in my purse and crash, forgetting the last month ever happened. My fingers hover over the keypad, about to text back, when it vibrates a second time.
Sam:I got some information on your friend Jocelyn.
My eyes go wide.
So much for sleeping tonight. I can’t type back fast enough.
Elizabeth:Dinner sounds great!
CHAPTER
22
You okay, babe?”
I feel like I’m about to burst. I’ve been here almost a half hour now, and Sam still hasn’t mentioned anything about Jocelyn. I’m trying to be patient, not let on how desperate I am to get the information, but it’s not easy when you’re running on caffeine and adrenaline.
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Sam studies my face. I really wish he wouldn’t play detective with me. He shrugs. “You look tired. Stressed.”
Great.Now the shitstorm going on inside of my body is spilling over to the outside. “My neck’s bothering me again,” I lie. “Woke me up a few times the last couple of nights.”
He turns the burner down to simmer, walks around to the side of the island I’m sitting at, and puts his big hands on my shoulders. “You should’ve said something. You know I have magic fingers.”
Sam’s fingers are, in fact, pretty magical. He kneads into my neck muscles, and my head immediately drops a few inches. It feels like it’s just been disconnected from a tension rod. I can’t help it, I groan.
He presses his thumbs in deeper. “Feels good?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Thanks.”
After a while, I start to think maybe thetension in my neckwasthe problem. Because it feels like I could curl up into a ball and go to sleep right now. But then Sam opens his mouth again . . .
“So, I found three people with your friend’s name in the state of Florida.”
My head jerks upright, and I brush his hands from my shoulders. “Oh?”
Sam kisses the top of my head. “Need to stir my sauce.” He walks back around to the other side of the island and starts fiddling with the knobs on the stove, as if I’m not holding my breath, waiting for the rest of what he has to say. Of course he doesn’t know what’s at stake. But when he opens the drawer where he keeps the spices and starts rummaging, I can’t wait any longer.
“And? What were you able to find out about the three people?”
He pulls out a jar of oregano, twists the cap, shakes some flakes into the sauce he’s making. “Two of them are easy enough to rule out. You said you and your friend went to high school together, so I’m assuming she’s mid- to late thirties?”
I nod. “We’re the same age.”
“That’s what I figured. One of the three is only sixteen, and one is in her late eighties.”
“And the third?”
Sam turns and meets my gaze. “She’s in prison.”
My eyes grow wide. “Prison? For what?”