Chapter 6
The next morning, Adrian chose a diner with a cracked blue sign and a parking lot full of pickup trucks.
I noticed that first.
Not the charcoal suit or the silver at his temples. Not the black sedan parked two spaces away with a driver waiting behind the wheel. The diner had a front window facing the road, a counter where anyone could see us, and three exits if I needed them.
He'd listened.
I arrived ten minutes early and took the booth against the wall. My shoulder still pulled when I moved too quickly, and the hospital's white uniform had been replaced by a gray sweater and jeans. The moon-marked token sat inside my wallet, behind my driver's license. The original surveillance photograph was folded inside my bag. I had three copies of both.
Adrian came in alone.
He paused just inside the door, scanning the room without making a show of it. Then he saw me and walked over.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
I looked at the windows. “For now.”
He sat across from me, leaving the space between us clear. A waitress brought coffee before he asked for it. He waited until she left.
“Did the police take the token?”
“They photographed it. I kept the original.”
“Good.”
I studied his face. “You sound relieved.”
“I am.”
“You don't get to be relieved about something that belongs to me.”
His eyes stayed on mine. “You're right.”
The easy agreement unsettled me more than an argument would have. Powerful men weren't supposed to accept correction without trying to purchase the right to ignore it.
I pulled a copy of the blue-striped staff tag from my bag and set it between us. “This was visible in the photograph. The woman with the red circle wore it near the service entrance.”
Adrian looked down. His expression changed by a fraction.
“Bellini's Cafe uses blue tags for temporary staff and vendors,” he said. “The color isn't enough to identify her.”
“She was close enough to the service entrance to know where the employees moved. She appeared before the shooting and again later.”
“And at the diner.”
I nodded.
He didn't touch the photograph. “I asked my counsel to contact the cafe's insurance investigator. Not my private security. Not anyone who answers only to me. The investigator can request access records and preserve the camera footage.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because you said you wanted to know what was done in your name, not just what I decided you should know.”
The coffee had gone cold in front of me. “You remembered that?”
“I remember most things people say when they're afraid.”
A truck rumbled past outside. The glass trembled in its frame.
I wanted to believe him. That was the dangerous part. Adrian didn't push toward me. He made room, and the room felt safer than it had any right to.
“You can investigate,” I said. “But no one contacts my landlord, my employer, or my neighbors without telling me first.”
“Agreed.”
“No one follows me.”
“I can arrange a driver—”
“No.”
He stopped. “No driver.”
“No guards outside my apartment. No one calling me sweetheart in front of Sofia. No promises to her about me.”
His jaw tightened at the last one.
“I haven't made any promises,” he said.
“Then keep it that way.”
He nodded once. “I will.”
The waitress returned with eggs and toast I hadn't ordered. Adrian had apparently noticed me looking at the menu.
“I didn't ask for this,” I said.
“You need to eat.”
The words were ordinary, but I heard the command beneath them.
“I'll decide.”
He reached for the plate and moved it to his side of the table. “Then decide.”
For the first time, something almost like humor touched his mouth. It disappeared before I could be certain.
I ordered oatmeal.
After breakfast, we walked outside separately. The parking lot smelled of wet asphalt and diesel. Adrian stopped beside the sedan but didn't open the door.
“Sofia is asking whether you're awake,” he said. “She doesn't need to see you today. I wanted you to know.”
My fingers tightened around my bag strap. “What exactly is she asking?”
“Whether the woman who looked like someone she remembers is still in the hospital.”
My breath caught.
“What does she remember?”
“I don't know.”
“You said she looks familiar to her.”
“I said Sofia said that.”
“And you haven't asked why?”
“I did. She couldn't explain it.”
I looked toward the diner window. The waitress was wiping our table, moving the plates as if we had never been there.
“Can I see her?”
Adrian watched me carefully. “Only if you want to. And only if you set the terms.”
“I want a place where she won't feel trapped.”
“There’s a small public garden near the library. A caregiver can bring her. I can stay out of the conversation.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“It may be.”
I should have walked away. Instead, I said, “One meeting. Daylight. No photographers, no staff standing nearby, and if she gets frightened, it ends.”
“Agreed.”
“And I leave whenever I want.”
“Yes.”
He opened the sedan door, then stopped. “Claire, the police may contact you about the apartment. Tell them everything. Even if it makes my family look bad.”
I met his eyes. “Especially then.”
A muscle moved in his cheek. “Especially then.”
I kept the copied photograph. I kept the token. I kept control of the meeting.
But when I walked away, I realized I had given Adrian something I hadn't meant to give him.
May you like
Not trust.
The chance to earn it.
