It didn’t mean that for sure. There could be other reasons Rick’s name was in this book. Maybe he’d come to Philip and gotten five different loans on the same day. I huffed a breath. Not likely.
I figured Colin had done it after our date at the restaurant. We’d gotten to know each other, at least. Maybe I’d demonstrated some sort of datable qualities that night. Or maybe someone had roofied his drink or he’d hit his head or…well, something. Because guys did not pay to be with me, not for sex, not for anything.
But no, the date of these entries was before that. I thought for one scary moment that they were from before I’d even met Colin, which would have been truly confusing, but they weren’t. They were a week after the night I’d picked him up at the club, and we’d had anonymous motel sex. What had made him decide to seek out my boss and try to manipulate me—so early?
Colin had asked me out that night, I remembered, and given me a way to contact him. But that was a far cry from taking on thousands of dollars in a bad debt that could never be paid.
I flipped through the next few pages. I didn’t have a suspicion, not really, but something drew me on. And only a week after the Rick entries, I found this one: A. Winters TY. It had to be me. What could TY mean? Thank you? Hah! The amount was for one thousand dollars. I certainly hadn’t received a thousand bucks, as a thank-you or otherwise. I checked a few pages forward and found nothing else I recognized.
Bailey crawled around the desk and stood up at my knee. I sat her in the chair and twirled her gently around. She giggled softly, and I glanced at the door. I should go, but something anchored me here. As I turned the chair with one hand, I slid open the file cabinet. Names mostly, a few other code names I recognized from the ledger.
Colin had a file. Interesting.
A birth certificate. Colin was twenty-eight, born in Chicago proper to Philip Murphy Sr. and Louisa James Murphy. More paperwork. Hmm, custody something or other. I’d known he had a rough childhood, mostly from his refusal to discuss it, but I hadn’t known he’d been in the system.
I had a file: Winters, Allison. And it was thick. I thumbed through the contents. The information about Andrew was in here, as well as the papers that Laramie had filed for custody.
I slowed when I found the pictures. They were of my apartment. My mind immediately ran to reasons why Philip would have these. Laramie may have wanted them to show where I was living as part of a custody assignment. No, that wasn’t right. I’d already lived with Colin by then. I glanced at them again. Both Shelly’s and my car were in some of the pictures, meaning we both still lived there, so this wasn’t some after-the-fact thing.
Actually, from that angle…it looked like they were taken from the street. The same place we’d seen the car sitting and watching. We’d assumed they had been watching Shelly. She was the one in the dangerous profession, but it looked like they’d been watching me. If Philip had these prints, then he must have been the one spying on me. Just because Colin liked me? But I knew. Philip didn’t act like an overprotective brother, more like a dog with a bone. He didn’t act like he loved Colin as much as owned him.
I flipped through them, even catching one of me loading Bailey into the car. Only after seeing these photos, how we’d looked through the eyes of an outsider, a man, did I realize just how vulnerable we’d been. Shelly and I had always known that, to some extent, and that our anonymity was our greatest protection. So long as we stayed under the radar, no one would want to hurt us. That was the goal, but it looked like someone had known after all.
Agitated, I moved Bailey back to the floor and opened the last drawer. Wozney, Wride, Wu. Yates, Tony. Those letters could have meant anything, but that was the only TY name here. I pulled out the file and opened it. A violent shiver racked my body. Someone stepping over my grave, Shelly would say. No, this was worse.
I sat down. Right there on the Persian rug next to the dark oak filing cabinets, I sat. Bailey crawled over, and I had enough presence of mind to lift the papers up out of her reach.
The arrest records of Tony Yates had two pictures on it, one facing the camera, one profile. I recognized that man. That was the man who’d fucked me, who’d hurt me, that night I’d gone to the club. The one Colin had stopped, the one Colin had known. The receipt dated before I’d even met the guy.
What did it mean? My mind couldn’t make sense of it, or maybe it just refused to, knowing it wouldn’t be good.
I slipped the contents of Tony Yates’ folder back into the cabinet and shut it. I tucked the other scrap of paper from my bra deep inside the diaper bag.
Time to go.
In the dining room the plates were being cleared.
“There you are,” Rose said warmly. “I was just going to get your cobbler.”
Jesus, the fucking cobbler. The fucking ridiculous cobbler with its fucking ridiculous hope of making a good impression.
“I’m sorry, I—” My breath stuttered.
Colin stood. “What’s wrong?”