“No. But if it does I might not be able to say goodbye. Are you going to be okay with that?”
He sits back in his chair. His hands are loose in his lap, but the rest of his body tenses. He considers my question, his blue eyes laser-focused on my face. There’s not a lot of room here for negotiation. I have to know he’ll let me go if I run. Self-preservation is and has to be my top priority. I can’t let what’s happening between us change that. My life depends on my ability to make a move at a moment’s notice. Especially being this close to where it all started.
“No.” I can see he has questions to ask, but he doesn’t voice them. “But I’ll deal with it.”
“And you won’t try to find me?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He doesn’t like making the promise. I’ve put an unknown expiration date on what we have. I wouldn’t like it any more than he does. He turns to his computer, his face set and determined. We find Marie. We move forward until we stop moving at all. That’s something we both can do to take our minds off how temporary this thing between us is.
“Marie put up a new post late last night,” he says, closing the subject of us and drawing my attention to the computer screen. “A photo.”
It’s at an awkward angle and there’s not much to see except the drawn shape of a heart with a keyhole in the middle and a chain coming off the top of it with an old-fashioned key attached at the end. An extremely familiar image. He’s making his case for her getting his tattoo. I grip the arms of the chair and close my eyes. I can hear him, his voice deep and accented and very persuasive. He would’ve told her that the heart symbolizes his heart and the key is her unlocking his broken heart and opening him up to love. My stomach churns for a completely different reason than last night’s alcohol.
Beau is talking about the photo of the drawing. Opening my eyes, I force myself to focus on what he’s saying and not get lost again in old, ugly memories. The important thing is that Marie hasn’t gotten the tattoo yet. I concentrate on that and try to ignore the ticking clock Javier has us on.
“Tumblr doesn’t scrub the EXIF info off of posted pictures like some other social media sites,” he says. “If she doesn’t have her phone or camera settings to not store GIS information, then it will be saved within the image and we can extract it.”
“English, please.”
“We might be able to get the GPS coordinates from the picture on where it was taken, which could lead us to where Marie is. Or at least where she was when she took the photo.”
“Are you serious? Do it.”
In a few short keystrokes we’re looking at the GPS stamp on the picture. Beau copies it, then pastes it into another site and up pops a Google map with a pin in the spot where the photo was taken. I lean closer to the screen as Beau zooms in on the pin.
“It looks like a strip shopping center.” He changes the view to street level. “She would’ve been in one of these shops or just outside of them when she took the photo.”
There’s a convenience store, a nail salon, a sandwich shop, a tobacco store, a dry cleaner, a takeout pizza place, a Starbucks, and a frozen yogurt shop. Which one was she in?
“She might come back if she’s living in the area,” Beau says. “She took the photo just after seven p.m. We could stake it out and see if she comes back. It could take days, but so far this is the only lead I have on your sister.”
“How much will that cost? I budgeted according to the estimate Cora gave me. I don’t know how much over that I can go.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m pretty sure your boss isn’t going to like that answer.”
“I’ll do it off the clock after work.”
“Could you get fired for that, though? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“You’ve already crossed a line by keeping my secret,” I tell him. “And last night. I can’t ask you to do this too.”
“You’re not asking me to do it. I’m volunteering.”
“Beau,” I warn.
“Vera,” he mocks.
“I’m serious.”
“I did find something else. You have an older half brother. Of course, that isn’t what you hired the agency to find out, so I should probably not tell you about him.”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out. I have a half brother? Until this moment I had no idea I had another sibling. After living so long without a family, the thought that I might have more than Marie is incredible.
“You don’t play fair,” I tell him.
He waits me out as though he has all day, tapping his fingers on the desktop, pinkie to index finger, over and over in a wave. I don’t think I’ve met anyone more stubborn than Beau Hollis.
“Fine. Tell me about my brother.”
“Are you sure? Don’t want to cross any boundaries you’re not comfortable with.”
“You’re mad about what I said earlier. About leaving.”