Dylan. That’s Dylan’s body.
There were tons of pictures of Dylan before the fire, of that man with the lips and the intense dark eyes and that chin that looked as if it had been carved out of granite. A thick, powerful body. He was often with a tall and willowy brunette, with a giant rack, their arms around each other.
I stared at those pictures, burning them into my brain because I was if nothing else a glutton for punishment.
What did you think was going to happen? I wondered. That by pretending to be someone else you would actually be someone else? You’re still you.
And what I had always been was unwanted.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Pulled from this strange horror show, I looked up to see the librarian behind the desk looking at me.
“Your time is up.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You signed up for a half hour. It’s up. If you’d like more time you need to sign up again.”
The library was nearly empty. There was no one standing behind me, itching to use the computer.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“We need to prove that the—”
“Computers are an asset. I know.” Truthfully, I needed to get going. I had a backseat full of groceries. And I’d found out what I’d come to find out. Dylan Daniels had been a handsome, playboy race-car driver.
But after the fire? Nothing.
Not a single image. Not a single word.
It was as if he vanished.
“I’m going.”
On my way out, I bought three more books from the book sale.
“Hey!” a voice said as I was leaving, and I turned around and saw a smiling blond guy walking in the door as I was walking out.
“Hi,” I said, stepping back.
I had, over the years living in the same place surrounded by people who were not stupid—who probably, if they didn’t know specifically, had a very good idea of what my life was like with my mom, and probably with Hoyt—learned how to keep this small sea of distance around me. By keeping my face calm, my eyes distant, by giving no one any reason to think that I cared about their concern, I could usually keep the questions at bay.
Years of practicing this face—and this guy didn’t seem to notice.
“We met here at the library a few weeks ago,” he said. “I was…I’m a cop. I was wearing my uniform. My name is Grant.”
I glanced down at his red shirt. The black shorts. Under his arm was a stack of books.
“Right,” I said. He’d knocked on the window and asked if I was all right while I’d been having my freak-out. “Good to see you again, Grant. I’m…ah, I’m Annie.”
“Good to see you too, Annie,” he said. God, he was like a golden retriever. All bright eyes and wagging tail. “You have something good?”
“Pardon?”
“Books.” He pointed at the stack of books cradled against my chest. “I come in every week. I’m like a library frequent flyer.” He flipped his books around to show me. The one on top was the next one in the series of the thriller I’d just bought on sale.
“Hey, look at that,” he said, noticing the same thing. Really, he was very…smiley. “It’s really good. You’re gonna love it.”
“Thanks. I read one of his earlier ones a long time ago.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the aliens and the hotel.”
“Oh, God, I loved that one. With the kid…”
“And the drawings. Yeah.” The smile came before I could stop it and he grabbed hold of it with both hands.
“You know, if you’re not busy, it’s my day off and I can drop these off and we could go get lunch.”
“It’s ten a.m.”
“Breakfast, then. Coffee?”
A date. He was asking me out on a date.
I’d never been on a date.
Not in high school. Not when Hoyt was…God, I have no idea what you’d call those six months before he proposed, but you couldn’t call it courting. Softening me up, maybe, for the horrors to come?