“You’ve reached Detective Lieutenant Schuster. I’m currently leading a training session and will have limited access to email and messages. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911. If this is a pressing matter, please call my assistant, Sheila, at…”
Bex held the phone to her ear, wondering if she should take down Sheila’s number or dial 911. Connecting with someone who might be masquerading as her father wasn’t an emergency. Was it even pressing?
She hung up before the message tone signaled.
? ? ?
The ride out to the mall in Nag’s Head was quick, and with Laney driving and Chelsea cranking up the stereo, Bex was able to let go and sink into the Outer Banks sun streaming through the open car windows—almost. Each time traffic slowed and they pulled alongside another car, she found her eyes cutting to the driver. The rest of the time, she was eyeing the passengers in the cars around her, wondering if maybe he was in one of them, having stolen his way out of Raleigh, and was now doing his best to blend into the last remnants of beachgoers and tourists in the beach town. It wouldn’t be hard, Bex reasoned, as she eyed a box-shaped SUV with tinted windows, the driver wearing dark sunglasses and a low-pulled East Carolina hat.
“Are you going to get a dress, Bex? You should get a dress. Something with sequins or something.”
Bex’s eyebrows rose. “We’re still talking about what we’re wearing to the game tonight, right?”
Chelsea sighed. “Yeah…but Trevor loves you. He’s so into you! And that’s so romantic.” She growled at her phone. “I need my new boyfriend to be romantic!”
“You have a new boyfriend?” Bex asked.
“She wishes,” Laney said. “She got some dude’s number at the coffee place and is all whipped.”
“I’m not whipped. If he would text me, then I could be whipped. Anyway, dress. No chick looks sexy in a football jersey.”
“I’m pretty sure Bex wasn’t planning on wearing an actual football uniform to the game.” Laney caught Bex’s eyes in the rearview mirror, then rolled hers. “And because Trevor loves her, that’s all the more reason she should totally be herself and dress like herself. If she showed up in an evening gown, Chels, Trevor wouldn’t even know who she was!”
Chelsea and Laney laughed and Bex wanted to. But all she could think about was the fact that Trevor wasn’t really into her at all. He was into Bex Andrews, and with each thought of the Wife Collector fan forum, with each memory of her father, with each callback from Detective Schuster, it was becoming more and more obvious that she was and would always be Beth Anne Reimer. There was no Bex Andrews.
The mall was packed, but Laney seemed to find the last spot in the parking garage. They got coffees and people watched, then Chelsea yanked Bex by the arm to a store displaying a series of funky shirts that just happened to be in the Kill Devil Hills High colors.
“These are amazing, right? You’ll look incredible but also not like you’re trying too hard.”
Laney rolled her eyes.
“Try this one. And this one.”
Bex did as she was told, throwing an impromptu fashion show, feeling better and lighter as Chelsea tried on a half dozen dresses that made her look like a Las Vegas lounge singer and Laney clomped around in a pair of hot-pink, sky-high stilettos.
“I never really thought I was a stiletto person, but I’m kind of digging these,” she said, crossing the store with an awkward walk. “Seriously.”
“They cost more than your house. So you’re getting that, right, Bex?” Chelsea wanted to know.
“Yes.” Bex rifled through her purse. “Crap. My wallet. It probably fell out in the car.”
“No worries,” Chelsea said, picking a credit card from her wallet. “You can pay me back.”
Bex bit her lip. “Thanks, but I feel weird without my wallet. I’m just going to run back to the car. I’m sure it’s there. Five minutes.”
Laney tossed Bex her keys and Bex zipped out of the shop, making a beeline for their third-floor parking space. The air was hot and still, the parking garage eerily silent after the dramatic din of mall voices and canned music.
A man stepped out of a car just across the aisle from Bex and locked eyes with her. Her hackles went up, tension shooting up her spine like a live wire. The man slammed his car door and locked it, then slipped into the mall without looking back.
Bex pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have to stop freaking out.”
A couple rolled down the aisle in a dark sedan, slowing as they got close to Bex. Her heart started to thud, and she could feel the lactic acid slipping through her muscles, tight and taut, waiting for flight.
The car stopped, the passenger-side window rolling down. Bex’s heart thudded in her ears.
“’Scuse me. You leaving?”
Bex stared at the keys in her hand, then back at the woman whose lips were pursed impatiently, one brow cocked.
“Well?”
“Uh, no, sorry. Not leaving.”