Liam Elliott went out of his way to the gas station on the highway east of downtown. The price per gallon was not less than anywhere else. The pumps were not more modern, and access was not easier. It was the opposite direction out of town from where he lived.
But from this station Liam could see the square brick building of eight apartments where Jessica lived on the third floor in the front unit.
They hadn’t spoken in twenty-four hours, not since he dropped Jessica off at her building the previous evening. She hadn’t called him, and Liam hadn’t reached out to her. He didn’t know what to say.
I’m sorry I disappointed you. Again.
If you think we should get married in April, we’ll get married in April.
I think there’s something you’re not telling me.
I know there’s something I’m not telling you.
I don’t want to believe it, but I think I have to.
Give me a little more time, and we’ll have a great life together.
All day long, Liam had turned the options over in his mind. Some of them rang more true than others, but all of them asked for compromise. Or downright deceit.
Liam wasn’t opposed to compromise. One slippery millimeter at a time, compromise was what got him in this predicament in the first place. The world ran on compromise, it seemed to him. How would people, much less nations, ever get along without give-and-take? But in his current circumstances, Liam would have liked his options to be a little more clear-cut. His brother, Cooper, worked in law enforcement and believed in rules and boundaries. Their cousin, Dani, was a free spirit who didn’t care what people thought about how she lived. Liam was squished somewhere in between, like the third child sitting in the middle of the backseat in a car. No one ever chose to be in the middle. They just got stuck there.
Liam swung around the gas station lot so he could park with the nose of his blue sedan aimed at Jessica’s building. A light went on in the corner of the third floor. Jessica’s bedroom. She never went to bed this early. Liam could still call her, still drive across the street and take the elevator up to her floor. He could still be abject, still tell her what she wanted to hear. They could still set a date and move toward their wedding.
If only the stakes were not so high this time.
He got out of the car and pulled a credit card from his wallet. Forcing himself to look away from Jessica’s building, Liam slid the card into the pay-at-the-pump slot and picked up the nozzle for regular unleaded gasoline.
“Hello, Liam.”
His head snapped up and he stared into the eyes of Mayor Sylvia Alexander as she filled her tank next to his. “Good evening.”
“It’s not often I see both Elliott brothers in one evening,” Sylvia said.
“I hope Cooper’s behaving himself.” Liam opened his tank and inserted the nozzle. He smiled. Liam knew the mayor preferred Cooper, but he would play along with her friendliness if for no other reason than the meeting he had scheduled with her in a couple of weeks.
Of course, he could be on his way to prison by then. Cooper would probably be the one to come and arrest him. Liam squeezed the nozzle with one hand while he felt for Jack Parker’s business card with the other.
“Any word on Quinn?” Liam said. Two days ago Quinn seemed like Liam’s last hope, but that was before Liam found the missing pieces of his puzzle.
“No, but I remain optimistic,” Sylvia said. “We’ll find him and he’ll have an explanation.”
If Quinn had an explanation for what he’d done, he’d be ten steps ahead of Liam, whose only way out—possibly—was to point a finger in a direction that made his gut twist just thinking about it.
The mayor’s nozzle shut off, and she replaced it in its cradle on the pump. “I guess I’ll call it a night.”
Liam nodded. “Let’s hope for good news tomorrow.” He certainly needed some.
While his tank filled, rather than look at Jessica’s building Liam watched the numbers on the digital display flip. Maybe tomorrow he would know what to say to her. He drove back through downtown and west to the complex of apartments where he lived. With the strap of his briefcase hanging off one shoulder, Liam turned the key in the lock. He had everything from his desk at the office in that bulging, soft-sided leather computer bag. He wasn’t letting the incriminating papers out of his sight. Someone in the corporate office might still trace the electronic trail, but Liam saw no point in making the job easier.
As Liam flipped on the light switch next to the door, his foot scuffed against something on the floor. He squatted to pick up a nine-by-twelve-inch manila envelope and turned it in every direction.
He found no mark. The flap was sealed. Supposing it to be a communication from the building owner to the tenants, Liam tore off the top edge and slid out the single page of contents.
Centered neatly on the sheet of ordinary white copy paper, the message was simple.
I know. For a price, I’ll help you.
Breakfast in Birch Bend at seven.
You know the place. Don’t be late.