Aidan’s apartment was as bad inside as the outside foretold. A single room with a tiny kitchenette, it was shabby to the point of being squalid. But he took my coat like a gentleman. A coffeemaker perked cheerily on the kitchen counter.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “This apartment is a dump. The thing is, I don’t spend much time here. It’s just a place to crash. I got all my money tied up in investments.”
Investments? Right. Like I believed that.
“That’s smart,” I said. “And the apartment’s fine.”
The coffeemaker beeped. Aidan poured me a cup. I cradled it in my hands for warmth, then sipped carefully. The coffee was hot and strong, and my fingers began to defrost. Aidan rummaged in a closet and pulled out a fresh towel, which he draped around my shoulders. It smelled surprisingly clean. I put the coffee down and dried my hair.
“You look like a drowned rat,” he said, affection in his voice.
I hadn’t entirely forgotten his behavior in the cave. But if he continued to take care of me like this, I might be willing to forgive it, or at least view it as an anomaly.
“I feel like one,” I said. “Listen, thanks for the coffee, but I really need to go. I’m having dinner with my daughter tonight, and I need to see a lawyer first.”
I wasn’t making phony excuses. Hannah hadn’t invited me to her dinner with Jason, but I had every intention of showing up anyway, with legal papers in my hand if I could swing it. Jason was planning to flee the country with my money. If I had any hope of stopping him, I needed to act fast. I didn’t have time to get to that lawyer I’d canceled the appointment with in the city. But there was another lawyer on Lynn’s list whose office was much closer, in Port Jefferson, not far from Hannah’s school. I’d call and beg for an appointment and see if I could get papers drawn up quickly. I knew where Jason was going to be tonight—having dinner with our daughter at a restaurant near Stony Brook, where she went to school. I could track both their phones to get the exact location. From the sound of it, I’d better hurry, before he got on that plane to Mexico.
“Okay, I have to be at work, anyways,” Aidan said. “But the thing is, my car’s still in the lot at the Red Anchor.”
“I can drop you there on my way,” I said, feeling suddenly generous.
I’d insist on being in the driver’s seat, of course. And when we got to the Red Anchor, he was damn well getting out.
“Yeah, all right. Let me take a quick shower and change.”
He opened a door across from the bed, revealing a minuscule bathroom.
“You’re welcome to join me,” he said, smiling over his shoulder.
In that pokey shower? We’d never fit. I kept my expression neutral and said nothing, and he looked disappointed. He let the door swing shut behind him. I heard the shower turn on.
While Aidan showered, I took the opportunity to make the rounds of the small room and examine his things. Given the circumstances, snooping felt urgent and necessary, like a matter of self-defense. I wanted to reclaim my car keys, to make sure he didn’t pull a fast one again and drive me where he liked.
On the narrow single bed, Aidan had laid out a fresh set of clothes, his bartending uniform for the night presumably. Jeans and a deep-green flannel shirt. That color will look nice with his eyes, I found myself thinking as I rifled through his pockets. Hmm, no keys. They weren’t on the bedside table, which held a rickety lamp and an ancient clock radio, along with Aidan’s wallet.
The wallet caught my eye. Here was an opportunity to do some investigating of the man I’d just spent the night with. Better late than never. The bathroom door was firmly shut, and the sound of running water came from behind it. My breath quickening, I picked up the wallet. It was thin and light—for a reason, it turned out. Inside, I found only a driver’s license, a debit card from the local bank, and seventeen dollars in cash. Investments. Right. This guy didn’t have two dimes to rub together. But that didn’t surprise me, nor did it tell me anything about Aidan that I didn’t already know. I looked at his driver’s license. Aidan had the same August birthday as my mother. He was twenty-seven—sixteen years younger than me.
I turned the wallet inside out, poking my finger into an interior slot until I hit cardboard. I worked the items out and examined them. A loyalty card from a pizza place in town with four holes punched in it. A faded photo of a middle-aged man who, from his resemblance to the police chief and to Aidan himself, was probably Aidan’s father. I turned it over. On the back, an inscription in boxy handwriting read simply, “Love, Dad.” There was a school photo of a pretty, dark-haired teenager in the fashion of ten years past; nothing written on the back of that one. And one business card. STEVEN M. FIGUEROA, it said. SUFFOLK COUNTY DEPARTMENT OF PROBATION.
Aidan had a probation officer.
Shit.
The water stopped. He was done showering. I took my phone from my pocket and snapped a picture of the card, then replaced it as fast as I could and put the wallet back where I’d found it. I still hadn’t found the car keys. My eyes darted around the room. Aidan’s coat hung on a hook by the front door. Of course: My keys were in his coat pocket. I started to cross to it, but something shiny caught my gaze. The drawer of the bedside table sat slightly ajar, a silver gleam emanating from inside. I pulled the drawer open, cringing at its loud squeak. Luckily the water from the sink had gone on at that moment, drowning out my snooping.
I eased the drawer all the way open, and my breath caught in my throat. The shine wasn’t coming from my car keys. A gun stared back at me—big, silver, angular, deadly-looking. I picked it up, and it was heavy in my hand. I turned it this way and that, holding it up to the light from the window, careful not to touch the trigger or point it at myself. Was it loaded? I was no expert. There was clearly a—a what do you call it?—a clip, in the handle, that could be removed, but I was afraid to take it out to check.
The water stopped. Blood pounding in my ears, I shoved the gun in the drawer and eased it closed, holding my breath for fear that I’d give myself away.
But the bathroom door stayed shut. I went over and searched the pockets of Aidan’s coat, breathing a sigh of deep relief as I pulled out my keys. When Aidan emerged from the bathroom a moment later, a towel cinched around his narrow waist, I had my coat on, my keys in hand, and I was ready to bolt out the door at the first sign of trouble.
“You’re in a hurry,” he said, and he didn’t look pleased.
He stood by the bedside table, inches from the gun. If he reached for it, I would run.
“Yes, I’ve been saying that. I’m meeting my daughter. Remember?” I said.
“Right.”
He seemed angry with me, but he didn’t say anything more. He dropped the towel and reached for his jeans. Despite my best intentions, I watched. Even now, with my deepening doubts about him, I couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous.
“Let’s go,” he said.
A few minutes later, I was driving him to work like everything was normal. We rode in comfortable silence like old acquaintances, friends even. Or like an older woman whose one-night stand with a younger guy was coming to a close, and they were both fine with it. We’d had our fun. It was over. Nobody was upset.
I worried it wouldn’t last.