Michael and Emily’s Building
Thursday, 6:30 a.m.
Having gone to sleep soon after eight, Michael woke very early the next morning. He also woke hungry, and although he thought it would be like Sophie to offer to make him breakfast, he suspected it was too early for that. She’d had a long day, and it was an hour earlier in her home time zone. He’d have to fend for himself, and he was completely out of Pop Tarts.
He was just coming down the stairs when the vestibule door opened and Sophie came inside, Beau trailing behind her. “Why, good morning!” she said, not quite managing to sound as perky as she seemed to be trying for.
He could understand the lack of perkiness. She was still wearing the dress she’d had on the night before, with a sweater over it. Her hair had come unpinned and hung haphazardly around her face, which was pale with dark circles under her eyes. He opened his mouth to ask where she’d been, but a warning voice in his head whispered Don’t ask, and he suddenly felt compelled to close his mouth.
She held up a white paper bag. “Doughnut?” she offered. “I know I shouldn’t, but I thought I deserved a treat.”
“I don’t suppose you have any coffee in there.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee. I was about to make some tea.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re welcome to join me.”
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic invitation he’d ever received, and tea was no substitute for coffee at this time of the morning, but he wanted to know what she’d been up to, so he said, “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”
She unlocked Emily’s door, ushered him inside, then unhooked and hung up Beau’s leash and stepped out of her shoes before heading into the apartment. She put the paper bag and a folded-up copy of that day’s Times on the tiny bistro table and went to the kitchen to make tea. Beau collapsed on the floor near the table, panting like he’d just run a marathon.
While the kettle boiled, Sophie took off her sweater and folded it carefully over the arm of the daybed, which either hadn’t been slept in or had already been made. Then she went back to the kitchen and brought plates to the table. When Michael couldn’t stand it any longer, he asked, “What were you doing out all night?”
She turned to face him. “Out all night? What makes you think that?”
“You’re still wearing the same clothes.”
She poured tea into mugs, brought them to the table, then sat across from him. “I’ve got glazed and jelly. Which do you prefer?”
He started to demand an answer to his earlier question, but he reminded himself that this wasn’t an interrogation and she didn’t actually owe him any answers. Besides, he’d likely get better results if he let her set the pace and didn’t make her feel pressured. “Glazed is fine,” he said, trying not to let his tension come through in his voice.
She put a doughnut on his plate, took one for herself, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of tea, then glanced at her watch. “I was barely out for two hours,” she said.
He studied her carefully, but his internal lie detector told him she wasn’t lying. Even so, being out two hours at this time of day wasn’t something to let slide. “Are you insane? The city’s a lot safer than it once was, but not a lot of good things happen before dawn.”
She gazed back at him, the blue eye looking wide and innocent while the gray one appeared shadowed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t in any danger.”
That was a lie. The needle on his mental polygraph shot straight up, going right off the paper. “Sophie! I’m serious. Do you realize that two women other than Emily and Jen who fit that same pattern have gone missing?”
She took another bite of doughnut and another sip of tea, then smiled at him. “But I don’t fit the pattern. I’m not nearly tall enough, and I’m not an actress.”
“We don’t know what the important parts of the pattern are, and until we know what’s going on, I don’t think you should be out wandering the streets at night or very early in the morning. We don’t need another missing person case.”
“Nobody’s trying to abduct me,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Lie, his mental polygraph said.
Wait a second, someone had tried to abduct her? He noticed then that she had red marks on one wrist, and there were faint scratches on her arms, hands, and face. She’d escaped, but it looked like it had taken some effort, and his instinct was to lock her up in protective custody.
She turned to the side in her chair and straightened her legs, pointing and flexing her feet and rotating her feet at the ankles. She also had a few scratches on her legs—legs that were solid muscle, he noted. “Besides,” she continued blithely, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny, “I have Beau to look after me, and he can defend me, can’t you, boy?”
Michael was about to remark on Beau’s unlikely abilities in that area when he realized she’d told the truth about that. Beau got up and flopped down next to her, and she rubbed his back with her bare toes. “Yes, you are a good boy,” she crooned. Beau looked up at Michael, and it seemed like the dog was smiling smugly at him. Michael glanced back at Sophie, who regarded him with the same steady gaze she’d given Tanaka the day before. He got the distinct feeling that she knew he knew she’d been lying, and she was daring him to challenge her.
It was a dare he couldn’t resist. “Then what did happen to you? I’d have thought a dancer would be graceful enough not to get this banged up on an early-morning doughnut run.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Let me guess, you ran into a door.”
“You should see what the door looks like.” There was a hint of something bloodthirsty in her thin smirk.
“So something did happen while you were out at oh-dark-thirty,” he said, fighting back a smug smile of his own. “You were set upon by an evil door that failed in its attempt to carry you back to its lair, and you taught it a valuable lesson about messing with ballerinas.”
“Yes, that about sums it up, though I did have help. Chivalry isn’t dead, after all, and this city isn’t as heartless as its reputation.” He took a moment of studying her face before he decided that she was telling the truth, though probably not all of it.
“Sophie,” he warned in a tone that was almost a growl. He looked straight at her until she was forced to make eye contact with him, and then they held each other’s gaze. He wasn’t sure how Tank had stood it for so long the day before, but he refused to blink, even though the direct stare from her odd eyes gave him chills.
She didn’t blink or look away, but she broke the silence first. “Okay, you’re right, it is dangerous out there at that time,” she said with a weary sigh. “But as I said, someone came to my rescue, and Beau defended me, and as you can see, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. Dancing Nutcracker is a lot more painful. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, waiting to see if she’d waver or give any sign she might be lying. She didn’t, and he looked away with great relief. He still wasn’t sure he really believed her, though. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but did it have anything to do with Emily—or Jen? He intended to find out.