“Don’t be stupid,” he answered.
And he hung up.
Meg stared at the phone in disbelief. How could Gen’s husband be so cold? She thought back to what the policeman had asked her. Is it an amicable divorce?
Lord. Thad wouldn’t do anything to Gen. That was stupid.
She shook the thoughts out of her head and took a shower.
She had skipped the entire first day of her convention because this was so much more important. She felt like if she left the room, something terrible might happen to Genevieve. It was illogical, but her mind was past logic at this point. She couldn’t imagine carrying on business as usual until Gen came back. The convention was just not that important.
She paced, and paced some more. Maybe Gen ran away. Maybe the divorce overwhelmed her all at once, and she’d snapped and just run away from it all.
But that train of thought didn’t last long.
Gen wasn’t that kind of person. She never ran away. She confronted everything head-on. Plus, Gen would never purposely worry her this way.
By the evening, when she hadn’t heard anything yet, she finally called their mother.
It wasn’t an easy phone call to make.
“I don’t understand what is happening,” her mother said. “You sent that picture last night. She was so happy. You girls were drunk. She probably got lost.”
“Mom, I think something might’ve happened,” Meg told her carefully. “This is New York City. It never sleeps, and crime never stops. I don’t know...”
“Don’t even say something like that,” her mother snapped. “She’s fine. I know she’s fine.”
After promising to call when there was any news, Meg hung up. Her arm was limp. Her mind was fuzzy. She collapsed onto the bed, staring at the window. The emotional roller coaster of today hit her in a wave, exhausting her. All of the adrenaline spikes and panic collapsed upon her now.
She didn’t even realize that she had fallen asleep until she woke up with a start.
It was dark.
She sat up, and looked around, finding the clock. It was 11:57 p.m.
She grabbed her phone, only to find zero messages.
She rushed through the suite, checking for Gen.
But her sister’s bed was unrumpled and the rooms were empty. She hadn’t returned, and it had now been twenty-four hours.
Meg decided not to call the police again—instead, she went downstairs and hopped into a taxi and went to the station in person.
“I’m here to file a missing-person report,” she told the person at the front desk.
She had to wait for over an hour for a detective to call for her.
“Detective Nate Hawkins,” he said as he shook her hand curtly and led her back to his office.
He was around her age, had two-day-old dark scruff on his jawline and eyes that had seen it all. He was unfazed as she answered his questions. What hotel are you staying at? Why are you here? Has she ever run away from loved ones before?
But then...then...his questions took a strange turn.
“Had you and Genevieve argued?” he asked, his blue eyes staring a hole in her.
She stared. “Um. No. We’d been to dinner.”
“You said you were talking about her divorce,” he corrected, glancing at his notes. “On the balcony.”
“Well, yes. Afterward. We’d just come back from dinner.”
“Were you angry with your sister?” His question was direct.
“Of course not!” she replied indignantly. “I love her. We were having fun. We were tipsy. Drunk, actually.”
“But you said that she was planning on leaving Chicago, and you clearly don’t agree with that decision.”
“That has nothing to do with this. I mentioned that as an aside. It’s irrelevant.”
“Never assume something is irrelevant,” he advised her. “In a situation like this one, any detail could be important.”
“Well, here’s a good detail: She’s my sister, and I love her. I want you to find her.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, almost soothingly. “Listen, Miss McCready...”
“Dr. McCready,” she corrected him haughtily.
“Dr. McCready,” he confirmed. “We have to cover all the bases, and I’m sorry if my questions offend you. But here are two very blunt and very important facts about missing-person cases that I want you to know. The first forty-eight hours are crucial.”
“I know!” she snapped. “And you made me wait a full twenty-four to file this report.”
“And second,” he continued, ignoring her, “is that in a high percentage of cases, someone the victim knows is involved.”
She froze as she processed his words, and her mouth closed, as though it were on a hinge. He’d just referred to her sister as the victim. It suddenly seemed all too real. She stared at him without speaking.
His next words chilled her to the bone.
“You were the last to see her.”
4
Gen, Then
Gen picked up her wineglass, and drew a long sip over her lips, glancing at the clock.
Thad was late yet again. A pit had formed in her belly over a week ago when she’d realized it was becoming a pattern.
In the earlier days of their marriage, he’d been late every once in a while. But he’d always called, was always apologetic.
Now there was no such thing. No calls, no apologies. He didn’t even seem to care.
She swigged the wine and then poured another glass.
Their wedding portrait mocked her from the mantel. She squinted at it, at the happy smile on her face. Was that all a lie? Thad looked happy, too. He had his arm draped around her, his eyes crinkled as he laughed, and he’d pushed a tendril of her hair away from her face.
He had loved her then.
What the hell had happened?
Gen got up and paced around the condo.
She hated this condo, but she’d conceded on just about everything. She just wanted Thad to seem himself again, and tan wall colors didn’t seem a high price to pay.
But they hadn’t worked.
Nothing had.
And here she was, pacing around her condo at 10:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night, waiting for her husband.
Her stocking feet slid with ease on the stone, making her skin cold.
As cold as my heart is becoming, she thought sardonically. Thad was making her into a bitch. She felt it, more and more each day, and she resented it with all of her being. It wasn’t fair. He was out doing whatever he wanted to do, and she was stuck here, growing suspicious and bitter.