Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 8

CRUTCH

Isn’t that enough?

Why do all her questions seem so loaded?

Am I making myself crazy by reading more into her words? I’m losing my sanity. Quickly. And the sad part is, I don’t even know if I want to save myself from it. Hell knows, I don’t deserve saving.

I toss the empty bottle into the recycling bin in the corner. “That’s enough.”

She scoots around in her seat, sitting straighter and grabbing an ink pen. “Your turn. Tell me what you see. Do you know these other people?”

Careful not to touch the pictures, I point. “That guy is Tyler. Holly,” I point to the girl next to Carrie, “was his on-again/off-again girlfriend. They were older than all of us, closer to Trey’s age. And the douchebag standing behind the couch is James. I knew him better than Tyler and Holly. He came over to Trash’s house more than they did.”

I study the images. “Just like you, I think Christina took the first five pictures. But I just don’t see her taking the last picture. No matter how high she was, I don’t think she would stand by and watch someone be sexually assaulted. She was already a mom, by then. She had kids, you know?” I look at Lulu for affirmation, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. “Either way, all the pictures were taken with her camera. Those letters, CAJ , after the date? Those are her initials. Christina Ann Janas.”

Her forehead wrinkles in thought. “You didn’t tell me that when you gave me the first picture.”

“You didn’t ask.”

She sits back, folding her arms across her chest. She’s not amused.

Tough crowd.

“Anyway, have you made copies of these pictures? I need to log them and get them over to a crime tech.”

“I don’t wanna use the state lab. The backlog is too heavy. I’ll pay for everything to go to a private lab.”

“We’ll have to get permission for that from the sheriff and the county prosecutor.”

She pulls her laptop in front of her, clicking around. “They responded to my request first thing this morning. You should have the paperwork on that approval by the end of the week.”

Who is this woman? My Lulu always loved to bust my balls. Now, she’s busting balls in a professional setting. It’s amazing, really.

She’s amazing.

And gorgeous. And sexy.

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat before my dick gets me into trouble. I pick up my discarded glove and wrap it around the palm of my hand, gently packing up the pictures and pregnancy test. “I’ll be back in just a minute. We can start going over the old case file when I get back.”

“What about the other evidence?”

“What about it?”

Her face softens for a moment. “You still have it, right? I mean, in evidence lock up? I’ve worked cases before where the evidence has randomly and inexplicably disappeared. That hasn’t happened with the stuff from Carrie’s car, right? I know it wasn’t much, but still.”

“Everything is safe. It’s right where it should be at the evidence warehouse. I promise.” I keep my mouth shut, not divulging more.

I know for a fact it’s safe. Because once a week, I drive down to that warehouse and check on it myself. But I won’t tell her that. How do I explain that to her? That I’ve thought about her so damn much over the years, that the only way I know how to express my concern is to watch over some receipts, soda cups, and a purse that belong to her missing, and presumed dead, sister.

As soon as I’m back in the conference room, we get to work, researching and discussing the day of Carrie’s disappearance and the first police report. It seems Lulu likes to take the same approach as me—look at the specific event in question, then dissect everything from the past that led up to the event, and then examine the aftermath. After working in chronological order, go back and review the evidence from the whole chain, segment by segment.

Eventually, my stomach starts to growl and muscles ache from sitting. I flip over my phone, checking the time. “We need to break for lunch. It’s two p.m. already. I’m starving.” I press the phone to my ear, hitting the command to listen to a voicemail someone left me a bit ago.

She peeks at me beneath heavy eyelids, scanning me from top to bottom. She doesn’t think I’m paying attention. She thinks I’m listening to my phone. Well, I can do two things at once, and I nearly wet myself when she mumbles underneath her breath. “Looks far from it.”

Kill me now.

My Lulu just checked me out.

I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. But having her eyes on me? It makes me feel like a young schoolboy having his first crush.

I stand up, pocketing my phone and straightening my duty belt. “Let’s grab some lunch. Come on.”

“I’m fine. I’ll eat a protein bar.”

“A protein bar? You need something more than that.”

She stares at me. Hard. “I know what I need.”

“It’s food, Lulu. We’ve made it all day without breaking into a fist fight. I think we can survive a thirty-minute lunch.”

She’s about to say no. I know she is. But her stomach picks that precise moment to growl. Loudly. Her cheeks pink in embarrassment, but she pretends it doesn’t faze her. “Fine. Whatever.”

I hide my smile. No need to gloat over this small victory. I quickly lock the conference room door and we head out. It takes all of my effort not to guide her down the hall by placing my hand on the small of her back.

But I like my hand. And based on the way she stares at Tara when we walk through the reception area, Lulu would probably bite my fingers off one by one if I dared to touch her right now.

Fortunately, she lets me choose the restaurant. There are several downtown, around the station. That’s the problem, though. In the past, a late night of work meant a quick bite to eat at someplace close, which may or may not have resulted in a quickie hook-up a time or two. I diplomatically choose a restaurant where I haven’t banged any of the waitresses. Well, at least that I know of. I also diplomatically choose a restaurant that has Philly cheesesteaks on the menu. They’re really good ones too. Greasy. Just the way she likes them.

Since we missed the lunch crowd, we don’t have to wait for a table. Lulu takes a few minutes to study the menu before the waiter comes to the table, setting glasses of ice water in front us.

“Can I get either of you something else to drink?”

We both shake our heads. “No, water’s fine,” I answer.

The kid grabs a pen and notepad from his apron. “Will this be on one ticket or two?”

Lulu and I speak at the exact same time with me saying ‘one’ and her saying ‘two’. The waiter darts his eyes between the two of us, waiting for confirmation on how to proceed.

Her chin juts in the air and she leans forward, getting the server’s attention. “This is a business meal. Two tickets. No further discussion.” Taking the lead from her tone, he nods, and quickly asks what she’d like to order. She flicks her head in my direction. “You go first.”

“I’ll have the Philly cheesesteak. Add cheese to my fries.” I’ll be working my ass off later tonight in the gym, but it’s worth it just to see the look on her face.

“And you, ma’am?”

She holds the menu out in her hand. “I’ll have the grilled chicken Caesar salad.”

That little minx. I know she wants a cheesesteak. I know her like I know the back of my own hand.

Well, I used to know her.

This Lulu cusses and has one-night stands.

As soon as the waiter leaves, an uncomfortable silence engulfs us, swallowing us whole like Jonah inside of the whale. I unfold my napkin, laying it across my knee. “I haven’t given you my condolences yet, about your parents. I hate that you are going through that.”

She reads me, narrowing her eyes. “Were you at the funeral?”

I scrub my hand across my face. “I was there. Yes.”

“But you kept your distance?”

“I didn’t think you’d wanna see me.”

“How perceptive of you.”

I ignore that comment, even though it stings like hell. “What happened? Was something wrong with the plane?”

She takes a sip of water. “Dad only had his pilot’s license for about two years. The plane was part of a rental pool between him and some other guys. It was meticulously inspected on a regular basis. Nothing was wrong with it. It’s simple, he hit bad weather, should have turned around and modified his flight plan, but didn’t. Pilot error. He wasn’t equipped to handle something of that magnitude.”

“They were flying to Chicago for vacation? On New Year’s?” I ask.

She smirks in angered disbelief. “From what I gather, Mom caught him with a new mistress, and flying her to Chicago for a shopping trip was penance.”

“Lulu, that’s terrible.” I reach across the table, wanting to wrap my fingers around hers, but she quickly draws her hands onto her lap. Once again, it stings like hell. “I know you had a shitty childhood with them, but I still wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I was really hoping that you’d grow closer to them over the years, as you got older. Did you?”

What I mean is that I hoped she’d grow closer to them once I was out of the picture.

She straightens in her seat. “I saw my parents four times since the day I left this town. That’s it.”

What? Is she serious? I’ve seen my parents more than that. And they are both in jail right now. “Are you serious?” She tilts her head, not even gracing me with an answer. Of course, she’s serious. “Why?”

“Let’s just say we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left.”

When she left.

I may not have searched for information on Lulu, her family may not have talked to me about her, but you can’t live in this county and not know this about her.

“Yeah…” Don’t ask. I chant the mantra to myself, over and over and over. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Of course, I ask. “I heard that you got married right before leaving town?”

“Then, you obviously heard I got divorced too.”

I did.

Drops of sweat run down my back. “Hudson?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

I can’t even form a response. I do know the answer and it makes me want to projectile vomit. “So, how long have you and Hudson been divorced?”

She reaches around, rubbing the scar on the back of her neck. “This is really what you wanna talk about? You know most people talk about the weather or the news or sports when they are on a business lunch.”

“We’re not most people.”

She tosses her hands up. “Fine. This coming August—the very beginning of August— will be three years.”

I quickly do the math in my head. “So, you were married for nine years?”

“Yes, the judge signed our final divorce decree the day before our ninth anniversary.”

I click my tongue against my teeth. “So, you got married when you were eighteen? In August? After you graduated high school in May?”

What I really mean is you got married two-and-a-half months after I left you? The ink was barely dry on our break-up letter, and you married someone else. Someone you swore was just a friend. While I was off at MCRT, learning to defend our country, some other guy was sticking his cock inside of you, on your wedding night, on your honeymoon.

She’s rubbing her neck so hard she’s probably giving herself a rash. “Yep.”

The server’s voice catches us by surprise. “I have a salad for the lady and a cheesesteak for the man.”