Page 88 of Every Step She Takes
I couldn’t even survive a night in Central Park without PCTracy’s intervention, and so I’ve been put in a pretty cage to rest while he investigates. I’ve provided nothing useful otherwise, just bumbling around, getting spotted by deli managers and attacked by strangers.
That’s how he sees it, and I’m not sure he’s wrong. In our first conversation, Thompson mocked the idea of me investigating even before I suggested doing so, and that’s left me hesitant. I’ve been tracking the online chatter, reading Isabella’s texts and trying to find clues, but I haven’t actually investigated anything.
I asked PCTracy yesterday to throw me a research bone, and he brushed me off.
Thompson made me feel silly for even thinking I could try some serious detective work, and so I’ve been muddling about, waiting for the police to realize they’re wrong or for PCTracy to solve the crime. The one real clue I’ve found – the existence of Isabella’s mystery lover – I haven’t shared. I’ve done nothing, really, except get myself attacked in an alley and a park.
That must stop. I need to get off my ass and take action.
Just as I think that, a message pops up.
PCTracy:Good morning! Or nearly afternoon. I hope you got a good sleep.
LlamaGirl:I did! Thank you! Please tell me I wasn’t supposed to check out at eleven.
PCTracy:LOL No. You’re booked for another night if you want it.
LlamaGirl:I want it. I really need the rest, and I’m just going to hole up for a bit longer if that’s okay.
PCTracy:Absolutely okay.
Of course it is. Just keep sending treats my way, and I’ll curl up on the king-sized bed with Netflix while you investigate.
I had wanted to ask his advice about Tiana. That urge has evaporated. I know what he’d say: just stay inside. Rest in your cage. Let me handle this.
I know what he’d say, and I know what I must do. Get off my ass and take action.
I continue messaging with PCTracy as I get ready. Then I sign off as I slip out the door.
I have a lunch engagement to keep.
As annoyed as I am about being stashed in that hotel room, I will admit that I needed the rest. I’m refreshed and clearheaded, and having not looked online today, nothing has happened to send me spiraling back into the memory quagmire. Thompson may have intended to only keep me safe while PCTracy investigated, but instead, he gave me what I needed to start moving forward with purpose.
I arrive at Tiana’s building just before noon. It’s in Brooklyn, and while it might have been a three-story residential walk-up once, it’s been converted into a row of three-level units. All bear discreet business signs.
I survey the building from across the road, which isn’t easy. In Manhattan, I’d grumbled about the crush of people and the endless skyscrapers. There’d been far fewer alleys and service lanes than a fugitive requires. At least, though, there’d been a sense of anonymity. Here I feel exposed.
I still map out an escape route.
Or you could just, you know, not walk into a potential trap.
Tiana might very well be luring me into a trap, but I need to either move forward or turn myself in. This is moving forward.
I march up and rap on the door from the address she gave me. It opens, and there is Tiana, dressed in a white linen shirt and black jeans. Seeing her, my eyes prickle. Ridiculous phrases spring to mind.
You’re all grown up.
You look amazing.
I’m so proud of you.
Instead, I say only, “Tiana,” with an abrupt nod.
She returns the nod, steps back into the room and shuts the door behind me. Without a word, she leads me upstairs. As we pass the second floor, I see a meeting room with whiteboards. The third level is another meeting room, this one with couches and a windowed view. In the middle, a catered lunch waits on a table.
Tiana waves me to a seat.
As I sit, I say, “If I don’t say that I’m sorry for your loss, it’s because it sounds like platitudes, and I’m the last person you want to hear those from. So I’ll only say that your mother was an incredible woman. She was the reason I took the job in the first place, and I never stopped admiring her.”
