Page 92 of Every Step She Takes
Part of me leaps at his response, calling it perfectly reasonable. Whether he’s PCTracy or it’s an employee, the guy was aiding and abetting a fugitive. Thompson’s hesitation makes sense.
Or it would if PCTracy hadn’t asked multiple times for a face-to-face meeting.
“I understand,” I say. “But I’m sure you understand, too, that under the circumstances, I need a guarantee that I’m speaking to the right person.”
His brows knit. Again, it’s a fleeting reaction, smoothed out in a blink before he says, “You think I’m PCTracy?”
“No, but I need confirmation that you know him.”
He eases back, smiling. “Well, of course I do. You wouldn’t be here, otherwise, correct?”
Does he just not know the name his investigator is using? Possibly, but I can see in his face that he has no clue what I’m talking about.WhoI’m talking about.
I take out my phone.
“We really should go upstairs to my office,” Thompson says.
I lift a finger and ping PCTracy.
PCTracy:Perfect timing. I have something for you.
LlamaGirl:I’m with Thompson.
PCTracy:You’re not in the hotel???
LlamaGirl:Daniel Thompson doesn’t seem to know who you are. Is there a reason for that?
PCTracy:Well, possibly because I don’t know who he is, either.
LlamaGirl:If you do, now isn’t the time to be cagey. Just confirm that you’re working with him.
PCTracy:I’m not.
It takes effort to turn off the app. Even more effort to hit the smallxand delete it. Part of me screams, “What are you doing?” The other part… The other part keeps remembering the man in the alley, the man in the park.
The man who knew where I was.
PCTracy admitted he knew where I was. That he could track me through the app.
The only reason I didn’t suspect this answer is that I was convinced PCTracy was linked to Thompson. Hell, the only reason I startedtalkingto PCTracy was that I thought he was connected to Thompson. He had to be, right?
No, he just had to be an investigator who tracked down my email address and reached out at a time when I was vulnerable, a time that happened to coincide with my interactions with a defense attorney. Then PCTracy mentioned he was an investigator who’d worked for defense attorneys, and I made the connection. A completely false connection.
“Ms. Callahan?” Thompson says.
Just hire him. Forget this PCTracy nonsense, and hire him. He’s a good lawyer. He–
He tricked me. Betrayed me. Any positive impression I had of Thompson’s skill came from working with PCTracy. Without that, Thompson is the same treacherous asshole I’d fled on Monday.
I’ve spent two days convinced that the man who was helping me worked for Thompson… was likely even Thompson himself.
He’s not.
“Sorry,” I say with a rueful smile. “I think I got my wires crossed. But it’s fine. I still need a lawyer, obviously. Let’s go chat in that private office.”
I hit the button for the eleventh floor. When the doors open, I plan to stay on and shut the doors behind him. Only he nudges me off first. We’re two paces away, and the elevator doors have just started to close when I do a wide-eyed “Oh, shit!” as if I dropped something. I dive back onto the elevator.
As the doors shut, he scrambles to catch them while I pretend to grab something from the floor. I shout, “Be right back!” and the doors close.
