Page 99 of Made for You
“You didn’t hear?” he says, holding up my Missouri driver’s license. I poke my glasses up the bridge of my nose, then fidget with my hair, stroking the long brown wig forward, but maybe that looks suspicious, so I tuck my hands between my legs to hold them still as he squints at the card, then at me. “There’s a Synth wanted for questioning in a murder.”
It’s not hard to feign alarm. “What?”
“That’s right, miss.” He’s still holding my ID.
“Wait—are you talking about that girl from The Proposal?” My chest is nearly bursting. Any second he’s going to realize that my hair looks fake and my glasses aren’t prescription.
“That’s the one. If you see her, please call 9-1-1.”
“But she seemed so sweet!” I make a distressed little intake of breath. “I thought they couldn’t hurt people! Do you really think she did it?”
“I really can’t say, ma’am. All I know is what they tell me.” Then he grins. Shifts his weight. “By the way...do we know each other?”
Oh God. My hands fly to my hair. Is the wig slipping? I laugh nervously. “I don’t think so?”
“I could’ve sworn. You look just like my high school girlfriend.” He pauses. “Are you okay? Your hair...”
“Fine!” I lower my hands immediately to the steering wheel. “Sorry, just itchy.”
“I’ve always liked long hair on a girl.”
“Thank you?”
“Are you in Indiana often?” He leans his arm on my car.
“I have a cousin in Tenderloin. So...pretty often?” I force two slow blinks. “Why?”
“Well...if you’re ever bored on a Saturday night, you and your cousin give me a call.” He passes me a dog-eared business card with the sheriff’s big star in the background and his mobile number across the bottom. “My aunt and uncle own the best restaurant in the area. Mamacita’s Italian. I can get us a free meal.”
“Aww. That’s so nice of you.” I put his card on the passenger seat. Give him a fake smile. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
“You be safe, now, Miss Paddington.” He grins so big his teeth literally glint in the sunlight. “Lily.”
And then he’s waving me forward, and winking, and I’m waving back, resisting the urge to punch the accelerator with all the strength of my adrenaline.
On the interstate, I force myself to go the speed limit, even though I want to go so much faster, just to shake what felt like a very close call.
There is a tiny feeling of triumph, that I fooled one of Mitchell’s men. Some perverse satisfaction that he was literally inches from me and let me go. I owe Christi big-time. But the triumph doesn’t last. Physically, I’m feeling on the brink, like I have to blink fast to keep hot cobwebs out of my eyes. I grab the last energy bar from my purse and rip into it with my teeth, just as a sign overhead for Bloomington tells me I’m fifty-five miles away.
Okay. I can’t make my ankle better or my fever go down, but I’ll be in Bloomington in under an hour, and I have to choose who I want to confront first: Andy or Eden. My best chance at getting the truth is to isolate one of them and turn that person against the other.
I’m pretty sure I’ve already figured out the truth: that Andy followed Josh to Belmont Ridge Saturday night to confront him. Maybe they argued first. Maybe Josh provoked Andy, or even took the first swing. Maybe killing my husband wasn’t premeditated on Andy’s part, or maybe it was. Either way, Andy killed my husband. But how to get proof? It has to be something so undeniable, not even Mitchell can ignore it.
Forty miles to Bloomington. I’m flying. Who do I target first? Andy or Eden? I wish my thoughts didn’t feel like sluggish fish in a warm pond.
Even though I was made to avenge Andy’s sister’s death, I can’t help but think Andy may still be in love with me. That means I’d have some amount of power when I confront him. But Andy is also angry, and I’ve learned something about angry men: they can turn on you even when they love you.
Eden might be a better choice. She loves my daughter, I know that. I also can’t imagine Eden physically attacking me.
In the end, it’s a toss-up. But with only thirty miles now to Bloomington, I can’t put off the decision any longer.
I grab my cell phone, my eyes flickering between the road and the screen as I compose a text.
Eden, it’s Julia. Please don’t tell Andy I’m contacting you. I’m 20 min from Bloomington. Where can we meet alone??
I hit Send.
In typical Eden fashion, three dots appear immediately.