Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
“Ms. Phipps?” a woman’s deep, mature voice greets me over the phone Saturday morning. “What can I do for you?”
“Yes, hello, Mrs. Vanderpool.” I sit up. Her assistant left me hanging so long, I almost forgot who I was waiting for. “Thank you for taking my call.”
“It’s Richards now—Mimi Richards. I’m reverting to my maiden name.”
“Oh, okay . . .” Congratulations doesn’t seem like the right sentiment, but I jot the name amid the notes on my kitchen counter. “I was just calling to check in now that the article’s in print.”
“That’s kind of you,” she says distractedly. “I believe I sent an email expressing my gratitude.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat, hoping my speech doesn’t warble with the pulse pounding in my throat. “I received that, thank you. I wanted to see how you’re doing. Things must be kind of intense right now.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she says, startling me with a cackle. “Colin has endured so much fallout the last few days, I’ve had to make popcorn.”
“Oh—” I try to echo the levity in her voice. “But . . . you’ve been all right?”
She snorts. “Better than I’ve been in years.”
Keep that pretty nose where it belongs.
“Well, that’s great to hear.” I clear my throat again, genuinely relieved she hasn’t had to deal with the kinds of messages I’ve received. But something about her tone makes me pause. “If you don’t mind, I have one follow-up question I’d like to ask.”
“For another feature?”
“Not exactly. I’m just hoping to clear up some confusion.”
She hums. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t consent to another interview. Anything I say now stays completely off record.”
“Uh . . . of course.” I straighten on my stool, trying to rein in my surprise. “This will be between us.”
“Good,” she says, voice clipped. “What would you like to know?”
I take a breath, no longer confident I can navigate this conversation. “Well, this week after the feature came out, I learned your husband had a partner working with him on Unmatched.”
She doesn’t immediately respond, so I continue.
“I have to admit, I was confused,” I say carefully. “Did you know Colin had a business partner when we met for our interview?”
She sighs. “Honestly? Yes. I just didn’t really care.”
My chest flares at her words, but I keep my voice even. “I might have written the feature differently if I’d had that information, ma’am.”
“Your article was perfect,” she says. “Everyone knows the truth now. I’ve been offered nothing but sympathy since I filed for divorce.”
“Sounds like you got exactly what you wanted,” I say, trying to force a smile onto my face.
“Is there something else I can help you with, Ms. Phipps?”
Rufus’s muzzle slides into my lap. Usually when he does this, I’m quick to push him away. But I take a moment to stroke his ears as I gather myself. “Yes. I have some real concerns about Mr. Vanderpool’s business partners. Do you have any idea who they might be?”
She’s quiet for so long, I pull the phone away from my ear to ensure we weren’t disconnected.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Mrs. Vander—”
“Richards,” she corrects. “Sorry, I have no further information, and I have to run. Thank you for your efforts, Ms. Phipps. Please don’t contact me again.”
After my first phone call gets me absolutely nowhere, I circle the question I wrote down after my meeting with Randall: Is there something else going on with Unmatched? Then I pour myself another cup of coffee and change my approach.
“Denver County Sheriff’s Office, this is Maya.”
“Hey Deputy, it’s Caprice at Mile High Observer.”
“Caprice! I haven’t seen you at spin class lately. Did you switch gyms?”
I cut my eyes to Rufus, curled up on the wreck of my couch. “No, I’ve just been tied up with some stuff. I’m hoping to get back in the rhythm soon.”
“I totally get that. What can I help you with today?”
“Actually, I was just thinking about a conversation we had last fall,” I say, flipping my notebook to a fresh page. “I think it was right after the Boulder Marathon. You were telling me about some jerk drugging women he met on dating apps?”
Maya snarls. “Oh, I definitely remember that. Pretty sure that dirtbag’s case is still pending trial.”
“Could I request copies of the police reports on him?”
“It would be my pleasure,” she says, tapping at a keyboard in the background. “But didn’t Denver Editorial already run a big story about that?”
“Yep. I’m not really interested in him specifically,” I say, scanning my notes. “I’m taking a closer look at the dating apps themselves. Has the sheriff’s office had to deal with them directly at all?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She scoffs. “Which is one reason I personally won’t use any of them.”
I straighten in my chair. “Care to tell me more?”
Maya hums into the phone. “They’re like a haven for predators.
The guys sign up, make a charming profile to lure their victims. And once they get what they want, they delete the whole thing and start over.
I followed up with one victim who reported a man she met on Ignite.
He’d drugged and assaulted her, then created a new profile two days later.
When she contacted the company to flag him, they never even replied to her.
They just deleted his original account—and hers.
So she couldn’t even access their chat history, which she needed for evidence. ”
“What? After he assaulted her? Is that even legal?”
“People sign liability agreements when they use these apps.” She sniffs. “And the companies make money no matter what happens.”
I pick my jaw off the floor and sit on that a minute. “Any chance that victim would be willing to speak with me, Maya?”
“Maybe.” She pauses. “But I can’t give you her info.”
“Right, of course.” I rub my hand over my face. “Can I request the report for that case too?”
“It’ll be redacted, but sure. I guarantee, though, if you ask around, you’ll find plenty of people just like her.”
I am so antsy to run by midday, Rufus almost can’t keep up on our way to the park.
It’s the weekend and crowded when we get there, of course.
But we fall in with the other joggers along the gravel path, running intermittent sprints around both lakes and the fire station on the north end of the green space.
I do jumping lunges the last half mile until my thighs feel like they’re going to scream and fall off.
After a brief stop at a drinking fountain for both of us, Rufus sacks out in the grass to watch me stretch.
I must’ve sent twenty emails this morning.
I reached out to every contact I had from the original Unmatched feature.
Every jilted wife and girlfriend, every person who’d even claimed to have a connection to the dating site.
This included Marisol Lopez, a friend of Lydia’s whose marriage did not survive after my first article went to print.
She was very helpful the first time around, but has been frosty ever since.
I’m staring at the sky, debating between walking the dog to Lydia’s to drag her out for coffee or heading home to do some upper body lifting, when a strange number rings on my phone.
These days, unknown callers tend to put me on guard, but I always have one very good reason to answer rather than let them go to voicemail.
“Bruh.”
“Reece! You are not going to believe the weather we’re having here.”
This is a joke. Since Theo can never even hint at his actual location, he makes shit up every time he calls.
“Let me guess. You’re sipping a cocktail on a beautiful white sand beach, it’s ninety degrees, the waves are gentle, and a gorgeous girl in a grass skirt is waving a palm frond over your body to keep you cool.”
“You ever consider a side hustle as a psychic?”
I snort.
“Good. Cause I’m legit down in a shelter riding out a category four hurricane.”
“Oh, hey, Hollywood called,” I deadpan. “They said to keep your day job.”
He snickers. “Just checking in—I only have a few minutes.”
This is also bullshit. Theo never calls without a reason. But I play along.
“Not much to report here. Except next time you want to crash, you’ll be sleeping on my floor, courtesy of the patriarchy’s best friend.”
“So, you and Rufus are warming up to each other?”
I glance at the dog rolling in the grass by my feet. “No comment.”
But then the air shifts ever so slightly over the line, or the satellite, or whatever.
“Listen, sis, I just had to call because I read a fascinating article about this rich lady in Denver who outed her husband for being a total cheating douchebag.”
And . . . there it is. I sit up in the grass, looping Rufus’s leash around my wrist and adjusting my earbuds. “Sounds like quality reporting.”
“It was excellent. I only have mild concerns about the author’s sanity.”
I let out a slow breath and drop the pretense. “I think we’ve hashed this out before? You literally chase down bad guys with guns for a living, and I . . . write words. Whose mental health do we question?”
“Have you looked at the comments section? What the fuck are you doing?”
I close my eyes. “I don’t know, trying to live my life. Have a career.”
Failing at both?
“What’s the stalker situation?”
I pull myself to my feet and Rufus jumps up, taking his position at my flank. “With all due respect, Theo, you’ve got to let me handle this. You can’t micromanage my safety from wherever the fuck you are on the other side of the world.”
The line is quiet for so long, I’m afraid the call might’ve dropped.
“I already lost my best friend, Caprice,” he finally says. “If something happens to you . . .”
It’s difficult to breathe with the lump swelling in my throat.
“What Kyle did wasn’t your fault, Theo. He wasn’t your responsibility. And neither am I.”
Something cold touches my palm, and I look down to see Rufus gazing up at me like a soldier reporting for duty.
“Besides. I literally can’t go anywhere without this nutso dog. He comes to work with me every day. I can’t even leave him alone in my apartment.”
Theo makes a sound in his throat. “You take him everywhere?”
“Um, he won’t even let me close the door to pee.”
“So you’re keeping him, then.”
He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but I stare at Rufus, wondering. Thinking about Kyle.
I’m just trying to protect you.
Problem is, I never figured out what he was protecting me from.
“Maybe.” I rub the soft part of Rufus’s ear, my voice cracking. “I’m thinking about it.”