Thea
The office building for Lifeline Laboratories, a medical research facility, is huge—four floors, and the size of a warehouse. The name and logo are familiar from the over-the-counter drugs I have in my home cabinet.
I blink, realizing it’s been almost an hour since I got lost in my head, and I’m no closer to remembering how I know this Henry guy.
I feel like I met him… talked to him. Anything beyond that feels like I’m trying to watch my life on a twenty-inch TV from across a basketball court.
I’ve tried hard not to think about the days I lost. I buried that fear so far down I couldn’t reach it because I had assumed I was innocent. Now?
Pierce hasn’t said it, but I know he suspects I played a part in this mess we are caught up in and Henry’s murder. For heaven’s sakes, Henry was dead in my room! Of course I had something to do with it. I probably killed him.
I’m a murderer.
My stomach pitches. I’m going to be sick.
“You stay here,” Pierce says, opening the driver’s side door.
“Oh no you don’t.” I leap out of the car. “I firmly believe I am safer beside you, so that is where I will stay. Consider yourself half of my Velcro sandwich.” I plant myself right next to him to prove my point.
“It might not be safe.”
“A hot car isn’t safe. Do you know how many pets die a year in hot cars?” If the heat didn’t kill me, the conflicting agony in my soul would. Being left alone is not an option.
Pierce drops his chin. “Fine. But remember, you’re still Mrs. Larsen. It’s the safest cover story.”
“You really like being fake married to me, don’t you?”
He lifts a shoulder and turns, heading for the building. “Easiest marriage I’ve ever been a part of.”
I nearly trip over the uneven parking surface. “Excuse me? Mr. Larsen, you were married?” I’m suddenly insanely jealous of a woman I don’t know.
He flinches but doesn’t stop walking, as if this news isn’t life-altering. “Right out of high school. Ended before it even began.”
“I have so many questions.” I have to run to keep pace with him. The man is determined to outrun his past one way or another.
“Keep them to yourself,” he mutters.
Usually, when I reach a point of breakthrough with a client, they end up willingly spilling every past secret, if only to understand themselves. But Pierce is not my client. He doesn’t want to be fixed, plus it would be a huge conflict of interest. Because I’m interested, I mean invested.
“A nerve hit. Got it. We’ll revisit the conversation later.” Though all I want to do is hyper-focus on this for the rest of forever until I get my answers. Did he get married to fill a void in his life brought on by his family? Did he do it out of spite or perceived love?
He stops, and I nearly run into him. “Try never.”
I roll my lips. “I’m pretty persistent.”
He looks down at me, a brow raised, measuring the space, or lack thereof, between us. “I’ve noticed.”
I lift a shoulder. “You’re rubber, I’m glue, babe. You’re stuck with me. I’m stuck with you.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Pierce says, opening the doors to the building like the gentleman he has never claimed to be. What woman could ever give him up?
Pierce talks to the receptionist at the front desk, making up some story about a meeting; I don’t pay attention.
This building reminds me of the place my dad used to work.
My mom and I would drop lunch off to him when I was a little girl.
He would bring me in after hours to watch him make fun chemical reactions and try to teach me the names of the elements.
It’s so similar I almost expect to see my dad come out of the elevator to greet me.
But he’s not here. This is a different place and a different time—one that no longer can bring me that vision.
“What’s wrong?” Pierce asks, returning to my side.
I blink once, twice. “Just caught up in a memory.”
“Do you recognize this place?” he asks.
“A place like it. My dad worked at a laboratory.” I allow him to lead me to the elevator, and he doesn’t ask questions while we ride.
The elevator slows, and Pierce turns to me. “I need you to distract the receptionist while I find Cooper’s desk and ask around.”
Right. Back to the mission. Pierce needs my help. He’s about to find out how valuable I am to have around.
The elevator opens, and I peer around him through the glass doors separating the elevator and the office space. A young man who appears to be days past puberty is manning the front desk. “How am I supposed to distract him?”
“How good are you at flirting?”
I’m more than a little offended he has to ask. “Obviously not as good as I thought.”
His lips twitch, his devilish dimple making a quick appearance. “Consider this an opportunity to practice.”
I jut out my chin. “Maybe I’ll fake marry him, too.”
“You’ll probably have to ask his mom first.”
“You’re the worst,” I hiss.
“Do you have a plan yet?”
“It’s been two seconds, and you know how well I improvise.”
He purses his lips. “I’m familiar with your stance on spanking, but this situation could get you arrested.”
“Oh shut up, and give me a second to think.”
“We don’t have a second.” Patience is not his strong suit.
“We literally do.”
He lets out a low, frustrated sound.
My brain comes up with the only action I know without a doubt I can sell. “I got it. Watch and learn.”
I throw open the door and stumble over the threshold.
My platform sandals take my ruse to the next level as my foot slides to the side of my shoe, and my ankle caves.
I go down on my knees hard, not gracefully as planned.
I see Pierce just out of sight beyond the door; his leg and hand twitch as he restrains himself from helping me.
I shoot him a thumbs up behind my back as the receptionist rushes toward me.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asks, crouching beside me and effectively making me feel ancient.
I catch a glimpse of Pierce disappearing around the half-wall to the cubicles.
“Actually, I think I may have twisted my ankle.” I make a face, and his brow furrows in concern, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.
“Let me help you to a chair.” He holds out a hand, and I take it. He’s strong despite his gangly limbs and manages to assist me without putting pressure on my completely fine ankle.
I fake a limp all the way to the small sofa in the waiting area, sneaking a peek at his name tag. James.
“I’ll get you some ice,” he says after helping me get settled. He may be barely older than a kid, but his mom raised him right. He rushes off somewhere behind the half-wall blocking the rest of the office from view.
I peek at my unswollen ankle. Pierce better be quick. I can only fake this for so long, and despite what I said, I’d rather not flirt with this kid.
“Here you are.” James runs back in, holding out an ice pack.
“Thank you so much.” I place the pack on my ankle, fighting the urge to take it right off as it burns my skin.
“Can I uh, assist you further? Who were you here to see?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, uncertainty his defining characteristic. I’m guessing he hasn’t worked here long.
“Oh, uh, an old friend, but I think I’ll take a minute to compose myself.” I rather dramatically flip my hair out of my face and brush my forehead. Then I wince, nearly crying out in pain because I forgot I have stitches there.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes alight with concern.
“Oh, I’m fine.” I wave him off. “It's just a flesh wound.”
He shifts his weight as if he’s about to leave me. Then he checks his watch and tugs at his tie.
“How long have you been working here?” I ask.
He blinks. “Two months.”
“Starting a new job is hard, especially at a place like this.” I wave my hand around the reception area. It’s small, not meant for visitors. The rest of the building and office suites are ostentatious. The people who work here are important, and their receptionists must be up to the task.
He blows out a breath, and then, in a move that shows just how young he is, sinks onto the couch next to me. “You can tell how stressed out I am, right?”
I tilt my head to the side. “I was going to say, still working on the confidence.”
He drops his head into his hands. “They’re killing me.”
I sit up straighter. Before this week, I never would have taken that phrase literally, but now… “Who?” I use my therapist voice. The voice that says, “You can trust me, I’m here to help.”
“Everyone. Alicia and the managers. Everyone is bent out of shape about something.” He slips his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt.
“They’re giving you a hard time?” I sympathize.
“They’re working on a new product, but they’re worried another company is going to beat them to the patent.”
“What’s the product?”
“Some medical drug,” he says, then leans closer. “I heard they don’t even have the correct formula yet.”
My skin prickles as a thought tries to come to my head, then bounces off as if there’s nothing but a brick wall up there. “What kind of drug?”
“I don’t know.”
I drum my fingers against my leg, considering how to keep him talking. “They’re under a lot of pressure. So they’re heaping it on you.”
“Exactly,” he says, exasperation lacing his words.
“My friend, Cooper, has been complaining about the same thing.” I watch his face to see if there’s a reaction to the name. When his expression remains blank, I pry a little deeper. “Do you know Cooper?”
He presses his lips to the side. “He’s the one always working late, but I don’t think he’s actually working.”
“What is he doing?”
“I don’t know. He’s always doing weird stuff on his computer.”
“That makes sense. He’s kind of a loner. And actually…” I lean closer to spill my secret. “I lied. He’s not my friend; he’s my ex.”
His face relaxes.
“I’m trying to get my apartment key back from him, but he won’t respond to my messages.”
His expression shifts to one of pity. “He’s not here. He’s at some conference in Dallas.”
I drop my chin, faking emotion as I cover my face. “Dallas. Where she is. I knew he was cheating on me. That’s why he never wanted me to come with him on his work trips.”