Chapter Sixty-Two
At just past five, most of the staff of Find Them have cleared out for the day, and Jules sits in her office.
She’s proud of obtaining the funding today, proud that on this Death Day she’s in a much better place than over the past six years.
Still, she can’t help but feel discouraged.
There have been no new leads in Clare’s case, they appear no closer to finding him.
And the photos on the office’s crime walls haunt her every single day.
She’s considered removing them, but Lucy and Carrie and the team say they’re a reminder of what they’re working for.
She slides open the desk drawer, eyes the bottle of Macallan, a gift an old friend from modeling sent to celebrate the grand opening of Find Them.
She thinks about Gabe—the Greek statue of a man who was with her the night she punched that photographer in the face.
Italy seems like a lifetime ago. When they first met at the club, when he took her for tacos at the speakeasy.
It was Gabe who saved her career—who backed her up about what happened with the creepy photographer.
At first, everyone at the agency had been skeptical, asked her pointed questions, like she’d done something wrong.
But once Gabe weighed in, threatened to talk to the press if it wasn’t handled correctly, the matter was closed.
Select Modeling blacklisted Alastair Essex. He deserved so much worse.
Jules and Gabe had stayed in loose touch over the years—crossing paths at shows or industry parties—and remained flirty friends. He’s moved to Paris. Jules saw him last summer when she was in town for the John Galliano show at the Bagatelle Gardens.
“You’re sure?” Gabe asked. “You’re done? This is it?”
They strolled down the half-mile lane of vendors at the outdoor market in Gabe’s neighborhood in the 16th arrondissement.
“Yep,” Jules said. Modeling had run its course. She had enough money in the bank and thought it was time to do something more with her life than look pretty. She told him about her idea of opening a nonprofit.
“Good for you,” Gabe said, gazing at the colorful produce and spices and fresh meats and cheeses and flowers in the canvas-roofed stands.
Gabe took her hand in his. She didn’t know if this was the gesture of a friend or Gabe finally making his move after years of flirting.
She didn’t pull away.
A vendor called out to Gabe, said something in French. Gabe wagged a finger at the man, playfully scolding. The guy probably said something about Jules.
Gabe stopped at one of the stalls. Two older men were making what looked like a crepe, but different. The vendors greeted Gabe like an old friend. They weren’t speaking French, but she didn’t recognize the language.
Gabe surprised her and replied in the same language, seemed like he was instructing them on making two of the flatbread things, pointing at some herb-like spread. She watched as they put them under a contraption like a waffle iron, wrapped them in wax paper.
He took the two flatbreads from the vendor, handed one to Jules. “It’s called man’oushe. My mother is Lebanese and I grew up on these. Try it.”
She hesitated, an instinct her agency had drilled into her about eating, but then felt a wave of satisfaction that she’d never have to worry about indulging ever again.
They simultaneously took a bite and it was extraordinary.
But not as extraordinary as the sex that night.
Gabe had helped her reclaim her body, a step toward reclaiming herself. Along the way, she stopped drinking as much, didn’t refill the prescriptions for the pills. Though they both knew that theirs was not a relationship that would last, Gabe will always be special to her.
She eyes the bottle of Macallan again. On Death Days past, she would’ve already downed the whole thing. But she’s done with that.
She’s startled by a knock on the door, and she quickly slides the desk drawer shut.
“I’m heading out,” Lucy says. “Connor and I are getting dinner. You want to come?” Connor is Find Them’s newest hire. A recent college graduate, earnest and sweet.
Jules has been so proud of Lucy since she got out on probation. Jules had helped with that by giving her a job, something that went a long way with the judge. Lucy’s sworn off all her old pathological behaviors.
“Thanks for the invite,” Jules says. “But my parents are picking me up to go to dinner.” She looks through her office’s glass wall and notices Connor shuffling on his feet while he waits for Lucy. “You two are getting friendly,” Jules says.
Lucy turns and eyes Connor, who wears khakis and a polo. The corners of Lucy’s mouth raise a trace. The old Lucy wouldn’t have given the kid a chance, but she’s learning to let some light into her life.
“You want us to wait until your parents get here?” Lucy asks.
Jules, Lucy, and Carrie make it a rule never to be alone on May 1st.
“No, the interns are still here. Go. My folks are on their way.” Not to mention, Jules has a big gun in her handbag and a vial of pepper spray strapped to her ankle. You know, like any normal person.
Lucy hesitates. “Okay, um, have a great night.”
They don’t say the words they’re both thinking. Be careful. He’s still out there.