Tristan drags his hand down his face. “Jesus.”
“He’s staying in for the night, and as long as all his preliminary tests come back clear in the morning, he can go home.”
“Okay . . . thanks.” Tristan slumps into a seat beside the bed.
“I’ll be back in an hour with some pain medication.” She smiles.
“I don’t need it,” I reply.
“I’ll be back anyway.”
I roll my eyes, and she leaves us alone. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“Fucking hell, Jay, we’ve been out of our head with worry. Searching for you all night.”
I puff air into my cheeks.
“The police came to Emily’s, and then she called me, and then we found your phone in Bryant Park.”
“Emily?” I frown. “Why did you involve her?”
“She’s frantic, Jameson. She wanted to help find you.”
I roll my eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”
“You know, I don’t think she is on with that fuckwit Jake. This was a misunderstanding.”
“Shut up,” I dismiss him.
“No. You shut up. Why won’t you even talk to her?”
“Because she lied to me. Straight to my face about seeing another man.”
He watches me.
“And I don’t need that fucking shit in my life. I have enough going on, if you didn’t notice.”
“She wants to see you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to see her,” I snap.
“Then you need to end it with her; she’s frantic.”
I screw up my face in annoyance. “Just fucking go home. I’ll get Alan to pick me up tomorrow.”
“Why won’t you even talk about this?”
“Because this is none of your business. Emily and I are over. It was over the moment she started lying to me.”
The nurse reappears. “I’m tired,” I announce.
She smiles. “Yes, okay.” She turns her attention to Tristan. “We will call you in the morning when he’s ready for release.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tristan replies. His eyes hold mine, and I know that he knows I’m not tired at all.
The nurse goes into the bathroom.
“And what am I supposed to tell Emily? She’s waiting for my call,” he whispers angrily.
“I don’t give a fuck what you tell her—she’s not my problem.”
He drags his hand down his face. “You’re a selfish son of a bitch sometimes.”
“And your point is?”
He stares at me for an extended time. “See you tomorrow.”
Emily
My phone dances across the coffee table, and I pick it up in a rush.
“He’s okay.” Tristan sighs.
“Thank God.” I close my eyes in relief. “Can I see him?”
“He has a bad concussion and is going to be in the hospital for a few days.”
“What?”
“He said it’s best that you don’t come down; he doesn’t want the media circus.”
My eyes fill with tears. Damn it. It feels like all I do is cry at the moment.
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Did he say anything? About me?” I pause as I try to articulate my thoughts. “How do I get through to him, Tristan?”
He exhales heavily. “I don’t know. He’s got a lot of shit going on, Em. I don’t think he’s thinking straight at the moment. I’ll try and talk to him tomorrow.”
I screw up my face in tears. “Okay,” I whisper. “Can you call me . . . please?” God, I sound like the world’s biggest loser, but I don’t know what else to do. “I’m so worried about him, Tristan.”
“We all are, Em. I’ll call you tomorrow. Just try and get some sleep.”
“Okay, good night.” I hang up and get into the shower, and tears of relief begin to fall.
At least he’s okay, and tomorrow is another day. He will come back to me. I know he will.
I slide down in my chair as I peer across the street. I’m on Operation Spies Like Us.
Hayden is my stalking subject. I don’t know why, but I can’t let this go with him.
I called in sick to work. I figure this story may be the most important story of my entire career to crack.
I still haven’t spoken to Jameson, and with every day that passes, I lose a little more hope.
It’s seven o’clock in the evening. I’m wearing a blonde wig and dark glasses, and I have even rented a car. I’ve been sitting here for eight hours, with no sign of stupid Hayden.
He lives in a busy part of town in a nice apartment block; the street is bustling, and people are everywhere. I have to concentrate on not missing anything.
Damn it, come out already.
I’ve eaten all my snacks. I’m hungry and dying to go to the bathroom, but damn it, I want a lead or something . . . anything . . . throw me a bone here.
I look down the darkened street and back up the other way. God, Hayden’s probably on his way to Istanbul by now. That’s what I would do if I got fired from my job for stealing. Although apparently, he has no idea he’s still being investigated. He thinks being fired is as far as it’s going to go.
I lie back in the chair and let out a deflated breath. I glance over my shoulder and see Hayden stopped and talking to a woman on the sidewalk.
Shit.
I scoot down in the chair. They must be getting back from somewhere. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation, and she has a large bag over her shoulder. I take out my phone and snap a picture of the two of them. I zoom in and take a few shots. Who is she? Is that his girlfriend?
I text Aaron and Molly in a group chat and send them the picture.
Do you know this girl?
I keep watching as they continue to talk. For five minutes, I watch them, and then Molly texts back.
I’ve seen her before, but I don’t know where from?
Does she work in a café or something??
Hmm. I text back.
I have no idea?
A text comes back from Aaron.
Yes, she used to work for Miles Media.
My eyes widen, and I text back.
How long ago?
He writes back.
No idea,
I haven’t seen her for a while though.
Shit. I send the photo to Tristan and text him.
Tristan, this girl apparently worked for Miles Media,
can you find out who she is from HR, please?
A reply immediately bounces back.
Sure thing, are you okay?
I reply.
Yes, I’m on operation stakeout.
He texts back.
Do you want me to come and help you?
I smirk.
I thought you thought this was a bad idea.
He replies.
I do, I don’t want you in danger.
I text back.
No, can you just text HR for me now, please?
He replies.
Ok.
I wait and wait and wait, and finally a text comes back.
Her name is Lara Aspin.
HR are searching for her job title in the morning,
I’ll keep you posted.
I smile, excited that I at least have a little lead. I have no idea what it means, but I guess it’s something. I text back.
Thanks.
I check my phone . . . no missed calls.
I turn the car on and pull out into the traffic, and a sense of dread begins to hang over me.