Chapter Eight

Rowe

I’m fuming as I drive back to my house. How could she walk away and dismiss everything between us? No, we haven’t known each other long, but who fucking cares? A day, a week, a month, a year—sometimes you just know. You fit with another person. I’ve been trying to fight it. Trying to deny every urge my body has where she’s concerned. But I want her. I want her so fucking badly. She can keep pushing me away, but I’m not giving up.

On the way home, I decide to stop by work. I took a picture of Ashlyn at the bar last night when she wasn’t paying attention and another one while she was sleeping. She was so sweet and peaceful. I had to capture the moment. Little did I know she would run away from whatever we have before it got started.

Last night, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, and thinking over everything about Ashlyn. Her apartment is bare. Like the sparsest space I’ve ever seen someone live in, and I’ve seen a lot of shit being a detective. Add to that how evasive she is every time I try to get any information about her life from her. She didn’t want to go out with me last night, but I can tell she feels something between us.

She was pissed when she threw my clothes at me that first night. Then there was the hesitation at the diner and the bar when we walked in. The way she looked at the pictures of my dad and brother in my hallway. She had unshed tears in her eyes. I saw them. She tried to swallow everything down, but it was there, just brimming below the surface.

Once inside the building, I wave to a couple of the guys working and take a seat at my desk. It’s not uncommon for me to come in on my days off. When I’m not working, I don’t have much of a life outside of the bar scene. I dedicate a lot of time to my job.

I load up the picture of Ashlyn in the database to see if there are any matches to her. Our department was recently upgraded to state-of-the-art equipment. We also participate in a larger database, so accessing this kind of information is a lot easier than it used to be. The scan stops on someone who looks a hell of a lot like Ashlyn. Someone who has a record for petty theft when she was eighteen. Hope Hayes. Except Hope has dark brown hair, not black. No piercing or tattoos either, but everything else is exact. The shape of her eyes, the color of them. The same lips, nose, and cheekbones. Holy fuck. Either she has a twin, or Ashlyn is Hope.

I type in Hope Hayes and search the Internet. Then my world comes crashing down. A news article appears and I’m suddenly transported back in time. I remember this distinctly. My brother told me. He said it was the first time he’d ever told someone news like that. He’d been the one to go to Hope’s house to inform her that her parents were dead. No wonder she stared at the picture of him in the hallway. Of course she would remember the person who delivered that awful news to her. It all makes sense now. The evasiveness, the mystery, Ashlyn didn’t want me to know who she really was. But why? I continue to search and see she had no brothers or sisters. I write down her last known address, which is in the same town my brother lived and worked in. I’m going to stop by her apartment first, but my guess is that she’s gone. If that’s the case, I’m taking a road trip. I have to figure this out.

I don’t bother going home to get a change of clothes in case I have to crash at a hotel tonight. I don’t bother taking anything with me at all, except for what I currently have on and what’s already in my car. At her place, I buzz her apartment first. No answer. Then I pick one of the other two. No answer. Finally, the last apartment, someone responds. I tell him I’m a detective and need to be let in. He’s the landlord and waits for me to show my badge before allowing me access. He tries to ask me what I want, but I brush past him.

Upstairs, I bang on the door to her apartment but no one answers. Then I hear the landlord clear his throat at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s no longer living here,” he says.

Jogging down the stairs, I stop when I reach him. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s short, his hair receding, and smells like stale pizza and beer.

“Can I see a copy of her lease?”

“No lease. She paid cash every month, always on time. As long as she paid, she could live here, no questions asked.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “Are you sure you don’t know where she went?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, and she didn’t cause no trouble while she was here. Very quiet and friendly.”

“Good to know. Thank you for your time.”

The drive to her house is boring as hell, but I keep myself busy by running scenario after scenario through my mind, trying to figure out why she’d give me a fake name. If I wouldn’t have matched her picture to an older criminal record, I doubt I would have found her. It’s like she’s a ghost. Obviously, she wants it that way, but why?

The moment I reach the town’s limits, memories flood me that cause my breath to catch. The last time I was here I’d had to clear out my brother’s house and sell it. He never settled down, much like myself. It was about two years ago. Two years since I had to say goodbye to him. Two years since he was buried in the ground beside our father. With every mile I drive, another memory slams into me that I buried long ago. Then another. Too many to count. As I turn down Hope’s street, I wonder if my brother drove this same route to deliver the news to her. Telling family they’ve lost a loved one is never an easy task. It’s something that stays with you all your life.

I reach her house and pull in the driveway. I thought about parking around the corner, so she wouldn’t see me coming, but fuck it. I’m here, and I’m blocking the only car in the driveway. The outside of the house is well-maintained: the grass cut short, shrubs trimmed. The house is an older, brick ranch.

Walking around the front, I stop when I reach the door and ring the doorbell. The door swings inward, confirming for certain that Ashlyn is Hope. I had wondered if it was just coincidental. Hoped is more like it. That maybe this woman I was getting to know wasn’t lying to me. Wasn’t pretending to be someone she’s not.

The moment her eyes land on mine, she gasps and steps back. “Wh…what are you doing here?”

I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say. And now that I’m here, anger laces my words. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t…”

“Don’t! I’m a fucking detective, Hope! I know Ashlyn isn’t your real name!” She stumbles back, her eyes wide. My voice is getting louder and louder with each word I say. “I know you don’t live in the city and that you were paying your rent one month at a time! What the hell are you doing? Why the fake name?”

Unshed tears fill her eyes, but then something else takes over. Resolve. She straightens her back and balls her hands by her side. “I don’t have to tell you shit,” she says angrily. “I don’t owe you any explanation. Sure, we had sex, and I slept in your bed. Big fucking deal! You aren’t the first man I’ve been with and won’t be the last.” She tries to slam the door in my face, but I hold my arm out to stop it.

I step through the doorway and continue forward until I’m backing her against the wall. My face is in hers. Trepidation is mixing with her anger. “Don’t talk about sleeping with other men in my presence.”

“Why? I’m not yours, Rowe!”

“Not fucking yet, but you will be.”

My rage at her lying to me has quickly switched to her needing to be mine. All I can think about is how I don’t want any other man touching her. No one else feeling her curves or sucking those gorgeous nipples of hers into their mouths. I sure as fuck don’t want any other guy’s dick in her. Hell, no. Only me.

“Where do you get off coming into my home and acting like I owe you anything? Screw you! Get out!”

“The fuck I will.”

“Fine. I’ll call the cops.”

I laugh loudly. “Go right ahead, darlin’. When they get here, I’ll be sure to tell them about your other identity, and then they can work with my department and see what else we can find you’ve been hiding.”

Her lips part as she sucks in a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do where you’re concerned. You either tell me everything or I’m camping out here until you do.” She shoulders me away. I let her. I’ve made my point. Now it’s time to see what she has to say for herself.

“No one knows everything,” she states with her back to me, her voice losing the abrasive tone.

She’s standing in the middle of the living room, amid furniture that doesn’t look like it’s been updated in twenty years. In fact, nothing in this house that I’ve seen so far appears current. Has she not changed anything since her parents died?

“Tell me about your parents,” I say evenly.

She turns. “How did you know?”

“How did I know? I’m a detective. I have access to stuff normal people don’t. Plus, once I found out your real name, I searched you on the Internet, and the article about your parent’s death came up. Then I put the pieces together and figured out that my brother was the one who came to your door and told you what happened.” Empathy is clear in my voice. “I’m sorry that happened. I lost family, too. It’s not easy, and it changes you.”

“That picture of your brother…” A tear falls down her cheek. I take a step forward, but then she takes one back. “I can’t believe it was him all those years ago. I was only nineteen. I didn’t know what to do or how to live without them. I was numb, though. Numb everywhere. People talked to me, tried to help, but I didn’t hear them. All I could think about was how my parents were here one minute and gone the next.”