“Uh…” She closed the laptop and stood, ignoring his confused look. “I forgot about some work I do need to do today, actually. Sorry.” She walked back to the kitchen and sat at the table once more, feeling like a coward but knowing it was for the best. “Maybe you can look at more baby stuff on your computer in the office.”

  Luckily, when she opened her email, she found that the reporter had finally responded to her and wanted to set up a time to meet, so it ended up not being a complete lie. Not that she felt any less guilty when Logan shuffled off down the hall, looking like a disappointed puppy. It was for the best. The more she focused on the case and less on pipe dreams of things ever working out between them, the better off she’d be.

  14

  On Tuesday, Logan went with Hope to meet that reporter about the case. The meetup just so happened to be at the bar where they’d broken up, which wasn’t good, but hey, life sucked sometimes. Logan knew that better than most.

  They walked in and the place was just as dark and loud as he’d remembered. It catered to the sports crowd, so there were TVs blaring from every corner, covering every kind of sporting event under the sun. The walls were covered with memorabilia and photos of the owners with sports legends, and the air smelled of fried food and booze.

  As they stood in the foyer, letting their eyes adjust, Hope leaned in and said, “Sorry about this.”

  “About what?” Logan asked.

  “I didn’t realize this was the same bar where we…” She gave a small wave with her hand. “The name’s different, and it looks like it’s under new management too, so I didn’t know.”

  “It’s fine,” Logan said, peering across the room to where the reporter, a middle-aged guy named Burt, in slacks and a dress shirt with a tie, waved them over to a booth in the corner. At least over there, it might be a bit quieter. It was midafternoon, but the place was still doing a brisk business. “There he is.”

  He and Hope slid into one side of the booth, across from Burt. Introductions were made and drinks were ordered, then they got down to business.

  “I’ve got to tell you, Hope,” Burt said, “I’m glad you’re picking up on this thread. The case was only ever listed as a disappearance, but that always felt wrong to me. I thought—I still think—that something happened to that girl. Nothing I learned about her then gave me any reason to think she was the type to just run off and leave her friends and family with no answers.”

  Hope’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying you think she was killed?”

  “Are you saying you don’t?” Burt asked in return.

  Hope sat back. “It didn’t feel right to me either,” she admitted, “the idea that Diana would just leave and stay gone like that. It’s why I got interested in her story in the first place. But murder…if she was killed, then it had to have been—”

  “Desmond Jones?” Burt interrupted. “That was always my theory—even though my editor never let me even hint at it in my stories. Jones had too much power, too much influence. But I’m telling you, he acted odd the whole time the police were investigating him back then. And he never had a good reason for why he met Diana in the bar that day or paid for her hotel room beyond his ‘she explained to me at the bar that she needed help finding a place to stay for the week and I wanted to help.’” Burt shook his head and sipped his beer. “It smelled fishy to me from the start.”

  “Did you know Desmond was secretly paying for Diana’s tuition?” Hope asked the reporter.

  “Nope. Didn’t know that at all. Did he start that up midway through the semester—like he met her and wanted to charm her by paying off her bills?”

  “No, he actually set up a scholarship for her before she even started. And it was done secretly. She didn’t find out who was behind it until shortly before she disappeared,” Hope said, sitting back against the gnarled wood booth. “I agree that there was more going on there than just a random meeting between strangers, but I’m not sure it was an affair. I think there’s a good possibility he had some kind of connection to Diana’s family. He and Diana’s mother grew up in the same neighborhood. Maybe they knew each other, maybe there was a debt or a favor owed, and Desmond was trying to pay it off.”

  “But then why keep it a secret?” Logan asked, frowning. “That doesn’t make sense. Unless Diana was threatening to expose something Desmond wanted to be kept hidden?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Burt said. “Either way, I’ll tell you who I feel sorry for. Clarissa Jones.” Burt shook his head. “Young, beautiful, rich, and married to a man who was eccentric at best, and suspicious at worst.”

  Burt kept talking, but then the sound system kicked on a song that was far too familiar—it was the song that had been playing when Hope had found him here. When she’d broken up with him. It was like hearing the soundtrack to Logan’s broken heart. He kept remembering how upset Hope had been. How he’d been more interested in drinking than being there for her. How she’d told him she’d never, ever give him a second chance.

  While he was distracted, Hope had finished questioning Burt and when Logan tuned back in, they’d downshifted to small talk, with Burt asking how long they’d been together.

  Hope quickly squashed that idea, though. “Oh no, we’re not together.”

  Not anymore, Logan added in his head. He felt way more disappointed about that than he had a right to be. They weren’t together now. He knew that. They’d had that conversation just that morning, about how once the investigation was over and he moved out, the sex would end. But after their talk about the breakup, then discussing baby names and looking at baby stuff on Sunday, it felt different to Logan.

  It felt like…something.

  At least for the moment. Something more than a hasty denial.

  As they drove home, Hope seemed to be trying to draw him out of his thoughts.

  “Do you think Desmond did it?” she asked, after fifty other questions about things Burt had said.

  Logan just couldn’t seem to pull himself out of his doldrums, though, and just gave a grunt in response.

  Giving him some side-eye, Hope tried another tactic. “I’ve thought of the perfect baby name. Baker.”

  “Baker?” he asked, slowing for a red light. “That’s a profession, not a name.”

  “It’s both. And it’s unisex. Works for a boy or a girl. Sounds good yelled, too.”

  “Uh, no.” He exhaled and stared out the windshield, one hand on the wheel. He knew she was trying to get him to play along. Hell, he’d pulled that trick often enough himself over the years. He was the king of using fun to distract himself from ugliness and tension. But since going to therapy and talking with Jeremy on the regular, he’d realized that pretending everything was fine didn’t make it so, and that shoving stuff under the rug helped no one in the long run. All it did was bottle up feelings until they exploded.

  Hope was still chattering on about her ideas for absurd name choices when he interrupted her. “Hey, you don’t have to do this.”

  Now, it was her turn to frown. “Do what?”

  “Try to play off the hard stuff we need to deal with.” The light changed and he accelerated through the intersection. “I’m not the same person I was, Hope. I’m not the guy you broke up with in that bar.”

  She reached over and squeezed his free hand. “I know.”

  “Do you really?” he asked, flinching a little at how raw and vulnerable he sounded. He shouldn’t need her validation, shouldn’t need for her to believe in him in order for him to be able to believe him himself…and yet, there was no one he trusted more to tell it to him straight.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, no hint of hesitation in her voice. “You’ve put in the work and turned your life around. Which is also why I know you’ll be a great dad too. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her that it meant a lot—meant everything—but she wasn’t through talking. She took a deep breath, then sat back in her seat. “And you’ll make some other woman very happy someday.”

  Yeah. That cut deep. Even knowing this was temporary. Even knowing she was just trying to be supportive, hearing her talk about him being with another woman so calmly, like it didn’t matter to her in the slightest, left him feeling flayed open inside. Especially since the thought of Hope with another man made him want to kill something with his bare hands, namely the other guy in question.

  He wasn’t over her. Not by a longshot. But he was going to have to learn how to be.

  15

  A few days later, Hope finally got the message she’d been waiting for—Desmond Jones wanted to set up a new time to talk with her. Which was great, except he didn’t seem to remember the last meeting they’d had with him but had missed because of the accident. Plus, his email address was different from the last time too. It was all very puzzling, but she wasn’t about to mess up this opportunity, so she let it pass.

  Logan, however, wasn’t so quick to do the same. “It’s weird.”

  “I know, but who cares right now. If Desmond talks to me, it could blow this case wide open.” She typed out her response, asking if Desmond would be willing to do a video call with her. That way she and Logan could stay where they were and hopefully stay safe. Unfortunately, Desmond emailed back saying he had something to give her that he could only do in person. “I’m going to tell him okay.”

  “Like hell you are.” Logan scowled. “Hang on a second. This seems fishy as fuck, and I don’t like it at all.”

  “I know, but I have to take this meeting.” Hope took a deep breath for patience. “You can come with me. It’ll be fine. I need this evidence, Logan. Whatever it is he wants to give me. I owe it to Diana Lauren and her family to solve this mystery.”

  He paced for a bit behind her in the kitchen, then scrubbed a hand over his hair before crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling. “Fine. But tell him to meet you at that café near his offices downtown. I’ll go with you and have one of my SEAL buddies also keep an eye out on us from the bookstore attached to the coffee shop. He can lurk behind the bookshelves or something.”

  “Fine,” Hope agreed, far too quickly, but damn. Excitement and anticipation zinged through her nerve endings. This was the part of a case she loved most, when all the pieces started coming together. She shot off her response to Desmond and waited for him to accept. When it came through, she couldn’t contain a little whoop. She closed her laptop and got up to walk around, wound far too tight to just sit still anymore. “This is so awesome. I need to start making a list of questions to ask him. And I wonder what it is he wants to give me. What if it’s the murder weapon? Or a signed confession? Or—”

  “Hey.” Logan stopped her with his hands on her shoulders, blocking her path and bending slightly to put them at eye level. “Calm down. Don’t get too excited. It’s not good for the baby.” She gave him a look and tried to shrug off his hold, but he held fast. “How about we go for a walk outside? Get some fresh air. Might do us both good.”

  “No.” He was being all sweet and supportive again, and that was the last thing she needed. She could tell that she was close to getting to the bottom of the mystery—and when that happened and the truth was revealed, Logan would no longer need to protect her. And he would leave. She couldn’t trick herself into believing there was a future with him again, no matter how badly she secretly wanted it. “I’ll stay here and go over my list of interview questions for Desmond.”

  He gave her flat stare. “You’ve gone over them about a billion times already, Hope. Seriously. We’ve been cooped up in here the last two days working.” He looked away, as if considering something. “How about I drop you off at your friend Ben’s apartment? Didn’t you say he’d been bugging you to help him finish those party favors? Plus, you told me his place has excellent security. You can spend an hour or so with him while I go for a run, then I’ll pick you back up when I’m done.”

  Hope wanted to say no again, but dammit, he was right. She did need to finish those party favors with Ben and he had been bugging her to talk, but she’d been so busy with the case she hadn’t had a chance to call him back. Part of her really wanted to stay here and stew over the upcoming meeting with Desmond Jones, but the other part of her knew how stubborn Logan could be when he got an idea in his head. Rather than have him hover over her shoulder all day, she’d go to Ben’s.

  “Okay. Fine. Let me just change and I’ll be right with you,” she said, heading back to her room.

  The following afternoon, Hope and Logan arrived at the busy café to await Desmond Jones’s arrival. Her first instinct was to grab a table while there was still one available, but Logan stopped her. From his expression, she could tell he was in mission mode now. He stopped her with a hand on her arm just inside the door and raised his chin toward another man lurking in the bookshelves across the way. He was big and blond, a few inches shorter than Logan, and looked about the same age.

  “Wait until he gives us the all clear,” Logan whispered near her ear, making Hope shiver with unwanted awareness. “Besides, I want to take stock of this Desmond Jones myself before he gets a chance to see us, so let’s hang back for now.”

  She sighed and crossed her arms. She’d seen Logan like this before, all bossy and business-like, but it was always during a crisis. Like after the car bomb, or during the accident. Now that they weren’t in any imminent danger—not that she knew of anyway—she had the mental space to appreciate how good he was at what he did professionally. And it reminded her that even though they’d been together, his work with his SEAL team was a big part of his life that he’d never really shared with her.

  Then the entrance bells jangled and in walked Desmond Jones.

  After the way Hope had built the guy up in her mind, she’d expected a larger-than-life villain or maybe someone like the Godfather. Instead, Desmond Jones looked like a typical businessman, in his tailored suit and tie. He was in his late fifties, tall and dark, with a tense expression and even tenser posture. Logan’s friend gave them the all-clear, and they found a table near the wall that was somewhat shielded by a large potted plant and away from all the noise and bustle of the place.

  Hope got out her digital recorder and her notepad, and it was a good thing too, since Desmond didn’t beat around the bush at all. Not a criminal mastermind at all, apparently.

  He waited until the server brought them their coffees—tea for Hope—then cleared his throat and dropped a bombshell. “Diana Lauren was my daughter.”

  She and Logan exchanged a look, then Hope asked. “And you didn’t mention this to anyone earlier because…”

  “Because my family was ashamed of it. And of me.” His broad shoulders sagged. Now that she knew the truth, Hope realized she could see so much of Diana in her father. Same coloring, same mannerisms that she remembered from when Diana had been her babysitter. Desmond continued. “I’d gotten a poor teenaged girl pregnant during my senior year of high school. My parents kept it hushed up at the time, so I could go off to college and have a life. And I did. I went to college, worked my way up in my father’s business, married a beautiful, glamorous woman twelve years younger than me—I did all the things my parents expected of me, and I never told anyone that I had a daughter—not even my wife. But then…” His voice cracked, and Hope felt the oddest urge to reach over and squeeze his hand, offer some comfort. She’d walked into this meeting convinced that she’d be face-to-face with a killer—but that wasn’t what she’d found.

  “Then,” Desmond continued, “Diana reached out to me, told me she knew the truth and that she wanted to meet. I thought she’d hate me, that she’d yell at me for never being there for her…but instead, she was so sweet, so happy to finally talk to me, so positive about the idea of us getting to know each other. I went to bed that night, happy for the first time in as long as I could remember—and then it was over. She was gone. All I wanted was to find my little girl, but my hands were tied. My parents never would have allowed me to reveal the truth—and I’ll admit, I was afraid of how my wife would react. But now, my parents are gone, and Clarissa and I are getting a divorce, so it doesn’t matter who knows anymore.” He stirred cream and sugar into his coffee, frowning. “There’s no one left to protect, and I want to know what happened to my daughter, Ms. Cabot.”

  Hope sipped her tea and watched him over the rim of her cup. “Did you never want to meet Diana?”

  “Sure,” Desmond said. “All along, I regretted abandoning her and her mother the way I did. It was one of the things that fueled my addiction to alcohol, in fact. But Diana’s mother refused to let me have a relationship with her unless I stopped drinking and publicly acknowledged that Diana was mine.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I used that as an excuse. I wasn’t brave enough to stand up to my parents, but this way, I could say that it was Brenda’s choice to put those restrictions in place, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I kept tabs on her, as best I could. When I heard she’d gotten into Johns Hopkins but was considering state school to save money, I had the school set up a scholarship for her. The financial aid office was happy enough to play along and pretend that it was something she’d won.”

  “Yes,” Hope said, leaning forward. “We learned about that.”

  Desmond nodded, then drank more coffee. “When Diana reached out to me, I was shocked to learn that she’d found out the truth. Her mother had told her my name, so she knew all along that I was her father. I guess me paying her tuition convinced her that I did care about her, and that it would be worthwhile to get in touch. When we met, she also mentioned that she needed a place to stay for the week. She’d planned to crash on a friend’s couch, but I offered to put her up in the hotel. We’d made plans that night to meet up in a few days to talk more.” His expression turned sad. “When she didn’t show up for our meeting, I figured she’d changed her mind about wanting me in her life. It wasn’t until days later, when her mother called to ask if I knew where Diana was that I realized something had gone horribly wrong. When I went to the hotel, I learned that no one had seen her since that night. That’s when I called Brenda back and told her that she should call the police and report Diana as missing. At the time, everyone thought it was a missing person case because all of her things had been removed from the hotel room. They figured she’d just taken off.”