He answered on the second ring.
“Emily.”
The sound of my name in his voice made me stand straighter.
“Yes. Hi. This is Emily Rivera. From Laurel Corner Café.”
“I know.”
Silence filled the line.
I looked at Tanya, who mouthed, Put it on speaker. I waved her away.
“My mother asked about you three times after we left yesterday,” he said. “She hasn’t asked about anyone outside the family in months.”
“That’s kind of her.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s unusual.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Then he said, “I’d like to meet with you today. Not at the restaurant. Somewhere private. My driver can pick you up.”
That woke every poor-girl survival instinct in my body.
“No offense, Mr. Carter, but I don’t get into cars with strangers, even if they have expensive business cards.”
There was a pause.
Then, surprisingly, he laughed.
Not a big laugh. Just enough warmth to change the room.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Choose the place.”
So I chose the public library downtown.
It was the safest place I could think of. Quiet. Open. Full of people who minded their own business.
Two hours later, I watched Alexander Carter walk through the library doors in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my motorcycle. He looked out of place among old carpet, buzzing fluorescent lights, and students sleeping over textbooks.