“That coffee was emotionally fulfilling?”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, I watched his face.
He noticed.
“What?”
I took the Polaroid from my robe pocket and placed it on the table.
Every bit of sleep disappeared from his expression.
There.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
Fear.
“Claire.”
“Who is she?”
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
I put the storage receipt beside it.
“And what is locker 417?”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Oh, no.”
That was not the response I wanted.
“Try again.”
He walked toward me.
I stepped backward.
That hurt him.
Good.
“Claire, I can explain.”
“So explain.”
He looked at the clock.
Then did something that made everything worse.
He said:
“Can you give me until noon?”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“No.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You kept a secret woman in Bellmere.”
“She is not—”
“You have a storage locker.”
