LITMIR.BIZ

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small kitchen. Again she felt it—that sense that someone was there or had been there.

      “Layla?” she called loudly into the still of the room.

      “Yeah?” she heard her daughter’s faraway reply from upstairs.

      She felt relieved. “Nothing,” she called back.

      She expected the feeling to go away then, but instead it returned.

      She put the bag on the linoleum counter and looked around. Everything seemed fine, the same as she’d left it—the ugly brown linoleum countertops, the old, yellow fridge—but then she saw it; a black crack running alongside the bottom of the back door.

      The door was open, she realized. As if someone had just left. She felt her mouth form an O. Startled and wordless, she made her feet move toward the door. That door was always locked, something Valerie insisted upon, because it led to an alley behind the apartment, a squalid, unlit space where a person could easily hide behind the electric posts or in darkened doorways. The alley had spooked her since they’d moved in, so much so that she’d forbidden Layla to go out there. It was always Valerie who took the garbage to the Dumpster and hurried back into the kitchen.

      Yet the door was open. There was no doubt about it. Quickly, she moved to it and opened it farther, ignoring her fear, and looked out at the alley. As usual, she could see little and so she slammed the door shut.

      Should she call the cops? But that was the last thing she needed during a murder trial—more problems with the police.

      She turned her head. “Layla!” she yelled again.

      “Yeah, Mom?” She could tell Layla was at the top of the stairs, closer now.

      “Did you go outside in the alley?” she asked, not needing to yell any longer.

      “No.”

      “Was someone here?”

      Silence. Then, “No.”

      Valerie locked the dead bolt. She yanked at the door once, then again to make sure it was locked.

      She turned back to the horrid kitchen, so different from the one she had when Brian was alive. She looked at the sack of baking supplies, hoping, somehow, they would calm her. She thought of Izzy. But nothing could soothe her. The panic, the nerves, the questions; they were all there to stay.

      15

       I should be embarrassed to say this—I should, I know this—but I was thinking about Sam that night as Theo moved inside me. I didn’t like myself for those thoughts, but I let them take me over. I saw the hallway light glinting off Sam’s blond head, felt his shorter, muscled legs connecting with mine, each time.

      “Set me up with one of Theo’s friends,” Lucy said. Her blue eyes were wide and excited. It was early in the morning, but Nookies, the diner where we’d met, was already open.

      Lucy DeSanto and I had planned this breakfast date a month ago. Originally, we’d planned to be there at nine, after her kids were gone for the day. When I’d texted her to say I couldn’t meet because of the trial, she quickly offered to meet me beforehand, promising to be quick. I could tell she needed to talk to me about something. But I hadn’t expected this.

      “Set you up with Theo’s friends?” I said incredulously. “But you’re in love with Mayburn.”

      “I know.” The excitement disappeared, a crease appearing on the usually smooth skin between her eyes. “But I don’t want to roll into another relationship.” She looked out the window. Across Wells Street, people left their brick three flats and headed for the bus, en route to work.

      Lucy and John Mayburn, the private investigator I sometimes worked for, had fallen for each other when he’d been hired to conduct surveillance on her husband, Michael. At first, it was a crush on Mayburn’s part, spent from afar. But when Michael was charged with money laundering and sent to a federal prison, Mayburn and Lucy had met and begun to date. Then Michael got out on bail, causing Lucy to feel she should give their relationship another shot, both for her and her kids. That shot had failed, and recently, Michael was returned to prison when new evidence was received, and he was charged with additional crimes. Lucy and Michael’s relationship was finally over and it had seemed a happy ending was in store for Mayburn and Lucy.

      The other happy ending was Lucy and me. When Mayburn was watching her husband, he had asked me to befriend her as part of the case, but we really did become friends.

      “Here’s the thing,” Lucy said. “I think I love John, but I can’t just move from a ten-year marriage right into another serious relationship.”

      I didn’t say that I understood, that I had wondered if it was wise for me to have moved from something with Sam right into something with Theo, something that felt very real. I didn’t mention Sam’s offer to return to my life. I felt reluctant to discuss it at length with anyone before I really knew why it was happening or how I felt about it. I’d expected him to call or text me after I’d stalked out of the restaurant the night before. But so far my phone, and Sam, had been silent.

      “You know John wants a serious relationship,” Lucy said.

      I nodded. “He wants to be a stepdad to your kids. A very involved one.”

      That desire of Mayburn’s was unlike what I had known of him before. I’d met him when I worked at the law firm of Baltimore & Brown, which often hired him to conduct private investigations—digging up info on corporations or plaintiffs who found themselves opposing our clients. When Sam disappeared, I’d turned to Mayburn for help. When he was too expensive he’d proposed a tit-for-tat relationship. I would work for him when he needed a woman to conduct surveillance work a man simply couldn’t do.

      When I said yes to his offer, I assumed Mayburn was a straightforward, by-the-books investigator. He had nondescript looks—brown hair, brown eyes, medium build, a forty-year-old face that looked younger. Mayburn had always said that those vague looks had helped him in his line of work, helped him to stay under the radar. As we worked more closely together, I discovered Mayburn was a sarcastic, Aston-Martin–driving renegade. But now we were friends, and I realized that at his core, he was a softie. At least when it came to Lucy DeSanto.

      “John would be a great stepdad,” Lucy said, “but I can’t do that to the kids. Michael is the only dad they know. I can’t push another man into their life right when their father has been yanked out.”

      “So why would you want to date one of Theo’s friends?”

      “That’s exactly it—I don’t want to date! So don’t even fix me up exactly, just take me out with a bunch of young guys who want to drink and flirt.”

      “You want to drink and flirt?”

      “Yes. I don’t want to be part of a couple. I’ve been part of a couple for more than a decade.” She nodded at me pointedly. “I want to do what you’re doing.”

      “What am I doing? Is it embarrassing that I’m dating someone younger than me and so different than me?” Should I go back to Sam?

      Lucy shook her head fast. “No, I think it’s exciting and fun. And that’s what I want.” Her eyes dropped. “Because my life is not going to be fun and exciting for a while. I’m going to have to divorce Michael, then deal with the kids while he’s in jail waiting for a trial, and then help them deal with the outcome of the trial, and then I’m going to have to decide if I stay in Chicago.”

      “But Mayburn is here.”

      “I know.” A sad cast appeared on her face. “And that’s why I can’t get too deeply involved with him right now. I’m not ready and I don’t know when or if I will be.” She blinked, as if batting away tears. She cleared her throat, then her eyes focused on mine. “Can I ask you a legal question? How long will it take until Michael’s case goes to trial?”

      “A federal indictment having to do with organized

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