Devil's Bargain

After the secretary brings the whiskey, she leaves and he begins.

“You know the Boyd family, I take it?” he asks as he pours and hands me my glass.

“Sean Boyd Sr. was a senator on the east coast. Maine. Lived in D.C. for a time. Had a wife and son. Had fostered another girl for a year before taking Melissa Doe in when she was eleven.”

That’s as far as I got but I want more.

He knows me well enough not to ask why I’m interested.

“Wife died a few years ago. Cancer,” he says. “The senator just recently passed away of a heart attack. He was involved in multiple scandals throughout his political career but nothing seemed to stick. The son, Sean, is twenty-six, and Liza, the other girl they fostered was actually adopted by them.”

“Where’s the son?”

“Maine. He’s following in his father’s footsteps.”

“Another dirty politician?”

Jack smiles. “Something like that. The girl, Liza Boyd, is in town. Has been for a few months. You may know her current whereabouts better than I.”

I nod once.

He mimics my motion and goes on, not mentioning Liza’s current state.

“Now the girl they fostered but didn’t adopt, her name was Melissa Doe. Chase is new.”

“Where does the Doe come from?”

“She was a Jane Doe—found when she was about a year old. Left in a public restroom, poor kid.”

He hands me two print outs of a too-skinny baby. I know it’s her the minute I see her face. It’s the eyes. Almond-shaped, and whiskey-colored and already scared.

I feel my chest tighten.

“She was filthy and starved. Had a gold bracelet with the name Melissa on it wrapped around her wrist.”

I remember the only piece of jewelry she wore last night was a thin gold bracelet. At least she had it on when she was first brought to me. They would have stripped her of everything before the auction. No personal effects.

“She kept Doe as her name.”

“Did she legally change it to Chase at some point?”

“Not legally, no. Not as far as anything I found. And she’s been off the grid for seven years. No social media accounts. No publicly listed number. Nothing. There was some talk about an accusation she made against the senator and his son some years back. Went to the police to report abuse.”

“What kind of abuse?”

Jack looks through something on his computer, shakes his head. “There’s no file. Just says it was disproved. This I’m getting from a gossip magazine. No police report to prove she ever even went to them. If there was ever a file, it’s gone now. And then the girl disappeared. I’m guessing after what she did, she’d probably overstayed her welcome at the senator’s house.

“Now as far as the name Melissa Chase goes…” he trails off, he turns his monitor around. “Three living in the state of Nevada, none in Las Vegas. A Melissa Chase did pass away some years ago. It’s probably where the driver’s license she’s using comes from.”

“Huh.” I study the screen. What are you hiding from, Melissa Doe?

Doe.

Like she doesn’t exist.

“All right. Thank you, Jack.” I stand. “Let me know if you find out anything else. Dig for that police report. And find more gossip if you can.”

He stands too, extends his hand to shake mine. “I will. You take care now.”

6

Melissa

I blink my eyes open and wait for the room to come into focus. It’s silent, a quiet I’m not used to, and bright with morning light.

And the instant I remember where I am, my heart rate picks up.

I roll onto my back, glance at the empty space beside me. I tug the comforter up, appreciating its weight. I wouldn’t use one so thick at home. It’s too hot in the summer, but it’s cool in the penthouse. Hawk’s got better air-conditioning.

The pillow still has its indent from where he slept, and I remember the feeling of his arms around me, his body like a solid wall at my back.

I sit up to take in the room. The bathroom door is ajar, the light out. He’s not here. I know. Not in the bedroom and not in the apartment.

I get out of the bed. I’m still wearing his shirt and I catch the hint of aftershave clinging to it.

Barefoot, I pad across the hardwood floor and open the door to step into the hallway, putting a hand to my hair to tamp it down. It seems to grow to three times its size when I sleep.

My purse is on the couch. My clothes hung up neatly in a dry-cleaning bag on the back of a closet door.

I open my purse, take out my wallet and from the zippered coin pocket, find my bracelet. I didn’t want to take it off last night, but I’d had to. Their stupid rules.

A quick peek tells me the twenty-dollar bill I had in there is still there. Although I suppose to people in this world, twenty dollars is like a nickel. No, a penny. Not even.