Chapter 2

I didn't go upstairs.

I sat in a corner of the lobby with potted plants behind me and the security camera overhead.

It was a good spot. The camera could capture me walking in, sitting down, and never going near the elevators.

I even made a point of getting up and asking the front desk, "What time is it?"

The receptionist hesitated and glanced at her computer. "Twelve-oh-six."

I nodded. "Thanks."

The look she gave me was a little odd, but I didn't care. I needed someone to remember I'd been here, and to remember that I hadn't checked in or asked for a key card.

Clint hadn't hung up the whole time. When he heard me talking to the receptionist, his voice instantly went tight. "What are you doing at the front desk?"

"Asking the time."

"Don't tell the front desk!"

I lowered my eyes. "Why not?"

"What's your problem? Is having my girlfriend cheat on me something to be proud of? Why are you so eager to tell the whole world?"

"But you said Lainey's in there with another guy. Wouldn't it be easier to have the front desk go up and knock?"

"Ray, I don't want to look like more of a fool than I already do. You know me. I care about my pride.

"I'm on this train about to explode, and you're over there talking to me about what's easier. You never used to be like this."

I almost laughed.

What was I like before?

Before, one word from him about a fight and I'd cross half the city to stand in front of him. One word about being broke, and I'd lend him my rent money first. When he got dumped, I drank with him until two in the morning and dragged myself to work the next day with a pounding headache.

It wasn't like I'd never helped him.

He'd just gotten used to it. Used to me showing up whenever he called, used to me never asking why, used to me always being on his side.

But right now, the comments in front of my eyes kept drifting past, line after line.

[He's working on your emotions to stall you.]

[Don't let "seven years" weigh you down.]

[Ask him where the photos came from.]

"Who sent you the anonymous photos?" I asked.

Clint clearly faltered. "An unknown number."

"Send me the number."

"I deleted it."

"Then forward me the photos."

"Ray, can you just go up first? You can look at the photos anytime! They're about to get away!"

"There are cameras in the hotel elevators, and in the hallways too. If they run, it can all be checked."

His breathing turned ragged. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to know if you're really on the train."

For that one second, there was nothing on the line but faint static.

Then he said, "Ray Owen, do you think I'm lying to you?"

My heart sank. He rarely said my name that seriously. Every time he did, it meant he was genuinely angry.

But I didn't back down. "Switch to video, and I'll believe you."

"I told you, the signal's bad!"

"Send your location."

"My phone's dying!"

"Then take a screenshot of your ticket order with the current time showing and send it to me."

He suddenly let out a cold laugh. "So now you're investigating me? Going over every little detail?"

I didn't reply.

He sounded so agitated it almost seemed real. As if he'd really been cheated on, really been made a fool of, and was really afraid the other man would get away...

"Ray, I never thought the day would come when I'd beg you for help and get interrogated first."

The next second, my phone buzzed. It was the small group chat with our mutual friends.

Clint had posted a voice message. I tapped it and heard his voice, trembling with anger. "Guys, I can't take this anymore. I just asked Ray to help me catch the guy my girl's cheating with, and he's making it so damn hard. Seven years. I was wrong about him."

The group chat instantly blew up.