Lie To Me. J.T. Ellison

to call them. If I don’t, her friends will. I don’t have a choice.”

      “I want to be there.”

      Ethan felt a surge of panic. “I was worried you’d say that. If I show up with you by my side, isn’t that going to look even worse?”

      “If anything, it will help. I know everyone on the force down here. If I’m there, no one’s going to try and jam you up without cause. They will interrogate the living shit out of you, though, so it’s better if I’m there in case they start off into territory that could get dicey for you later on. I’ll just sit quietly in the corner unless something goes awry. I promise. But you want me there.”

      “All right. When do we call?”

      Robinson glanced at his watch. “I need to get going. Give me two hours. I’ll meet you at the house at five.”

      “Thank you, Joel.”

      Robinson stood, shuffling papers into his briefcase. “No thanks needed. I’m just trying to watch your back. Now, for God’s sake, go out and look for her.”

       THE TANGLED WEBS WE WEAVE

      Ethan took his time going home. He knew he needed to search for Sutton, but he had no idea where to look. Where would she go if she was trying to hide from him? Franklin was a small town. She had no real ties outside of it, no family in California or anything so convenient.

      He stopped in the Starbucks, looked around, as if Sutton would be sitting at the table in her favorite corner, writing away. She can’t write here anyway, mate, her laptop’s at the house. A pang in his heart. He sometimes walked up to meet her, days when he couldn’t do his own work. Just a quick hello, popping in for a cuppa, how are you getting on? Though it wasn’t exceptional interest in her work that drove him to seek her out, and she knew it. He didn’t like being far from her for very long. Three hours was enough to make him jittery. Three days felt like a lifetime. Leaving was an effective punishment; she knew how hard he found their separations.

      Nothing at the Starbucks, so he moved on. Walked down the street to the Coffee House at Second and Bridge, his preferred haunt, ordered himself gluten-free crepes and a cup of tea. He ate in the back room, the plate balanced on his knee, the squashy leather chair he was in almost too comfortable. It felt terrible to him, eating and drinking tea as if nothing was wrong in the world, as if Sutton was simply off at yoga, or working.

      Keep up your strength, mate. You need to keep things in hand.

      He kept the refrain on a loop as he walked home. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.

      What if someone had harmed her? His stomach heaved at the thought.

      Inside the too-empty house, he puttered from room to room. Imagining. If she wouldn’t be coming home, was he obligated to keep the heavy orange silk curtains he didn’t like? Then admonishing himself: Don’t be daft, man, she’s coming back.

      He’d felt this same way when Dashiell died. He’d known his son wouldn’t ever be found giggling in his crib again, and yet he’d circle the house and find himself staring into the nursery as if he could conjure the child from thin air.

      Ghosts. He was surrounded by ghosts. Of those he’d wronged, and those he’d disappointed, and those he’d failed.

      The doorbell rang. He ran to the foyer and pulled open the door with teeth bared, only to see Ivy on the step, suitcase and briefcase in hand, an UberBLACK Suburban driving away.

      A calm came over him. He took his first real breath all day.

      “Thank God. Sanity arrives. You got here fast.”

      “I was able to get an earlier flight.”

      He took her suitcase, ushered her inside, and shut the door gently behind her. “Why didn’t you go home first? It’s not like it’s far.”

      “I could tell how worried you were. Are. I’ll go home once we have a handle on what’s happening.”

      “You’re a good friend, Ivy.”

      A good friend, and a handsome woman. He didn’t want to notice, but he was a man, after all. It was hard not to. Since she’d moved to Franklin, and she and Sutton had become bosom buddies, he’d been treated to Ivy in every stage of dress. She didn’t try to hide her real self from them.

      Today she was all done up, and the effect was pleasing. Short black skirt, long bare legs, those nude pumps Duchess Kate wore all the time. She’d cut her hair since he saw her last—what was it, two weeks ago, when they’d had dinner at Grays? It was blonder, a fashionable long bob with the back slightly shorter, asymmetrically driving toward the front. He purposely skipped over her torso, did not see the button undone nor the black lace spilling out of the crack in her blouse, no he did not.

      “Nice do.”

      She touched the back of her hair self-consciously. “Thank you. Still no word?”

      “No. The weird sisters were by, though.”

      “I wish you wouldn’t call them that. They’re my friends, too, you know.”

      “But you’re the only one who can remotely understand the reference. Outside of Sutton, of course.”

      “I know, you’re the intellectual giant among us. I’d think Ellen would get it, at least. She is a librarian—”

      “Ellen’s an ignorant shrew, and you know it.”

      That brought out a rare smile. “Still.” Ivy helped herself to a glass and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “Talk to me, Ethan. What do you really think is happening here?”

      “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe she’s paying me back for everything by making me sick with worry. I expect her to come waltzing in the door any minute and yell, ‘Surprise!’”

      “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

      “I’m only half kidding. What I don’t get is the missing money.”

      Ivy didn’t bat a perfectly groomed eyelash. “I agree, that is odd. How much, and from where?”

      “Our investment account. Fifty thousand. Withdrawn over six months.” He handed over the spreadsheet, felt a small spark of pride. Ivy understood money. It was in her blood. She’d appreciate his effort, at least.

      She perused the paper, biting on her lower left lip. A bad habit she had; it made her seem young, breakable. It was the only dent he’d ever seen in her armor. Not that he’d been paying attention.

      “This could be for anything.”

      “It could. But it’s not. I think she’s fled.”

      Ivy set the paper down on the marble. Took a sip of her water. “Why would she run away from you, Ethan? Sutton has been through hell, yes, but so have you. I can’t imagine her just up and leaving without a word. She’s stronger than that.”

      “She left word. She left a note.”

      “Oh, that’s right.”

      She read it with the same concentration she’d given the spreadsheet, carefully, fully, allowing the words to sink in.

      Another little lip gnaw.

      “Well, Ethan, what do you want to do?”

      “I want to find her and strangle her for making me worry like this, that’s what.”

      “I’m not sure that’s the most productive angle. The police might take offense were they to hear you talking in those terms, too.”

      He ran both hands through his hair, shook his head. “It’s just...what the hell is she thinking? If she wanted out, why not be up front about it? Why steal fifty grand and sneak away in the night? It