Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"They're all my photographs," she whispers, wiping away a tear that trickles down her round cheek.
"Are any of them available publicly?"
"Just the modeling shots." She swallows back her tears and points out a couple of those on the screen before scrolling to one of her, her friend from Mitch's, and Mitch's bartender, Jake. They're all smiling, clearly close. "No one should have access to this photo."
Fuck.
"No one?"
"It's on my Facebook page, but only my―"
"Only your what?"
"Only my friends have access to my profile," she whispers. Her face pales rapidly as the truth dawns on her. She sucks in a deep breath. "I'm going to throw up."
Before I can say anything, she clamps a hand over her mouth and shoves her chair away from the table, leaping up. She barely avoids colliding with the waitress as she darts toward the bathroom. I rise to my feet, slamming the laptop closed.
"Uh, does she want her tea or not?" the waitress asks, holding up a mug. Her sour expression sets my teeth on edge, but I don't have time to deal with her or her attitude right now.
"Thanks," I mutter, reaching into my wallet. I pull out several bills and hand them to her, not bothering to count them. "Keep the change."
"Thanks." She beams at me, quickly changing her tune.
I grab the laptop and Ivy's bag, and cross toward the bathroom.
"Anyone else in here?" I ask a middle-aged waitress working a crossword at the end of the counter.
"Just the girl with you," she says. "Poor thing."
"I'm going in after her."
She bobs her head in a quick nod.
I push into the bathroom. There's a single stall with an old sink and a cracked mirror. Everything is clean but worn, clearly old and in need of renovation. I hear Ivy moving around on the other side of the stall door, crying quietly.
"Miss Kendall?"
She sniffles, cracking my heart in half.
"Are you okay?"
Of course she's not okay. She just found out someone she trusts has been using her identity. Worse, they've set her up to take the fall for their crimes. No, she isn't okay.
I'm going to fix this, kitten, I silently vow. I'm going to help you.
"F-fine," she lies, the word shaking so badly it's nearly unintelligible. A moment later, the toilet flushes. She opens the stall door, reluctantly stepping out. Her eyes are red, tears still shimmering in her lashes. She fights like hell to keep her bottom lip from quivering but fails miserably.
For a long moment, she stares at me as if she doesn't know what to say or do. And then a pitiful sob breaks from her lips, her head falling forward.
New plan. I'm going to find whoever is behind this, and I'm going to kill them slowly.
Chapter Six
Ivy
Once again, I find myself seated beside Detective Lewis in his SUV, neither of us speaking as he drives me the short distance home. I've managed to fight down the urge to sob, but I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what to think. Who would do this to me? Why would they?
"I don't understand why this is happening to me," I mumble, not sure if I'm talking to myself or to him, but unable to deal with the oppressive silence anymore. We're less than half a block from my building and I don't want to get out of his car without knowing what he plans to do with me. "What happens next?"
"You need to hire a good lawyer, Miss Kendall," he says after a moment's hesitation, giving no hint as to whether he believes me or not.
A soft, bitter laugh breaks from my lips. "How am I supposed to hire a lawyer? I can barely afford my mortgage most months, and I can't teach while I'm under investigation." I glance over at him, wiping away a stray tear. I've already cried in front of this man far too much. "You're telling me that someone I know, someone I trusted, is responsible for using my identity to hurt a kid and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."
He pulls up outside of my building and puts the car in park before turning to look at me. "Why can't you afford your mortgage?" he asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
I laugh again, my disbelief obvious. "Do you know how much it costs to live in San Francisco, Detective? Between my mortgage, utilities, and necessities like food, I barely make enough teaching to scrape by here. And I'm still paying off my dad's medical bills and my student loans, so what extra I bring in singing goes to paying off those debts."
"Then why stay here? You could teach anywhere."
"Because my kids need me," I whisper, unlatching my seatbelt.
"Kids?" One of his brows shoots upward again.
"My students. People don't move to San Francisco to teach, especially not at one of the worst performing schools in the state."