Page 82 of Nowhere Good

“Smart.”

“And between us, we’re basically broken up anyway. I haven’t been attracted to him in ages, but once I figured he was cheating on me, I cut things in the bedroom off. Wasn’t about to risk him bringing anything home—which he never did, FYI—but yeah. We haven’t done any, um, couple stuff in a long time.”

His face grew hot. He almost said, “Good to know,” but caught himself. He’d be happy to show her what that could be like again; it’d been a while for him too.

Stop it, he thought, before this could get particularly uncomfortable for him. His palms grew sweaty on the wheel.

“How come you’re ‘very single’ anyway?” Claire asked, popping another bite of her pancakes into her mouth. The way she massacred them with her fork was cute. “Whatever happened to your ex-girlfriend? The one you ran off with in high school?”

Now it was his turn to feel under the spotlight. He raked his eyes over the Missouri countryside speeding past them. The mention of his ex-girlfriend was a good boner-killer. “Eh, she was never gonna get clean with me. Wasn’t even an option.”

“That’s why you broke up? So you could get clean?”

“More or less.” He paused. He usually wouldn’t divulge more than that, but Claire had given him so much—the least he could do was satisfy her curiosity to some degree. “We broke up the same night I found my mom. She showed up at the apartment while the cops were still there, and the detective in charge got a read on the situation. Gave me some good life advice, said he’d help me get into rehab. It’s a good thing I agreed, because if I’d walked out with… her, I would’ve walked straight into a needle.”

“But that was when you were a teenager, right? You must’ve had girlfriends since then. I’m sure you’re very popular with women.”

His face warmed again, but he was grateful to swap away from the topic of his ex, and he was grateful Claire hadn’t asked her name, because he didn’t feel like saying it. “What makes you say that?”

She pointed to both her eyes, throwing his own words back at him.

Once more, he laughed. And he realized that somehow, Claire had calmed his nerves better than any cigarette could. “I guess finding a date was never the problem, finding a connection was. My buddies were always trying to set me up with their girls’ friends, but I don’t like disappointing people, so I swore off the whole thing after a while.”

It was true. He’d felt like a dick for being unable to match their energy or interest. They deserved more than someone who couldn’t care less if he never saw them again.

But he didn’t like the thought of never seeing Claire Dyer again at all.

Claire closed her to-go box and silently contemplated something. Seth had his right arm on the arm rest, his other tending to the wheel. She gently bumped his forearm with her elbow. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for you.”

“I’m not in a rush.” He peered at her, but his gaze fell right on her full lips. She caught him doing that too. He could only imagine she tasted sweet, like the syrupy pancakes she just ate.

Looking back at the road, he tried to appear nonchalant, like he hadn’t exposed himself. Claire curiously watched him before she turned to the window. They were already approaching Fairview’s population sign. And Seth knew, after he dropped her off, he’d have a long drive to Belleville ahead of him.

Something told him it’d feel a lot longer without her there with him.

TWENTY-FOUR

Belleville was a sprawling landscape built off the countryside with a fountain out front and trimmed hedges lining the paths. An estate sat in the middle of it all, two stories of all-white brick that glittered in the afternoon light. Seth took in the view as his shoes clacked against the cobblestone leading to the front doors.

A place like this would cost an arm and a leg to live in—Seth would know. It reminded him of the rehab facility he went to in Upstate New York after his mom died. If he didn’t have help from Detective Landis, he never would’ve afforded it.

He pushed past the glass doors, met by the cool AC system. The all-white walls and neutral furniture made for a calm, but clinical atmosphere. As he gravitated past motivational posters and a rack of brochures, an older woman in floral scrubs, holding a clipboard, spotted him and beamed.

“Hello there! Are you visiting a patient today?” She had short, dark grey hair. The lanyard around her neck read Dr. Carol Levin. Probably the right person to talk to.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to one of your staff members, Trevor Sloane. Is he here?”

Carol’s face fell. She hugged the clipboard to her chest with one arm. “I’m sorry, but Trevor isn’t in today.”

“Do you know where I might find him?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. Can I ask what this is about?”

Seth showed his badge. “Detective Winslow. It’s nothing to worry about, but Trevor’s name came up in my investigation, and I was hoping to learn more about him.”

Carol hugged the clipboard with both arms now. “What kind of investigation?”

“Homicide, ma’am.”