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Ryan
I hadn’t gone to Luxor on Tuesday night. My mind was too conflicted. I regretted asking my PI to look into her and I hated that I wouldn’t call him off. I wanted to know the truth. Was Laura hiding something from me?
I knew if I’d gone to Luxor that night, she would have read the conflict on my face and I didn’t know how to explain it. So, I avoided her. I admit I was a coward.
I texted her, though. I said I had to work late and then meet with a few clients at their offices. She knew I had been arranging all my meetings at the bar lately, just so I could see her, but thankfully, she didn’t question it.
Unfortunately, she didn’t say much at all. Only, ‘ok’, in a text message response.
My imagination ran wild with assumptions, but I shut them down. I knew entertaining them would only grow the distance between us. Once my PI came back to me, confirming that there really wasn’t anything in Laura’s past, I would regret ever having put those thoughts in my head. So best not to give them any air time.
Two days later, on Thursday morning, I decided I wouldn’t cancel dinner with my brothers and Laura. I couldn’t do that to her, especially since I hadn’t discovered anything yet. But wanted to speak to Luke about my fears before seeing Laura at Luxor tonight. He might have some better insight and calm me down.
I took the elevator up to the twelfth floor. When the doors opened, the twelfth-floor receptionist greeted me.
“Good morning, Mr. Crawford,” she said.
“Morning, Erika.”
She put her head back down and I continued down the hallway. She was accustomed to me popping in on Colton and Luke without an appointment.
But when I reached Luke’s office, there was already someone in there—a police officer.
“Thank you for the description, Mr. Crawford,” said the officer, writing in his notepad. “Do you have a list of everyone that has access to your office? Anyone that has cause to be in here? Any recent meetings? Anything like that.”
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
Luke turned toward me. His eyes drooped at the ends and the bright green of his irises darkened to sage. “It’s gone,” he said, and his mouth trembled before he ran a hand over it to cover his emotion.
“What is?”
My heart constricted from the agony on Luke’s face.
“Hank Aaron’s home run ball.” His voice was muffled under his hand.
My breath rushed through my lungs in a whoosh.
I understood Luke’s pain. My grandfather had caught that ball. He had given it to my father, who had then passed it along to Luke shortly before my parents died. It started Luke’s obsession with baseball, and it would certainly devastate him to lose it.
“Did you take it out of its case?” I asked, trying to understand what happened.
Luke shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Then how in the hell is it missing?” I asked.
“We think someone stole it,” the police officer said. “Someone who had access to your brother’s office.”
Stole it?
“The sooner you can get me that list, Mr. Crawford, the better.”
Luke nodded, but his eyes remained unfocused. He wasn’t listening.
“I’ll get on that list, officer. Where should I send it?”
“This is my email.” He passed me his card and I shoved it into my pocket.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said and watched him as he left.
