“Maybe he didn’t know he could get inside when he left the flowers,” Cat suggested. “Or maybe he didn’t want you to know he was inside. Or maybe it’s not the same person at all.”

“Or maybe you were right and the voice is me, and the flowers are just a weird coincidence.”

“I don’t know,” Cat said doubtfully. “When I said it might be you, I didn’t know what day we were talking about. It would have to be a pretty big coincidence for all this to happen on the same night and not be related.”

“Stranger things have happened. Besides, you’re not the only one who thought it was me. Nick thought so, too.”

“You played this for Nick?” Cat asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, this morning.”

“This morning?” she repeated sharply.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. Nick met me before work to listen to this. I …” I stalled, not wanting to admit to Cat that I had been on the verge of accusing Nick. “… I wanted his opinion.”

“Wait,” Cat said, pursing her lips. “The night of this recording. The night before you found those flowers. Wasn’t that also the night that you sent Nick away?”

I nodded reluctantly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve already thought of that. But it wasn’t Nick. He flat-out denied it.”

“Audrey, this is the guy who lied to you about denting your car’s fender right after you watched him do it. He would hardly admit to breaking into your bedroom at night.”

“That was one time almost ten years ago, and totally different. Besides, Cat, you don’t know him like I do. I can tell when he’s lying, and I’m sure he was telling the truth.”

“All right,” Cat said uncertainly. “But maybe you should stay with me for a while.”

IT WAS SWEET OF CAT to invite me to stay with her, but there had been a hesitation in her voice that told me the offer wasn’t entirely sincere. I was sure it had to do with work—I knew something big was going on, and all conversations with her gradually morphed into discussions about how stressed she was, how many cases she had to read or pages she had to write, and whether I thought it meant something that Connor had brought her a cup of coffee while they’d been working. I didn’t want to add to her pressure—and I didn’t exactly relish the idea of sitting alone in her apartment while she worked late. I needed to get out, to do something, anything that would take my mind off that recording.

Luckily, I knew just the person to call.

MAX WAS WAITING FOR ME at the bar at the Dabney, where he’d somehow managed to score last-minute reservations, looking slightly rumpled and wearing those god-awful Vans. Fashion ineptitude aside, my heart cartwheeled when he directed those warm brown eyes toward me and smiled, showing off his dimples. A comb, an iron, and decent footwear, I thought to myself. That’s all he needs.