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Back Until I Find You Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. EPILOGUE
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  57. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  58. Also by Rea Frey
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  60. Newsletter Sign-up

“I’m not just saying that.” She sneaks a glance at Jess, who’s gone conveniently mute. “You know, after Paul died, I was convinced it was all my fault. If I’d just been in the car with him. If I’d woken up before he left. If I’d called him before he got into his car, then maybe it wouldn’t have happened. We’ve talked about that.” The scene flashes in her head. The phone call from the police. Her husband’s mangled car. His unrecognizable body at the morgue. Her love, eviscerated. “Everyone just kept telling me it would get better. That I needed to take time to grieve, but that life goes on. I swear, I didn’t really start to feel better until I met you.” Her cheeks pink at the admission. “So if you believe something, then I believe it too. Okay?”

Bec reaches forward and touches Crystal’s shoulder. “Thank you for saying that. Truly.” She collapses back in her seat, visibly relieved.

Surprisingly, Jess takes Crystal’s hand, squeezes it, and mouths, Thank you.

And that’s when Crystal decides: no matter what she doesn’t understand, she will try … for Bec.

34

BEC

Crystal and Jess drop me off, despite their persistence to stay. I promise to keep them both updated. I don’t even have the baby situated again before I call Jake.

“Donovan.” His tone is clipped. He must not have even looked at his caller ID.

“It’s me,” I say. I don’t bother asking if he’s busy because I already know.

“Bec.” His voice softens. He closes a door and returns to the phone. “What’s up?”

I’m surprised by the nonchalance. “You got the photo, right?”

“What photo?”

My heart hammers in my chest. “Crystal texted you a photo. We went to Cornerstone Shop & Gallery.”

“Hold on.” He takes a few moments and then comes back. “Here it is. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t check it yet. Sorry.” He clicks on it. “This is excellent.” He types on his computer. “I’ll send this to Pat and see what hits we get.”

My hands shake. “This is something, right?”

“Could be. I’ll call you if I have something, okay? And I’m not trying to be short. Working a big case.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

“You bet.” He disconnects.

What is he doing right now? Scribbling facts on whiteboards and casing murderers? I’d always wondered, even when we were together, how he erased all of the terrible things he saw when he went to sleep every night. So many times I’d thought about him over the years, especially when I heard about random cases in Miami. Why had I never reached out?