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“No,” his answer was quick and resolute. “She signed everything we sent her, and based on her social media, she’s alive out there.”

It was quiet for a minute because I wasn’t sure what to say. An apology didn’t make sense, but I didn’t know the woman enough to speak about her. I wasn’t even sure what she was to Lexington. “Were the two of you…” I trailed off.

“Together?” He finished for me, and I nodded. “Not in any way that matters. It was a fling. Which almost makes it worse, you know?”

“It would be better if you two were in a relationship?”

He shrugged. “Makes me seem like less of a screw-up. Then I would be the martyr who was left to raise his son alone. I’m just the screw-up who knocked someone up. I didn’t even know her last name.”

“Do you really think of yourself as a screw-up?” I was realizing I had never heard Lexington speak positively about himself. Every comment was a criticism or a self-deprecating joke.

“I would think you would be the first to agree.” It was meant to be a joke, but it hurt nonetheless to hear.

“I don’t think you’re a screw-up, Lexington,” I explained. “I think you’re a bit careless, yeah, maybe a bit impulsive. But not a screw-up. I mean, after River was dropped off, once you got over the shock, you were all in with him. You have a college degree, a family who loves you. Your son adores you. I wouldn’t say any of that shows you being a screw-up.”

He stared at me for a moment, his gaze assessing, piercing even, as though he were trying to see into my soul.

“What?” I asked, squirming a bit in my seat.

“I-I just wasn't expecting that,” he muttered. “Thank you.”

I shrugged a shoulder, uncomfortable with his attention.

He must have sensed it, as his tone turned teasing. “I think this is the longest we have ever gone without fighting.”

I couldn’t help it, but I laughed. “It has everything to do with your son, not you, Lexington.”

He laughed with me, his entire face lighting up. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded. He could ask me whatever he wanted; didn’t mean I would answer.

“You’re the only person who calls me Lexington. Why?”

I swallowed hard and plastered an impassive expression on my face. “I don’t have a reason, exactly,” I explained and stood, ready to make my retreat. “When you have a free moment, I have those notes from Detective Ransom. Want me to email them over?”

He nodded, seeming confused by my sudden change of subject, but he didn’t question, staying on the floor by River, who was happily coloring without a care in the world.

“Cool,” I said and headed for the door. “I’ll send them over now,” I called over my shoulder and all but ran into my office, closing my door behind me. It seemed I was breaking the status quo, too. But it was necessary, because I wasn’t in the mood to explain that the only time I called him Lex was moments before he kissed me—a kiss he had forgotten, but that was imprinted in my memory forever.

Lexington

“The parents' ages are all different?” I asked as I stared at the ceiling. I was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable Goldie’s office couch was. I wasn’t in here often, choosing to keep a healthy distance between the two of us, but if we were going to work the story together, it was time I got comfortable.

In the few weeks since we met with Detective Ransom, we hadn’t had a lot of free time to focus on the documents and evidence that had been sent to us. We were both antsy to start, and we had specifically set the entire day aside to dive into the case with no distractions. Lunch was even being delivered so neither of us would have to leave.

We were on hour four of diving into the victims specifically. It wasn’t where Goldie wanted to start; she preferred to focus on the notes, but I wanted to understand the people first. They were the ones truly hurt in the chaos and this was technically my article, so I led the way.

I heard Goldie sigh from her spot behind her desk. I glanced over to see her leaning back in her chair, her sock-clad feet crossed at the ankles on her desk as she threw what looked to me like a hacky sack into the air rhythmically. “Yeah. The only similarity is the kids' ages. All six years old when the crimes took place. There is also no correlation between the siblings who were left unharmed. Different genders, different ages. Some older, others younger. Some didn’t even have siblings left behind.”

Goldie’s black hair was braided down her back, strands falling out and down her face. Her dark eyes were trained on her hacky sack, but I could see something simmering deep within. She was obviously affected by the case, but she wasn’t willing to share how. I wanted her to talk to me about it. From the sounds of it, we were going to be spending months on this together; it was time we got to know each other.

But she was a fortress, a vault of secrets she was unwilling to give me the code for. It hit me how little I truly knew about her. The little I did know came from Oliver’s stories. I didn’t even know her last name…

“The only connections are the time of year they’re taken and the age of the kids,” Goldie continued. She was dressed in a dark purple sweater today, the sleeves starting to unwind from years of wear.

She must have felt my stare as she caught the bag and looked up at me, a brow raised. “Lexington?”

“What?” I shook my head, recentering and focusing back on the ceiling, though I still managed to cast her quick glances. “Sorry, zoned out.” That felt better than explaining that I was staring at her for reasons I couldn’t even explain and couldn’t bring myself to stop. “They were all taken in October.”