She sighed. “Give me a second.” She reached for the phone, needing to check.
It was the investigator. He’d sent one short text:
Source confirmed. Shane Pryce.
Chapter Eighteen
Ginger stared at the text, unsure what it meant. Shane Pryce. There had to be other Shane Pryces out there.
Why would Shane send a set of photoshopped photos to himself from Ohio? It didn’t make any sense.
On the other hand, Debbie had been so confident in the private investigator’s ability. And the PI had no reason to make anything up.
She gripped the edge of the table as her knees started to shake. Spots appeared in her vision, swirling around. A familiar voice called out to her, but it was strangely muted—there seemed to be cotton balls in her ears. Then everything faded away.
When she opened her eyes, she was looking at Shane’s face, which was only a few inches away from hers. His complexion had paled, gone almost bloodless as he stared down at her. Where was she?
She was on a couch—her couch. All her notebooks and things were scattered on the floor. Her lips were dry, and she licked them. “Get me my phone.”
“I can call you a doctor,” Shane said.
“No. My phone.” She winced at how weak and whiny she sounded. But she didn’t have a lot of energy, and she didn’t want to argue.
He brought her the phone from the dining table. She checked the text. It was still there. Source confirmed. Shane Pryce.
Her fingers shook as she typed a response: Shane Pryce is the one who made the photos? Is that what you’re saying?
Soon he replied: Mailed. Don’t know who took the photos.
Do you know which Shane Pryce? There are a lot of people with that name.
Don’t have the full name, but the two middle initials are L. A.
Her stomach churned violently, and she put a hand over her mouth. Unable to wait any longer, she rushed to the bathroom and threw up everything she’d had earlier that day.
“Ginger, are you okay?” Shane rubbed her back, his big hand warm and soothing.
She closed her eyes as they teared up. He seemed to have no idea he was at the center of her misery. Or was that an act too? His medical records said he didn’t remember, but that was based on what he’d told them, not something doctors could check independently. It wasn’t like they could read his mind.
She couldn’t look at him. It made her want to throw up again. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but her throat was so raw all she could do was croak, “Get out.”
“Ginger—”
“Get out!” She hung her head, scrunching her eyes shut. “Get out!”
Shane hesitated—she could feel him hovering near her. He had to leave before she did something she didn’t mean to. “Get…out.”
Finally he said, “Call me.” Then with a final pat on her back, he left her apartment.
* * *
What the fuck had happened back there? Shane stopped in front of his car and spun around to face her apartment building. Her unit still had the lights on.
She hadn’t been upset at first, but something had really done a job on her. His instincts were screaming at him to stay with her, but she’d looked like she’d shatter if he breathed wrong. He had to back off, give her some time to recoup before they both did something they’d regret later.
It had to be the text she’d gotten. He should’ve insisted that she ignore it until they got their issues figured out first. He’d been planning to have her move in with him and get rid of her apartment. He’d been fully prepared to tie the knot ASAP.
He needed to know what was in the text to fix the mess. He called Mark. “What does the family do when we want something somewhat shady taken care of?” he asked.