The Stolen - Jason Pinter [23]
horrific cases of neglect and abuse. And she'd seen children taken from the depths of hell and given hope. Yet, as
she sat there with Darcy Lapore, Amanda couldn't recall
ever working on a case as bizarre as that of Daniel
Linwood.
"However, if a person has either been missing for a significant amount of time--for adults it's usually seven
years--or has disappeared under unusual circumstances,
the death certificate can be sped up. It's a way to both give
the family some closure, and to make sure they get any
benefits they're entitled to, like life insurance."
"So...the Linwoods have been collecting their son's life
insurance?" Darcy asked. Amanda mentally slapped her
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head, then for fun mentally slapped Darcy's head. Then
she reminded herself that no matter how often she wanted
to strangle the stupid out of the girl, she couldn't get mad
at Darcy. Kind of the same way you couldn't really be
upset with a puppy who peed on the rug. Though most
puppies did eventually learn to hold their bladders,
Amanda did wonder whether Darcy would ever really
commit to the job. The girl meant well, but for some reason
her ability to recall thousands of shades of lip gloss and
memorize every designer from Betsey Johnson to Umbro
outweighed her ability to retain legal aid information by
a multiple of, oh, about a trillion. The children they worked
with needed passionate advocates.
"Daniel didn't have life insurance," Amanda continued,
not letting an ounce of condescension drip into her voice.
While Darcy would never win employee-of-the-month--
or day, or even minute--in addition to being a colleague,
she'd been a better friend than most people Amanda had
ever known.
Last year, when Henry ended their relationship, when
Amanda had no place to sleep, Darcy opened up her
home and her sofa bed without thinking twice. Darcy's
husband, Nick, moaned for a millisecond, but apparently
Darcy gave him a look that first night and Nick never
peeped again. Amanda knew Nick brought home a salary
closer to seven figures than six, so Darcy didn't need
nonprofit work, or any kind of work for that matter. Nick
didn't get home most nights until midnight, if not later,
so if her generosity was for companionship Amanda
didn't know, but she was thankful for it, nonetheless.
Which meant forgiving occasional, scratch that, regular
lapses in judgment.
"You know, you should have come out last night,"
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Darcy said. "They gave out gift bags at the end. Each one
had a tube of La Mer. I swear it's like rubbing liquid silk
on your skin. And Nick's friend Spencer, remember the
one I told you about? He was there, and honey, that boy
can wear a Brooks Brothers."
"I'm sorry, Darce, I was tired. I'll be there next time."
"Wow," Darcy said sardonically. "If there ever is a next
time, you'll have to clone yourself, like, fifty times to
make up for all your excuses."
Amanda turned to her, said, "I'm sorry, it's just...it's
not me. I don't get all giggly for that kind of stuff. If I'm
going to meet someone, it'll happen the way it's meant
to happen. Like..."
"Like a fugitive asking for a ride out of the state."
She smiled. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Well, fine. I'll tell Nick to tell Spencer to find another
playmate. But, Amanda?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you might want to come just for the moisturizer. Your dry-as-dust forehead will thank you."
Amanda shut her gaping mouth, then play-slapped
Darcy. She never wanted to be rude, and surely appreciated
the effort, but she wasn't a socialite, the kind of woman
who spent more time getting dressed than she did sleeping.
And that's what she missed most about Henry. Those
nights where it was just the two of them, cuddled in sweats
and T-shirts, relaxing on his couch, watching a funny
movie, talking, making love, then falling asleep. Bodies
intertwined as though there was no world other than theirs.
And for a while, there wasn't. Then the world decided to
have some fun at their expense, and dispatched