Chapter 3

3

Liam had a mole on the back of his neck.

It was tiny and very light. You wouldn't notice it unless you were looking closely.

The only reason I knew about it was because we were messing around on the couch once, and my nail accidentally grazed it. He flinched, laughing, and told me that was his most ticklish spot.

The man in front of me didn't have it.

The mole was completely gone.

There were no scars from laser removal either. It was as if the mole had never existed in the first place.

My fingers started to tremble. I hid my hands behind my back, clenching my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

The pain cleared my head a little.

"Find it?"

He turned around, his eyes scanning my face.

I forced a smile. "No. Did you leave it at the hotel?"

That smile took every ounce of my energy.

My face felt stiff, but I knew if I didn't smile, he would notice.

He frowned. The angle of his brow, the expression—it was identical to Liam’s.

"Maybe. I’ll call them later. The hotel staff seemed nice, so they probably found it."

He stood up and stepped closer to me. A drop of water from his wet hair fell onto the back of my hand.

"Claire, did you miss me?"

His warm breath brushed against my ear.

I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice.

"Of course I did," I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

"Then why aren't you hugging me?"

He opened his arms, offering a warm, gentle smile.

The exact same smile Liam always gave.

Every time Liam came back from a trip, he would open his arms like this and say those exact words.

It was our little routine, starting from our very first year.

I stepped forward and lightly wrapped my arms around his waist.

His body was warm. His heartbeat was steady and strong, pulsing against my palm through his thin T-shirt.

But all I wanted to do was throw up.

"You lost weight," he said, stroking my hair with genuine concern.

"Just stressed at work."

I buried my face in his chest to hide my expression.

His chest smelled like body wash—the exact brand I used.

Liam never used that brand. He complained it was too floral and always used unscented soap.

But this man used it.

Did he not know Liam's preference, or was it intentional?

Liam, where the hell are you?

Who is this man?

He made dinner that night.

Garlic butter pasta, roasted asparagus, and grilled chicken.

These were Liam's signature dishes, and they tasted exactly the same.

"Eat up. Look how thin you've gotten."

He placed some chicken on my plate. He was holding his fork in his left hand.

Liam was a lefty. He wrote with his left hand, ate with his left hand, and shot hoops with his left hand.

I used to tease him about being a lefty freak, and he’d joke that left-handed people had more developed right brains, making them smarter than average.

I kept my head down, shoving pasta into my mouth as my mind raced.

How long had this man watched him?

How long did it take to copy Liam's habits to this degree?

Many of these details weren't things you could learn just by watching from afar.

Unless he and Liam had lived together.

"By the way," he said suddenly. "Did you call the police?"