But what the hell does he want with me?
I have to warn Kane.
His eyes flicker darkly the second I reach into my pocket, touching my phone.
His thin, vacant smile tells me one thing: he’s no savior, and the Babins were the easiest part of this nightmare.
22
HOME TURF (KANE)
This fucking storm.
Between the slanted rain and shrieking wind, the traffic getting out of Bar Harbor has slowed to a crawl.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, impatiently checking my phone every few seconds.
It hasn’t been thirty minutes since Margot last texted. No need to worry yet.
Fuck, I should’ve left sooner.
But it was too important to see the kids off until their plane was in the air. Sophie can be a nervous flier, especially without me there.
For now, they’re safe.
Mom will meet them as soon as they get to Portland, and there’s a flight attendant keeping an eye on them until they do.
Meanwhile, Margot’s alone at that house, and I’m still nearly an hour away, if my Google Maps are accurate.
Damn.
Call it illogical and I won’t disagree.
She was sure she’d be fine, but she doesn’t know what this stalker freak might be capable of.
Honestly, neither do I, and that’s the problem.
You can’t prepare for a shit scenario when there’s too much uncertainty.
Better the devil youknow.There’s a reason they say it.
How I wish I knew this fucking devil.
Traffic inches forward, red lights blazing through the sheeting rain and horns blaring every time a car tries to cut through the snaking line of vehicles.
Time becomes excruciating.
I listen idly to the radio with a single-minded focus, trying to tune into the local Sully Bay station just in case there’s any news about the storm.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but not knowing drives me berserk.
This person wants me. Not Margot.
She’s not the target.
She’s safe.
I repeat that mantra until it’s etched into my brain. If only that made me believe it.
