Was he here? Was this man watching her now? Had he somehow bypassed security?
“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice was barely a whisper as she gripped the phone so hard her knuckles ached.
“I’m giving you a chance to run while you can. Leave now. Tonight. Because I can’t control myself anymore, and I’m coming after you.”
She froze with uncertainty.
What had he just said? Had she misunderstood?
“What do you mean?” The question slipped out.
“You know what I mean. I think you deserve a fighting chance. Good luck.”
The line went dead.
Gina’s breath hitched, and her blood turned to ice.
He was here.
In the garage with her.
She had to get away.
She jammed her key into the ignition and twisted.
She heard a click.
But nothing happened.
Her car was dead.
And she knew that wasn’t a coincidence.
He wasn’t giving her a chance.
He’d been toying with her.
CHAPTER
TWO
Andi Slade forcedherself to maintain her smile as she signed another T-shirt thrust into her face by an overly enthusiastic fan whose breath smelled like energy drinks and adrenaline.
The San Francisco convention center buzzed with the kind of vigor that came from cramming five thousand true crime enthusiasts into a space meant for half that number. Heat, noise, and excitement pressed in from all sides.
“Could you make it out to Bailee? With two Es at the end!” the woman chirped, bouncing slightly on her toes. “I’ve listened to every single episode ofThe Round Tablelike seventeen times. You guys are amazing! Likeamazingamazing! My friends and I are talking about forming our very own Arctic Circle Murder Club—of course, we’ll call it the Golden Gate Murder Club instead.”
The Round Tablewas Andi’s podcast. Well, Andi’s and her teammates from the Arctic Circle Murder Club, all of whom stood at the long table separating them from the crowd.
This tour was a lot. Nine cities—Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, LA, Vegas, Albuquerque, Denver, Salt Lake City, and Boise. They had even hired new staff for the six-week event,including a merchandise manager, two assistants, and two bus drivers.
Their merch was being sold at a different table on the other side of the space. People purchased various items and then came over to the group for autographs and photos. The tour organizer had even had huge, impressive banners and posters made with their names and photos.
Andi’s face stared back at her from one of those banners, her pale blue eyes intense as she gazed into the camera, her light—almost white—blonde hair cut bluntly at her chin. Her signature black leather jacket completed the look.
But seeing her face blown up ten sizes bigger than reality was not for the faint of heart.
Not a single expense had been spared.
