‘I’ve scared her off by ringing the number,’ I say to myself, shaking my head. ‘Shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid.’
The phone buzzes twice in my hand and I flinch with shock.
I can explain everything
But she doesn’t have much time left
‘What does that evenmean?’ I stare at the words, pushing down the panic rising in my throat. ‘That she doesn’t have much time?’
I send another text, my hands shaking.
Call me on this number. Please tell me. I can help
This time there is no delay to the replies.
No
Has to be face to face
‘Yeah, right,’ Tara says. ‘The mantra of stalkers and weirdos worldwide. I’m calling the number.’
She leans over to see my mobile and begins to tap the digits into her own phone.
‘Wait,’ I say quickly. ‘A call from another number might spook her again.’
She stops, her thumb poised over the green ‘call’ icon.
‘We don’t even know if it is her. Could be anyone. Who have you been giving your number out to?’
‘I don’t know.’ Something clicks in my brain. ‘Hold on, remember I said I went for a drive yesterday, trying to find where Kathryn lived?’
I type a one-word message.
Max?
‘Who’s Max?’ Tara says.
‘Kathryn’s boyfriend. I met him yesterday, wrote my number on a business card but he wouldn’t give me his. He was very suspicious, definitely knew more than he was letting on.’
Good guess
I’m about to type a reply when two more messages arrive.
Meet me, Rectory Park. Kids play area. 11 a.m.
Just you, no one else
I check my watch: just after 10 a.m. I’ll need to get back to my house, pick up my car. It’ll be tight, but I can make it if I don’t hang around.
‘Wait,’ Tara says with a frown. ‘You’re not actually going to go, are you?’
‘Yes. I have to.’
‘You don’thaveto do anything. This could be anyone. Someone who knows they can use Mia to push your buttons. This is like . . . I don’t know, like psycho Tinder, only without names or photographs – for all you know it could be the guy who was waiting for you in your house yesterday. Maybe he wants to hurt you again.’
‘He had the chance to do that yesterday.’
‘Yes, and he did, he hit you with 50,000 bloody volts,’ she says, her voice rising in exasperation. ‘Men like that get a kick out of this stuff, controlling, manipulating, leading you up the garden path. What if it isn’t Max?’
