What do I do?
A beat later, rational thinking kicks in.
She might be alive. I need to find out. Then call for help.
Decision made, I rush forward, just barely sidestepping a puddle of blood in my panic. “Jenna, can you hear me?Jenna. Please, Jenna, can you talk to me?”
I’m barely aware of the hot tears scalding my cheeks. Or of the cold sweat coating my body.
“Jenna.” Desperation laces my voice. I drop to my knees beside her motionless form.“Jenna!”
With a shaking hand, I reach for her wrist, one of the few parts of her not covered in blood.
When I touch her, her skin is still warm.
But it would have to be. She just texted me?—
No.
She can’t be.
She can’t be dead.
I can’t feel a pulse, but I don’t know if it’s because she’s gone or if it’s because I’m shaking so badly.
My vision is a blur.
Call for help, a panicked voice shrieks in my head.Call for help. Now!
Yes. Get my phone. Call security. Call for help.
I yank my phone from my purse, but I’m so shaken, the stupid thing drops on the floor. Tears stinging my eyes, I reach for it again.
But before I can grab it, something catches hold of my shirt and jerks me backward.
No. Not something.
Someone.
Someone who smells of cheap cologne and coffee and cinnamon.
Someone who has a punishing grip on my shirt.
“You should never have gotten involved,” a slickly sinister voice says.
My heart stops.
I open my mouth to scream.
A hand palms the back of my head.
“Oh, no,” the man adds with a dark little chuckle. “I don’t think so.”
Then he slams my head into the side of a locker.
Pain explodes behind my eyes. Everything spins.
Before I can even try to fight back, he does it again.
