I shake my head, staring at the street I’m facing.
“I don’t know ... it’s just something in my gut. Today, Evie told me the movie’s having some trouble on-site with some weird guy. And she doesn’t know I know, but a couple of weeks ago, Ruth Bader got stolen. And then my car ...”
I clear my throat, hearing how crazy I sound, before I send him a picture of the damage. Still, no matter how many times Evie cursed the red-paint vigilantes, that fucking pit in my stomach wouldn’t leave.
It’s why I was so worried about her going into work. But if anyone can either talk sense into me or say run, it’s Noah.
“Look at what I sent. I think I’m just being paranoid, dude. It would track, considering ...”
“Yeah,” Noah says, huffing a laugh. “I fucking get that more than anyone. Damn,” he breathes out when he sees my car.
“And that’s one of the reasons I can’t shake the feeling. It’s the kind of damage ...” He knows I mean his old apartment. “The car threw me. I know Evie thinks it was because of my stupid article, but all I said was that I love a good steak and would never bring myself to embrace a fake. My car was personal ... and now with the shit on set ... Something’s off.”
He grumbles like he hates what I’m saying. “And nothing weird has happened at the house or anything? Like anyone on the property or shit being misplaced?”
I scrub my hands over my stubbled cheeks, briefly thinking about how I tried to shave this a.m., but she all but wrestled the razor from me.
“I mean, nothing unexplainable ...” I narrow my eyes. “There were rats on the bed ...”
Noah groans. “Yeah, Goldie said Princess brought in a treat. That cat hates me. At least she isn’t shitting in my shoes again.”
I’m nodding, wanting him to talk me out of this or this out of me. But it’s like there’s something right in front of my face, and I’m missing it.
Noah reads my silence wrong, saying, “You don’t think it was Princess? You think someone was in the house?”
“No ... no,” I rush out. “I was just thinking that I’m missing something, but, dude, listen to us. We’re two theories away from connecting Princess to the grassy knoll.”
He lets out a breath. “You’re right. We sound crazy.”
“No, as Joyce would say, we sound traumatized.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“Nobody broke in,” I say like I’m the one trying to convince the both of us now. “Who’s getting past all your locks to leave rats on her bed? Because if that were true, then the theater wasn’t a prank either. And my apartment was a fucking setup ...”
I mean it to sound ridiculous. Like lunacy. But I’m gripping the steering wheel as my face darkens. I open my mouth to tell Noah to say I’m being paranoid, but a text comes through.
Evil:They’re serving croissant sandwiches. And they’re not fluffy. You’d be so pissed.
She’s so cute, but seeing the text makes me frown because her name in my phone is right above the picture I’m still open to—of the back of my car.
Without a second thought, I screenshot it, sending it to Noah. I’m silent, waiting for the screen to say delivered, because it’s becoming real fucking hard to think this is all just a coincidence.
“Evil will die ...” I whisper, knowing he’s seeing what I am. “Look at her name, Noah.”
“Fuck . . .” he answers quietly.
“Am I paranoid? Say I’m paranoid.”
My heart’s beating out of my chest. This shit can’t actually be happening again. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.
“I can’t,” he rushes out. “Because I am, too ... but we don’t know anything, especiallywhowe’re dealing with. If anyone. We could be wrong.”
“We could . . . but if we’re not . . .”
There’s silence, and I know he’s going over a thousand different scenarios just like I am.
“The most important thing is if someone is watching, we can’t let on. So we don’t tell the girls. It’s gotta look like business as usual. We don’t want someone going rogue on us.”
