Now it’sAre you okay?You sure?
“I’m okay,” I tell her shakily, gripping the desk tight enough to splinter it.
I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but she brushes a few stray blond hairs out of her eyes and says, “Let’s talk later, okay?”
I nod, and she swishes away in her long paisley skirt. I think of the cleaner again. He could’ve been sneaking around my office, rifling through my drawers, for all I know. I was blind drunk at the time. He could’ve looked through my purse. Taken photos of my fraudulent driver’s license. Seen my near-empty SSRIs.
Don’t forget your anti-depressants!
The note on my laptop. The cleaner must have seen that my meds were nearly empty. Did he tell Jeff? Did Jeff sneak into my house andwrite that note to fuck with me? Did he find out about my sister and send me that damn DVD?
Uneasily, I wonder what else the cleaner found out about me when he rifled through my office. I’ve got so much dirt on me. I’mfilthywith it.
What was he looking for? And did he find it?
I rub my temples with clammy hands. My head is killing me. For the first time in years, I consider fleeing. I’ve done it before. I know how to do it. I could pack a suitcase, grab Reaper, empty my bank account. I know how to start over. I know how to disappear.
But then what? Build a new life and hope the new one doesn’t fall? The idea of packing it all up exhausts me to the bone. I can barely get through the day without vomiting. I honestly think I would rather die than start over again.
A soft beep interrupts my thoughts. I grab for my mobile lying facedown on my desk. Instagram DM from…
I gasp. Darren Foster. The man the builder told me to get in touch with. The man who knew Amanda. He responded to my fake Evie Langley profile.
Quickly, I read his message.Do you still want to talk?
I type back with shaking hands.Yes. I’m free now, call me.
My hands are cold, and my heart’s in my throat. I’m finally going to find out what happened to Amanda.
But he doesn’t ring. He types,Meet me instead.
I chew my lip, anxiety rising. I don’t want to meet this stranger. The whole thing is creepy enough as it is.Why can’t you ring me?
A pause.
Your phone might be compromised.
I blink at the phone. What the hell does that even mean? Compromised? Hacked? He messages again.I shouldn’t even be texting you. Delete this conversation when we’re finished.
God, too much is happening too quickly. I sit on the edge of my chair, gripping my phone as he types.
Meet me tonight. 11p.m.at the Cooma pub parking lot.
The first thing I think is, the town of Cooma is a half-hour drive away. The second is, God, should I really do this? But I want to know about Amanda. I have to know.
Okay.I type slowly.I’ll be there.
Don’t tell anyone.
Tough shit, I think. I’m telling Emily, just in case. I place the phone on my desk, feeling sick with nerves. I rest my cheek on my knee, arms folded protectively around my body. It’ll be okay, I reassure myself. It’ll be fine.
But he messages one last time, and when I grab the phone and read it, my stomach drops to my feet.
Come alone.
Chapter 24
Well, this is clever. Why the hell did I agree to meet a strange man in a pub parking lot? Especially one that’s dark and empty. I tap my fingers on the wheel and check my phone again. 11:26p.m.He’s half an hour late and hasn’t messaged. I don’t have his phone number, only his Instagram account, and I’m too scared to message him after what he said.
