He glances in the mirror, to be sure that his driver is the only one following us.
“I’ve come all the way across the country to get away from someone, but she finds me wherever I go.”
“Who?” I ask.
“An old girlfriend.” He sighs. “Her name’s Annie.”
Oh, Elodie is going to hate me when I tell her that I’ve come by this revelation without her. Annie Clarke, Bertram’s missing ex-girlfriend, is out there somewhere. Maybe she’s not dead after all.
Some part of me is relieved, not just because I want this poor woman to be alive for her own sake, but because I need to feel like my radar isn’t thrown completely off. I can’t bring myself to believe that Bertram is a murderer. Something in my gut tells me there’s more to this, and if it turns out that I’m wrong, how will I ever trust my instincts again?
“Your old girlfriend is trying to run me down in a parking garage?” I ask. “Why don’t we just confront her?” I need to confirm that she’s alive before I bring this to Elodie.
He glances sidelong at me. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with. She’s—unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”
“I can handle myself.”
“She’s dangerous,” he snaps. “Very dangerous.”
“So, we’ll go to the police.” I’m bluffing, of course.
“I can’t prove it.” He sounds frustrated now. “But she’s done things. Terrible things.”
I swerve across two lanes to take the exit, summoning a chorus of angry car horns. Bertram grips the seat. I speed down the off-ramp and pull into the lot of an abandoned mechanic. There’s nothing here but a termite-ridden sign. His driver didn’t have time to get off the exit after us. He’ll have to turn around at the next one, which buys me about ten minutes.
“Tell me what’s going on, Bertram, or I swear I will take this car straight to the police station.”
I see true fear on his face. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Innocent people don’t fear the police, but most innocent people aren’t reclusive billionaires who fear having a public record of their private lives.
“You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.” I lock the doors for dramatic effect. “Who is Annie?”
Mr. X would kill me for taking such a risk, out here unprotected. But I’ll take my chances. Flirting, charming, and playing nice haven’t worked. Perhaps Mr. Billionaire will respond to some aggression.
“We were college sweethearts,” he says, sighing. “We were going to get married, but it got…complicated. We ended things, and I thought she was happy enough to be rid of me, but she started…following me. Everywhere. Harassing my family, anyone else I dated, all my friends. She chased everyone away.”
From all the articles I’ve read on Bertram, very few talk about his private life. There’s no mention of his parents, his sister, or any friends. I didn’t think that was too weird. Once you get successful enough, it’s lonely at the top.
Right now, though, I’m astonished by how smoothly he lies, astonished by myself, for not being able to tell his truth from his fabrications. Annie Clarke isn’t an old spurned lover. She’s an innocent victim who may or may not be anchored to the ocean floor right now. But sure, I can play along.
“So, where is she now?”
“Here—everywhere—I don’t know. It’s complicated.” I never could have imagined Bertram this flustered. “I haven’t seen her in a while, but she makes herself known.”
He grabs my shoulders. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm. Desperate. “She hurts anyone who gets close to me. She’s hell-bent on destroying my life.”
For once, I wish Elodie were here. She may love a little gossip, but that’s what makes her so good at getting peopleto talk. I try to channel some of her energy now, batting my eyelashes and leaning toward him. “Bertram, whatever she’s done, I can help you. I’m a good storyteller. Finding people and getting them to talk to me is what I do best.”
“I don’t want you to find her.” He’s still holding on to me, but he seems aware of it now, and he eases his grip. “No matter where I go, she finds me. That’s why I lured you out to the beach, so we could talk somewhere with almost no cell reception and no cameras.”
“That’s why you were at the hospital, too. You were having me followed because you thought Annie was stalking me, too? Because she knew I was looking for her?”
“Yes,” he confesses. “Escaping her in California became impossible, unless I wanted to live out on a farm somewhere. I came all the way across the bloody country, but I know she’s here, somehow.”
“Since the pandemic, lots of Silicon Valley has gone virtual,” I said. “I figured you were here because you like the seasons.”
“I don’t care about bloody seasons, Margaux!” His outburst startles him and he lets go of me. “I’vetriedthe police, don’t you think I’ve tried everything? No one believes I’d be intimidated by an ex-girlfriend, especially one that nobody can seem to find.”
