I only just make it outside and to her window by the time her bedroom door opens.
She comes in, wrapped in a towel, rubbing her wet hair with another towel. Looking around, her brow furrows. I hold my breath as she pokes her head back into the living room before spotting the note.
Running out on her leaves me feeling like an utter douche, but Ellie’s on her way. Another glance at my phone tells me she’s minutes away.
She strokes her fingertips over the note, a smile playing on her lips. Not mad.
I sigh in relief, ducking back from the window when she glances toward it. Then she’s pulling on some cute pyjamas and tugging the necklace over her head, fitting it right back where it belongs, over her heart.
The urge to watch her pulls at me. But Ellie’s too close.
I move across the street, looking at my phone. The tracker app is already sitting as a favourite widget, and opening it brings up the map, with a steady pink light right above her flat.
Sitting right where I left her.
Ellie arrives minutes later, a car pulling up. She sits inside for a few minutes, chatting. No,flirting. I can tell from the way she touches her hair. I squint to see if I cansee her suitor more clearly, but it’s too dark out. Ellie leans in and kisses him before getting out.
When both of them are safely inside and the guy in the car is gone, I start walking home, her little dot keeping me company. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to close the bloody app. It’ll certainly be a struggle until I’m back at her side.
Still, having a way to check on her fills me with a pleasure that’s probably twisted, but a feeling I never want to lose.
Like sunshine after the darkest winter.
NINETEEN
LIAM
Greg Alcott walksthe same route every night.
I’ve followed him for three evenings, picking out the perfect spot to approach. Down the back of the university and through the old underpass, along the terraced street that cuts behind the leisure centre. Quiet and badly lit, the sort of route many people would avoid. I’m guessing Greg has never had cause to worry about being followed.
I’m about to give him a huge slice ofcause.
Of course, I could have confronted him on night one or two, but I keep putting it off. If he is the fucker who’s been tormenting my girl, beyond his sleazing over her, Kat will know I’m the one who guts him with my fists and leaves him as crow fodder. I’m not quite ready for her to know that side of me yet.
But I’m done waiting.
I let him get halfway through the underpass before I close the distance between us.
He must hear my footsteps as he begins to turn, but he’s too late to dodge me. I force him back against the wall with a hard shove, tangling my fist into his preppy V-neck sweater. His eyes widen as he takes in my heart-eyed mask and dark clothes. I half expect him to fight back, but instead he lets out an almost laughable whimper. His back hits the brick wall hard enough to make him heave out a breath, and he looks up at me with a stupefied expression.
‘What the fu?—’
‘Quiet,’ I say.
Greg’s face runs through several expressions. Confusion. Anger. Disbelief.
I wait, letting his apprehension build. This is the bit that unnerves people. While they understand hot rage or demands, silence leaves them on an uneven keel. He wets his lips and looks along the underpass, waiting for someone to save him.
He’ll be waiting a fucking long time.
‘Tell me what you know about Katherine Elliott.’
I see him working it over in his head, trying to decide what to tell me. ‘Nothing. I don’t know her.’
Tightening my grip on his shirt, I close the space between my face and his before holding his gaze. I can see the sweat on his forehead as he tries not to meet my eyes, but he has nowhere else to look.
‘Final year economics. Pretty little blonde who loves pink clothes. I’ve heard that you’ve been making her uncomfortable. Staring at her in the corridor and in class. You let your eyes go where they have no business going, and it makes her fucking skin crawl.’ I screw his shirt tighter still. ‘Tell me what else.’
