Jem almost said something.
And then he heard the second pair of footsteps.The ones half a beat behind his own.Too quiet.Too close.
The parking lot was a big black mouth ahead of him, empty now that the shift was over, with only a handful of cars parked here and there.Nothing close enough for Jem to use—a windshield that might offer a partial reflection; a side mirror for a stolen, backward glance; heck, he’d take a nice, big mommy SUV he could put between him and whoever was behind him.
Look back?Keep walking?
He kept walking, and he forced his voice to stay normal as he said, “You know they make me lock up my phone at work.”
“You don’t want to come.This is too much.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“I’m putting too much pressure on you.”
“You’re not putting too much pressure on me.”
“It’s okay, Jeremiah.”The little girl voice again.“I understand.”
Maybe whoever was following Jem was one of those crazy spree killers.Maybe he was just getting started.He liked to kill people in empty parking lots.Quick.A knife in the back.
God.If only.
“I need to talk to Tean,” Jem said.But he ruined it half a second later by adding, “I’m sure he’ll say yes.”
“Really?”Her voice was like silver again.“That’s wonderful.Oh, thank you.”
“Uh, thank you for inviting us.”
“Thank you, Jeremiah.Thank you.”
“It’s fine.I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’m so happy.You made me so happy.Thank you.”
“I’ve got to go, Mom.”He didn’t mean to say it.He hated it when he did—how awkward it sounded.And he hated that he’d said it and hadn’t wanted to.“I’m about to start driving.”
“I’ll text you the details.Thank you, Jeremiah.It’s going to be wonderful.”
Rather than respond, Jem disconnected.He pocketed the phone.And while his hand was in there, he took out the barrette he carried with him.The one with the metal sharpened to a point.Because carrying a knife could get you into deep shit with the police, but a barrette was just a barrette.He wrapped his fingers around it, drew his hand out of his pocket, and kept the shiv pressed against his thigh.
The Subaru was near the back of the lot.Another thirty yards.
The footsteps behind him were almost an echo.
In one movement, Jem spun around, the bag on his shoulder sliding down his arm so he could grab it by the strap, the hand with the shiv coming up.Ten feet away, a man stopped.
Charge him?Run?
And then Jem lowered the bag.The bristle of adrenaline faded, although pinpricks still danced across his skin.He said, “Ammon?What the fuck?”
The detective—ex-detective—was dressed in a heavy coat, with a BYU hoodie and jeans visible underneath.He held out empty hands.As the fight-or-flight energy faded, Jem began to take in more details.Ammon’s blond hair looked thinner.He had bags under his eyes, and for the first time that Jem could recall, he wore a few days’ stubble.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.He sounded like someone who hadn’t talked in a long time.“I think someone is following Daniel.”
2
“Jesus Christ, dumbshit,” Jem said as he returned the barrette to his pocket.The bones in his hand already ached from the cold.He shouldered the bag again.“You scared the hell out of me.”
