“Someone could have threatened him,” says Kit quietly. “Or his family.”
“He doesn’t have any siblings, and I’m willing to bet he loathes Baron Michaels,” says Tibby, looking around the otherwise empty lobby. “Well, they’re not pulling people out of the theater, so that has to be a good sign. They don’t think whatever’s happened is a security risk.”
“Do you think anyone in there knows?” I say. “Should we at least tell my mom and—”
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I fumble it in surprise, nearly sending it straight to the ground. I catch it before it can skydive off the table, only to see a video call request on the screen.
Rosie.
“Evan?” Her image is blurry when I accept the call, but it quickly clears, revealing her puffy, tearstained face. “Did you hear?”
“I heard,” I say grimly. “Are you okay? Did something else happen today?”
She shakes her head, her lips pressed together so tightly that the skin around her mouth is blanched. “Do—do they think it was Ben?” she whispers, and I can barely hear her despite the quiet of the bar.
“I…” I look between Tibby and Kit, but neither of them has any answers. “I don’t know. It’s impossible to say this early on. It could’ve just been…you know. His choice.”
Rosie inhales a sharp gulp of air, and a sob escapes her. I mentally kick myself for not checking in with her earlier. After her phone call this morning, I should have at least followed up after lunch.
“Are you okay, Rosie? Did anything else happen?” I repeat.
“N-no,” she sobs. “But—but I’m scared, Evan. What if—what if it was Ben? What if I’m next?”
My heart sinks. “He won’t come after you, Rosie. Not for writing a few posts.” But even as I say it, I know that’s not all she did. She helped with the fire, too, which almost killed Maisie and should’ve killed my mom. She fed him information that helped him with who knows how many of his schemes—maybe ones we don’t even know about—and he has every reason in the world to come after her. She can testify against him, and with all she knows and all she’s done for him, she can easily be the linchpin to expose him and put him away for treason.
Shit.
“The man in the park stalking me,” she says shakily. “What if it was Ben? Or—or Dylan? It could’ve been, couldn’t it?”
“Maybe,” I say, trying to sound unconvinced. “Did security stop by?”
Rosie nods. “There’s someone outside my door right now, but—I’m too afraid to leave. And what if Ben gets to me anyway? If he got to John Phillip Michaels in a prison cell, then killing me won’t be any—any trouble at all—”
That’s all she manages before breaking down into even more tears, and I grimace, glancing up at Kit and Tibby. “Hey, Rosie?” I say. “I’m going to come see you, okay? Right now. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
“But—but the premiere,” she sobs.
“I’m not watching the movie anyway,” I say. “I’ll be right there, okay? Let your guard know.”
She nods shakily, and while she’s wiping the snot from her face, I hang up. “You don’t have to come,” I say to Kit. He hasn’t spoken to her since we used Rosie’s crush on him to trick her into confessing, and it’s been an awkward night as it is.
“You know I am,” he says. “We’ll take extra security with us, just in case. Rosie’s not wrong, you know.”
“I know,” I say miserably. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Tibby scoffs. “Are you mad? I don’t care how distraught she is. This can wait until morning. Youmustbe there after the credits, and there’s barely an hour and a half left—”
“Then I guess we have an hour and twenty-nine minutes to make it back,” I say. “Rosie doesn’t live far, right?”
“No more than fifteen minutes away,” says Kit, and he stands, offering me his hand. “Tibby?”
She grinds her teeth, her nails digging into her designer bag. “Fine,” she says crisply. “But if you’re not there when the lights go on, then I will make bloody sure everyone involved knows exactly whose idea this was.”
“Naturally,” I say, and I take Kit’s hand and hop off the stool, unable to fully shake the echo of Rosie’s cries. “Let’s hope this place has a back exit.”
We arrive in front of Rosie’s townhouse less than twenty minutes later, and sure enough, there’s a mustached officer standing guard outside her gate. He greets the three of us with a nod, and as Tibby tries to wrangle my train and make sure I don’t catch it on anything, Kit and I hurry up the walkway arm in arm.
My hand trembles as I knock on her door, and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of—that Ben really may be responsible for John Phillip Michaels’s death and coming after Rosie, too, or what her reaction might be upon seeing me and Kit again. Either way, I don’t have much time to think about it when the door flies open, and a tearstained Rosie stands on the other side, her mouth hanging open in shock.
