You’re going to love this protagonist. She’s an extraordinary ordinary gal just looking for love—until she ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. She may be a romantic at heart, but when it comes to the question of whether she’ll live or die, she’s all fight.
I mean, that could be anyone. That doesn’t prove anything.
I can’t wait for you to meet Roxie Mitchell!
My mind cuts to staticky TV snow.
Okay, then.
Not a coincidence.
And not atallhow this was supposed to go.
A sick parade of regret courses through my mind, showing me every mistake that led me here. I should have walked right past the Gifter. I should have picked any other romance author for book club. I should have rejected Jack and punched him in the face for good measure. In a hundred different ways, this is my fault.
But it’s also Anna’s; thisshouldbe a rom-com. I don’t think I’ve ever even cracked open a crime novel before.
I am truly, madly, deeply doomed.
Thump.
Where did that come from? Upstairs? My heart rockets out of its momentary shock and hysteria sets in. The Gifter’s words loom over me.Unless you die. If you die in the dream, you die for real.My shaking fingers begin typing frenzied comments beneath Anna’s post.
I AM ROXIE MITCHLEL
WILL SHE LIVE OR DIE ANNA????
TELL ME!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!
Anotherthump—sharper. Nearer. I freeze.
A loud sigh echoes from above—right by the romance section, where we met. There’s a thin, fluttering crash, and I peer through a gap in the shelf to see the light blue paperback he’s chucked down from the mezzanine. I shrink down, willing myself out of his sightline. “Come on, Roxie,” he croons. My name on his lips, once intimate, is violating now. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t end it this way.” Another crash, another book thrown. He’s traipsing slowly along the railing, making his way toward the stairs like a king preparing his grand entrance. I press a hand over my mouth, forcing my rattling breath into silence.
He lets out a world-weary, mocking sigh as he starts down the staircase. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this whole murder thing before. It’s just that when I lead with it, girls tend to freak out and run.” He pauses, then Frisbees a hardcover directly at one of the spherical overhead lights. I flinch as it shatters. “But when I met you,” he says, stepping leisurely down the stairs, “I knew you would be worth the chase.”
As slowly and quietly as I can, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and slide the heaviest book I can find off the shelf. I clutch it to me like a shield, waiting.
I can see him now, just a sliver through the shelf in front of me. He sighs as he eases down the last few steps, his footsteps slowing.
Step.
Step.
Step.
He stops at the bottom.
“You’re the one, Roxie,” he professes to the ceiling. My skin prickles. “I choseyou.”
Now.
I spring to my feet, hoisting up the heavy volume in my hands.
“You chose wrong,” I grit out, then launch the book at himwith all my strength. His head whips toward me, his lips curled in a sneer, but the book’s corner catches him across the cheek and he goes down hard. I make a break for it, banishing the image of his bleeding face, fighting my rising nausea as I charge toward the glass doors.
I scrabble for the lock and launch myself onto the street, gasping the night air into my lungs.
I’ve left Jack behind. The street is ahead. I know what’s happening and why—that’s good news.
