"Goodbye, Lindsay."
"I believe in you both!"
I hang up still smiling.
The shelves are straight. The returns are sorted. A few of the replacement titles I pulled this morning are still sitting in a neat stack on my desk, quietly judging me.
I put them back.
By five o’clock, I’m locking up, the Catherine de’ Medici biography from yesterday tucked under my arm. For some reason, my father recommended it to me, so I figured I’d give it a try. We usually enjoy the same books. I’d planned to leave it here to read between breaks, but at the last minute I decided to take it home instead.
She didn't get to be soft. Or likable. She refused to be powerless.
The words echo in my head as I walk toward my car, keys jingling between my fingers.
The parking lot is nearly empty.
Only my car and a black SUV I don't recognize. It's parked two spaces over. Engine off. Windows tinted. I don't think much of it.
My phone rings and I'm glad to see who it is. I smile automatically as I answer. "Hey, Dad."
"Valentina." His voice is ... different. Not warm or teasing like it normally is.
Something cold slips into my stomach. "What's wrong?"
"I need you to get home. Right now."
“I thought you guys wanted to talk? I just left."
My mother texted me asking me to stop by when I get off, so we can talk about an “urgent matter”. I assume my sister wants to quit culinary school again. But I don’t mind since she promised to leave dinner. I may be many things, but a cook is not one of them. The leftover lasagna I had delivered last night can wait.
"No. Go home and lock your doors. Do you understand me?" His voice cracks.
Go home and lock my doors? When don’t I lock my doors? I saw a documentary once where a man killed an entire family, and when they asked him why he did, he said it was because the door was open. How wild is that? I mean, I had always locked my doors before then but now, I triple-check.
“Do you you hear me?” my dad asks and my pulse kicks up. "Dad. What's wrong?"
A pause.
Then, lower: "Some men are coming for you." The words don't make sense.
My throat tightens. "Huh? You’re not making any sense dad?" I whisper.
I look up and notice that the SUV's doors are open. Both of them.
But I don't see anyone.
My breath stutters. "Dad —"
"Get in your car. Don't let them box you in. Don't let them follow you."
His breathing is uneven now.
"Be brave, honey."
The line goes dead.
Then...
