“Happy Thanksgiving,” she mumbled.
I headed for the main stairs, then changed my mind and took the back stairwell instead. It was quiet, and the moment the door closed behind me, my legs gave out.
I fell on the stairs hard. Cold stone seeped through my scrubs. My phone slipped from my hand and landed next to me.
Thoughts flooded me, loud and fast. Too many to grab on to. And before I could slow them down, I ripped the envelope open and pulled out a picture … of a bloody knife.
It looked like a regular kitchen knife. Nothing special. The kind anyone could buy at any store. Black handle. Silver blade. Except the blade was smeared with dark, crusted blood.
My stomach twisted hard.
I didn’t need to wonder whose blood it was.
Zach’s murder weapon had never been found. Now Zach’s killer was sending me a picture of it.
This could mean only one thing.
Myers was done playing. Done hiding. Ready to move his pieces and start the game again.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Dylan,” a woman said.
I looked up and faked a smile.
Tessa.
Her short white curls looked a little wild. Night shift on Thanksgiving.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you too!” I said, taking the first few steps up just as she took hers down.
“Almost done, huh?” I added, keeping my voice light.
“Just a few more hours,” she hollered back. “We can do it.”
Her footsteps faded, then the thud of the door two floors down echoed up through the stairwell.
I waited.
Then rushed down the stairs.
I had to act.
Fast.
I pushed through the back door by the trash cans and stepped into the back alley. The fall cold wrapped around me, biting through my scrubs. My whole body trembled. Maybe from the cold. Maybe not.
The street stretched out empty and dark. No cars. No people. Streetlights buzzed. Wind dragged leaves and trash across the street.
I turned more than once on the way back to the car. Stopped. Looked. Any flicker caught my eye and made my heart jump. The short walk felt endless.
The envelope and the picture were crumpled in my pocket. I unlocked my car, then spun around, scanning the street, half expecting Myers to jump me right there. To shove me inside. A gun to my head. A hand clamped over my mouth.
I waited and listened.
And when no one appeared, I yanked the door open and got inside. The engine roared to life, and the click of the locks sent a rush of relief through me.
But then a man’s voice came from behind me.
