Page 74 of York

But, wait.

My heart sank.

No.

No, dammit.

I didn’t want to believe she was capable.

She’d helped us, for God’s sake.

“Runa?” York called, as I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

My soul screamed No!

But my mind, my mind knew that there was only one person who knew where Denali and I ended up each time we moved. Which I shared with her because she’d been the one to get us out of Dodge when I needed help. She was the one with the horror story about what happened to her former roommate. And I wanted to entrust one person with our whereabouts in case I disappeared, in case I was murdered.

“Amanda.”

“What?” York asked, sitting up with me as I pulled my knees to my chest against the headboard.

“Amanda. It’s Amanda.”

“Who’s Amanda?”

“She’s a therapist I went to when I’d been worried that I was paranoid about people following me. She… helped me. She gave me ideas on how to be sure I was being followed. And when it was clear I was, she gave me the money we needed to get out of town. I don’t… I don’t understand how she could have gone from that to… to this…”

But there was no one else.

“Unless… maybe there’s a tracker on my car.”

“No, babe.”

“It makes sense!”

“It doesn’t. When Eddie took your car in, I had him go over it with a fine-tooth comb. He would have found a tracker.”

“In something we own, then.” They’d been in my various apartments and hotel rooms.

“That you haven’t come across by now? You didn’t have much.”

“But… but why would she help and then turn around and help someone try to hurt us?”

“Money is an evergreen motivator. Or fear. Both work equally well.”

I mean, she made decent money. But she wasn’t rolling in it. And these guys certainly were willing to threaten, maim, and kill.

“When you’ve talked to her, has she asked questions that felt normal at the time, but in retrospect feel like she was fishing?”

My mind flashed back to our most recent call. How she’d pushed at me a few times. Enough to make me feel uncharacteristically frustrated with her.

“Maybe. Yeah. I mean… I hadn’t given her exact addresses to the motels and such, but she’d probably asked enough questions to stitch it together.”

“I’m gonna need her name, babe.”

“You can’t kill her.”

Though, if this genuinely was her, why was I feeling protective? Putting me in danger was one thing. Putting my daughter in danger was unforgivable.