Under Suspicion

I looked blankly down at the gun in my hand, its muzzle trained on the horrible industrial-grade hallway carpet. “Oh.”

 

 

Will locked the door behind him and I shifted from foot to foot, worrying my bottom lip as the elevator sank down into our basement garage.

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Will said, squeezing my shoulder gently. “You’ll see.”

 

I let him lead me through the dimly lit lot, the space between us minuscule as my heart thumped solidly against my rib cage.

 

“Get in.”

 

I was rolling locks of hair around my index finger—my number one nervous tic—until the tip of my finger turned cold and white while Will sped through the intersection, occasionally glancing over at the Post-it note balanced on my thigh.

 

“You’re sure this Roland bloke is reliable?”

 

I nodded, unable to open my mouth lest my heart leap out onto the dashboard.

 

He poked at the address with an index finger. “And you’re sure this is right?”

 

I nodded again. “I guess. This is what Roland gave me. He said Harley likes to go here.”

 

“And you believe him?”

 

I shook my head, terror closing my throat. “Not exactly. But it’s the only lead we have.”

 

My eyes were locked on the road disappearing under our wheels. My hand was feeling the outline of the gun in my purse—the gun that I might have to use to kill Harley.

 

My heart leapt painfully again, throwing itself against my rib cage.

 

I had run out of the house with this gun before. I had been willing to aim it, to shoot it at unknown attackers, or attackers who were on their second, evil life. But I had never considered shooting—killing—a flesh-and-blood human being, a human being with a name and a face and a family and a life.

 

“I don’t think he’s dangerous, Sophie. I know he is.” Roland’s words played over and over again in my mind like an ominous, horrible record. “I know he is.”

 

I gulped, trying to blink back the tears, trying to swallow back the terrified lump that clawed at my throat.

 

“Do you know this area?”

 

I snapped to the here-and-now, to Will in the car, to the ominous-looking brick buildings jutting up all around us. They were squat and industrial, lined with cracked sidewalks; little bits of weedy grass poking through the concrete. They had been trampled mercilessly.

 

“You’re sure this is right?” Will asked again, skepticism deep in his voice.

 

“This is what he said,” I repeated. “Besides, I suppose if”—I couldn’t say his name, couldn’t given him an actual human moniker—“he wanted to get Nina alone, this would be the place to do it. There!”

 

A bubble burst in my chest when I saw Roland, himself looking as squat as the buildings, waving his stubby arms in front of what looked like had once been a bakery.

 

Will slowed down, scanning the street. “Well, there’s no place to park around here—”

 

“Let me out,” I said, hands on the door. eyes held firmly on Roland, on the sweat lining his brow, on the terrified way his button eyes flashed.

 

“No, love—”

 

But I already had the door open. “Just park and come around. We’ll wait for you before we go in.”

 

Before the car even came to a complete stop, I had jumped out and was tearing across the street. My breath burned in my throat as my legs pumped.

 

“Oh, Sophie, thank goodness you came,” Roland sputtered.

 

“Where’s Nina?”

 

Roland was looking at his shoes, wringing his hands, shifting his weight. “I should have known. I should have known the way he clung to her.” He looked up at me, his eyes apologetic. “I knew he had these tendencies. I knew. That’s why I travel with him. Usually when I’m around, I can talk him down—”

 

“Where are they?”

 

Roland’s terrier eyes rolled to the side, to the glass door of the building, the lock on it yawning open. I pushed through the door. “Nina? Nina, where are you?”

 

Roland was behind me. I could hear his nervous shuffle, the ragged way he sucked in those long, deep breaths.

 

“Oh shit,” he muttered, sighing. “I hope it’s not too late.”

 

I whirled around and stared at him, feeling my eyebrows dropping into a hard V. But I was looking at Roland’s back as he fumbled with the door. I heard the lock jiggle, shake, and finally tumble into place.

 

My throat was dry.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Roland looked at me, all innocence and unnecessary sweat. “I didn’t want him to run out the front door.”

 

I tried to swallow, my hand sliding down to the gun in my shoulder bag. “O ... kay.” I drew out the word as my hand snaked down past my hip to my thigh.

 

My purse.

 

My gun.

 

Forgotten.

 

Snuggled in Will’s car’s pink interior.