“I’ll come stay the night,” Jess offers. “I need to bring you dresses for tomorrow anyway. Or would you rather stay with me? Or I guess you could stay with Adam, right? I forgot you’re seeing him now.”
Just the mention of Adam’s name out loud grinds through me, threatening to thrust me into a cesspool of bad thoughts, destined to lead me to an inappropriately timed meltdown. “The last thing I want is to be with a man I barely know tonight,” I say, and the truth is I would rather stay with her, sheltered in her home, not mine, but I don’t dare. I’m terrified that if I run to her house, hide with her from Adam, I somehow turn her into Adam’s enemy and a target. “I’m probably going to need to be alone tonight. How about just pizza and dresses?”
“Sounds good. You okay if I go home and get ready for work?”
“I’m okay,” I assure her, standing to reinforce the statement.
We hug, and I lock up after her, leaning on the door.
Adam killed Akia. I know this.
I run up the stairs and check my phone. When there’s still nothing from him, I try to call him. The call goes to voicemail.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
The tears, guilt, and helplessness hit me in the shower.
My body quakes, tears mixing with the hot water of the stream from above, a storm erupting with a fierceness that I cannot control. My knees wobble, unable to hold my weight and the burden of the crash happening inside my body. I end up sitting in a corner, whimpering like a baby, losing track of time, space, and even the water that is icy when I finally come back to reality, my new reality.
I am a prisoner to a monster.
There is no escape.
It’s not until I finally calm myself down—or perhaps blow through enough emotion to find that calmness—that I’m able to haul my now-chilled body out of the shower, wrapping myself in a warm towel. I sit on the edge of the bed, and it’s then that I begin to use my brain, not my emotions. It’s then when an idea, an escape passage of sorts, opens in my mind. Mike, my old friend from school, the FBI agent. He’s the answer to every question in my life right now. I have to go to him. But how? How do I go to him without Adam knowing?
There lies the problem, and it’s not a small one, at all. If I reach out to Mike, there will be a price, and that price will be written in blood. I pace and pace some more, trying to formulate a plan that finally comes to me. I text Jack: I am going to be late, but I’ll be there.
No problem, he replies. You okay?
I’m okay, I answer, and I am, I think. Because I know how to get to Mike, and Mike will know how to get to Adam.
An hour later, I’ve inserted the contacts with no problem, refusing to let a finger in the eye be important right now. There are lives on the line. They matter. That is my focus. I’ve also dressed in one of the outfits Adam gave me, ensuring he knows I’m still following his orders, even if I’m not. This one is a cream, fitted knit Valentino dress, complemented with simple black piping across the bust. I once again wear my boots, as I am certain I’ll need to be fast-footed today.
Once I’m ready to walk out the door, I go nowhere. Instead, I get to work on my plan.
I sit at my kitchen island and meticulously put together a file of text messages, links to a Dropbox folder with recordings of calls and everything and anything I can think of that might help Mike catch Adam. Details of Kevin’s murder are the hardest to document, but I don’t hold back. I end with a note: The most important thing I can leave you with, Mike, is this: he seems to know everything I do. He has a digital footprint as well. Be careful. We can’t meet. We can’t talk. He’ll find out. And he might kill us all.
Once I’m ready to leave, I grab my bag, the envelope stuffed inside, check my phone for messages, and, when I find none, hurry out my door. Once I’m downstairs, I stand in front of the bookstore that doesn’t open for an hour, unlock it, and then shut myself inside. I drop my purse by the door and rush through the building, halting under the tiles where I hid the cards Adam gave me the night he killed Kevin. I knew I saved them for a reason, and the reason is now. I’ve written about them in the notes to Mike, and I climb a ladder to retrieve them.
When I push aside the ceiling tile and reach for them, panic overtakes me. They’re not there. They’re gone.
Chapter Eighty
Adam knows and sees everything.
The missing cards drive home that point with brutal force. He must have followed me that night. He must have seen me place the cards in the ceiling. Or maybe there are cameras in the bookstore I don’t know about, and he tapped into those. Either way, the cards are gone, and I have a decision to make. Abort my mission to communicate with Mike or continue onward with it.
I can’t abort, no matter what the risk.
Two people are dead.
One was too many.
More might follow.
I do briefly consider randomly mailing in everything I’ve collected to the police station, or to the FBI offices where Mike works, but how long will that take to get to anyone who reads it? How many piles of tips and mail do they process daily? No. Time matters, and I cannot back down.
I have to act now, not later.
I hurry down the street to the quirky little coffee shop that Mike frequents and do so earlier than I’ve noticed him arriving in the past, in hopes of arriving before him, not after. Nerves shoot through about every part of my body as I enter the Caffeine Castle and walk to the counter, thankful there is no line.
There is an older man behind the register, about half-bald, but fit, as if he hits the gym and tries to hold on to any bit of his youth he can, if not his hair. I’ve never seen him before, but then I don’t come in often. I order coffee for me and Jack, pay, and when I should step aside, I reach in my purse and slide the envelope on the counter. “Can you please give this to Mike when he gets in? Discreetly, please?”
“Sure. He’s already been in today. We probably won’t see him until Monday. Is that okay?”
My spine stiffens, everything inside me resisting the delay, but there is no solution but to wait, not if I plan to follow through with this mission in a safe way. “Yes. Yes, that’s fine. Thank you for doing this.” I eye his name tag, and the ice in my chest is back. It reads ADAM. “Your name is Adam?” There is accusation in my voice I cannot quite tamp down.
“It is,” he says, grabbing a cup, an ink pen hovering just above the paper surface. “And yours is?”
“Mia,” I state. “My name is Mia.”
He scribbles that on the cup. “Okay, then. We’ll call your name when your order is ready, and I’ll get your envelope to Mike.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, but there is still the ice in my chest, which seems to have slid down my body and frozen my feet to the ground. What are the odds of this man’s name being Adam? “How long have you been working here . . .” I pause for effect and add, “Adam?”
“About a year. Know Mike real well. He’s been coming in awhile. Don’t you worry. I’ll see him Monday for sure.”
“Thanks,” I repeat, but my hope is now fear, and my fear is controlling me much as Adam does, with every beat of my once-happy heart.
Chapter Eighty-One
Adam.
That name is haunting me. I literally handed “Adam” my tell-all on “Adam.”
I’m berating myself for what feels like a stupid move during the walk to the library, but there’s really no time to process my own possible bad move. My cellphone rings, my earbuds announcing my father’s call. “Answer,” I order my Apple device, and the moment my father is on the line, he says, “I just saw the news. Did you know that young man who was in the bar fight? They said he worked at the library.”
“I did,” I say, but hearing his voice punches at my emotions and drives home how much I have to fight to keep him and his problems off Adam’s radar. “It’s a bit of a shock,” I add.
“Were you at the happy hour? The news said a group from the library was out together when the attack took place?”