I don’t know how long I lie there — not nearly long enough to recover — before Tink interrupts me.
“Take this.” Her voice is close. When I open my eyes, I find her crouched down at eye level with me. Her breaths are perfectly even, her face is a mask of composure.
“What?” I whimper, barely able to get out the word.
She rolls her eyes, grabs my hand, and presses a slim black cellphone into my palm. “It’s a burner. Call whoever it is you need to call, then toss it. Do not, under any circumstances, call the police. You got me?”
My eyes widen and I drag myself up into a sitting position, abs burning the entire way. My fingers curl around the phone. “Why?”
“This neighborhood…” Her eyes shift to scan the empty street. “You call the cops, you’re just as likely to get an officer in Mac’s pocket as you are an honest one.”
“Who is Mac?”
She stares at me a beat. “God, you really don’t know anything at all, do you?”
“I know I was just kidnapped by a guy I thought was really cute, until he turned out to be a sociopath. I know you’re a lunatic, who happened to save my life just now. I know this all has something to do with my father and his waterfront development.” My voice is rising and I think I’m getting a little hysterical, now that I’m not tied to a chair in a basement or running for my life. “I know I would really, really like a shower, because I smell like sweat and dirt and tears and my own pee, and now there’s a wad of gum in my hair and I’ll probably have to chop it all off and get a pixie cut — which I realize is something that’s always been on my bucket list but, I mean, it’s a big commitment. It’s not like I have Emma Watson’s bone structure. It could be a total disaster. Do you know how long it takes a pixie cut to grow out, Tink? Months. Months! I could be dead by then! I could get kidnapped again tomorrow by a cute guy with dimples who’s actually a psycho in disguise and then where will I be? In a coffin. With a pixie cut.” I think I laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “I’ll have to have a closed casket funeral. Or maybe they should just cremate me and call it a day.”
I stop talking at that point because I literally run out of breath.
Tink stares at me in silence, her brows raised, waiting for me to go on. I don’t. Instead, I pull a deep gulp of air in through my nose and try to collect myself. Rambling like a schizophrenic off her meds isn’t exactly my best look.
“Should I slap you, or are you good now?” she asks eventually.
I swallow. “I think I’m good.”
“Great.” She rises to full height — barely hitting five feet — and glances down the street again, as though she’s not quite convinced we’re in the clear yet. “I’ve gotta jet. Stay out of trouble, princess. You owe me one.”
Then, she turns and walks away. Just like that.
No explanation. Nothing.
“Wait!” I whisper-yell after her. “Tink!”
Just before she rounds the corner and disappears from sight, she glances back over one shoulder at me with an exasperated what the fuck do you want expression.
“Thank you,” I call quietly, hoping the sound carries to her.
It must, because she tilts her head in acknowledgement and tosses a wink at me a second before she melts into the night, leaving me utterly alone.
***
My fingers tremble against the illuminated buttons. I can count on one hand the phone numbers I’ve got memorized. Of those few, there’s only one sure-bet who I know will answer day or night, even if she doesn’t recognize the caller.
I dial and press the speaker to my ear, wondering if I should move from the bench, find a bush to hide in or something, like they do in the movies.
Am I safe here? Is Cormack out looking for me?
It barely rings before the call connects.
“Phee?!”
“Lila, how’d you know—”
“IT’S HER!” she screams, and I know she’s not talking to me. There’s a muffled sound, like the phone’s being ripped out of her hand, and then his voice breaks over the line.