Blair stood, and Tessa breathed a sigh of relief. This had to be the most excruciating conversation ever. It was almost like Blair was holding back, waiting for something—some signal. Tessa didn’t know what any of it meant. The long silences. The weird jokes. The overpowering cologne. And that bag… There had to be something juicy in there. Something important enough to carry all the way to Texas. She hadn’t missed the way Blair dodged the question, and it only served to fuel Tessa’s curiosity.
Tessa glanced up at the bathroom door. Still closed. No sound yet of a flushing toilet. She could take a tiny, little peek, right? No harm in that. How bad could it possibly be? With one eye on the bathroom, Tessa crouched down next to the bag.
She slowly zipped it open, bending her head close to look inside.
“Oh my God.”
The words came out as a breathless whisper, but Tessa didn’t hear the sound of her own voice. Her mind had slipped its groove again. Her eyes widened, but they didn’t see. Her heart stopped beating, but she didn’t feel afraid. She didn’t feel a thing. She only whispered the same words over and over, repeating her mindless chant. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God…”
? ? ?
Taylor: TESSA I’VE BEEN HACKED.
Eric stared at the useless words, cursing each second that ticked by with no response. 6:23 p.m. now. How much time had passed since that car drove off? Tessa must have put her phone away. Must be busy getting acquainted—getting acquainted with “Taylor.” Taylor, the first stranger she dared let back into her life. The one she thought she trusted. The one she thought she loved.
Eric nearly threw his phone across the parking lot.
He had to do something. But what? Should he call for help? Call the police? Eric flipped away from Twitter and began dialing 9-1-1. His finger hung suspended over the Call button, but he hesitated. Call 9-1-1 and tell them what, exactly? He winced as he played out the imaginary conversation inside his head.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“I’d like to report a missing person.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Age?”
“Eighteen.”
“When was she last seen?”
“Never.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ve never actually seen her. But she was supposed to meet me here twenty minutes ago.”
“She was supposed to meet you where?”
“At the Trail Dust Honky-Tonk Saloon.”
“A woman was supposed to meet you at a bar? A woman you’ve never met?”
“Right, but then she—”
“I’m sorry, sir. Are you calling to report that your blind date stood you up?”
Eric clicked the phone keypad closed. He’d never be able to explain the situation to some operator—someone who’d probably never even heard of Eric Thorn or catfishing or Twitter itself for that matter. The story would take hours to untangle. And even if he could explain it, even if he could somehow convey the danger that Tessa was in, then what? What could they do? Where would they send the squad car? He had absolutely no idea where she’d gone or where she lived. He didn’t even know her last name.
Another precious minute ticked by. 6:24 p.m. Eric shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring at his phone. He was breathing hard now but getting nowhere fast. What else could he do? He was just about to send another useless DM when a hand clapped him on the back.
“Hey, kid, I just got off the phone with—”
“Not now, Maury!” Eric brushed his manager’s arm away with a violent shrug.
“Texting again with the mystery girl? She’s got you reeled in pretty tight, my friend.”
“I said not now!” Eric strode down the sidewalk, desperate to get away from Maury’s prying eyes, but he heard his manager’s footfalls scuffle after him.
“Kid! Wait up! Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Eric turned on his heel, glaring daggers in Maury’s direction. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“What happened?” Maury asked with a nod toward Eric’s phone. “Caught the little lady stepping out on you?”
“Maury, I swear to God—”
“OK! OK, keep your pants on. You’ll like this. I just put in a call to publicity. The show’s off for tonight.”
Eric blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Canceled,” Maury said. “Take the rest of the night off. Go deal with your text message situation. Ring in the New Year however you see fit. Just get yourself to Santa Fe in time for sound check tomorrow.”
Eric shook his head, confused. “But what about the show? What happened to Tessa?”
“Who?”
“The concert winner! Tessa!”
“The fan from Twitter?” Maury cocked an eyebrow. “Since when did you start caring about—”
“I care, OK! Where is she?” Eric took a step closer, fighting the urge to grab his manager by the neck and shake the information loose. “For God’s sake, Maury, will you stop joking around for once in your life!”
“Take it easy!” Maury stumbled backward. “What do you want me to say? She flaked out. She bailed. She’s a no-show. I thought you’d be happy.”
“But did you talk to her?”
“Don’t take it personally, kid. You’ve got enough fans to spare.” Maury reached out to pat Eric on the arm, but he dropped his hand again at Eric’s harsh intake of breath.
“Dammit, Maury! DID YOU TALK TO HER?”
“No!” Maury shouted back, his own voice rising in defense. “Don’t take it out on me! I haven’t heard a peep. She’s not answering her phone.”
THE INTERROGATION
(FRAGMENT 8) December 31, 2016 9:17 p.m.
Case #: 124.678.21–001
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF POLICE INTERROGATION
—START PAGE 8—
INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, I have some bad news. My partner just spoke with your therapist, Dr. Regan.
HART: Is she coming soon?
INVESTIGATOR: I’m afraid she won’t be able to join us.
HART: What? No! She was right behind us. The officers took me here in a police car, and she said she would follow us to the station. Did she get lost or something?
INVESTIGATOR: It appears that she had second thoughts.
HART: What do you mean?
INVESTIGATOR: When Detective Newman spoke to her, she referred him to her attorney and declined to speak any further.
HART: I don’t understand. Why does she need an attorney?
INVESTIGATOR: Her malpractice attorney.
HART: She’s worried about malpractice? Are you kidding me? My single worst fear in the entire universe just came to pass, and she’s worried about getting sued?
INVESTIGATOR: She provided Detective Newman with a 1–800 hotline you can call if you’re in crisis.
HART: I’m supposed to call some stranger on a hotline? Did she miss the memo where I have an irrational fear of strangers?
INVESTIGATOR: Would you like me to call your mother? I’m sure the hospital can get someone to cover her shift.
HART: No!
INVESTIGATOR: Is there anyone else?
HART: I can’t believe this is happening.
INVESTIGATOR: Maybe a cup of tea or coffee? Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease right now?
HART: Yeah, you know what? There is something you can do. You can arrest that animal, put him in jail, and throw away the key.
24
HIM
Tessa’s eyes flitted around the living room, unable to comprehend the meaning of her surroundings.
Chairs…couch…coffee table… The familiar furnishings of her childhood home. And yet something wasn’t right. Something she couldn’t quite remember…
Her gaze came to rest on an object sitting on the floor. Black and shapeless. Heavy, she knew, without reaching to pick it up.