I slammed the file shut, bound the rubber band around it all, and tucked it under his jacket again. I slid the closet door shut just as he pushed open the bedroom door.

“Olivia?”

“Sorry,” I said, rounding the corner. I knew my cheeks were flushed, and I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. His eyes drifted to my neck, where he could probably see my racing pulse. “I should probably go, though.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, taking a step closer. “Did I say something? Because I want you to stay, Olivia.”

There was one way out of this room. Through the doorway behind Nathan Coleman.

Nobody knew I was here. I had trapped myself.

“I got a text,” I said, phone held awkwardly in my hand. “They need to talk to me.” I swallowed nothing. Held my breath.

“Who?” He shook his head. “You can hide out here,” he said, stepping in my path so that he stood directly between me and the exit.

My legs twitched with the need to run.

I tried to channel calm. Dissociate. I remembered that I had survived three days in the dark, underground. “If the detective finds me here, she won’t be happy.” Trying to remind him that Detective Rigby was invested, that she would be coming, that he couldn’t hurt me—not now. Not when others were looking for me, too.

He smiled then. “You’re not just using me for information, are you?” Something in my face must’ve cracked, because he put a hand on my cheek. “I’m kidding.” He ran his thumb along my jawline, and my skin broke out in goose bumps. It took everything within me not to flinch. Then he dropped his hand and stepped aside so I could get to the door.

Three steps to the living room before I took a breath. Six steps to the exit. I turned the lock, begging my body not to give me away.

“See you soon,” he said as I gripped the handle.

“Bye, Nathan,” I said without looking over my shoulder.

IT TOOK ME THREE tries to buckle my seat belt, my hands were shaking so much, my eyes constantly flicking back to the hotel entrance. But Nathan hadn’t followed me out.

I called Rick as I backed out of the lot.

“Everything okay?” he asked as soon as he answered.

I had told him we should keep our distance. Detective Rigby had warned me not to share intel with him, but I needed him now. “Rick, is anyone out at the house?” I needed to get home, get my things. I knew exactly what to do. My entire body was humming with it: Go, go, go.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think someone’s here, parked out by the road. Someone came to my door, but I didn’t answer.”

“Okay. Okay,” I said. “Rick, I’ve got to head out of town for a bit. I just wanted you to know I’m okay, though.”

Silence. I knew what he was picturing. His son leaving town.

“I’m coming back,” I said. “I just have to do something first.”

Finally, he replied, voice low and guarded. “Be careful,” he said.

“I will,” I said.

I left my car on Haymere Lane, cutting through the night on foot, without a flashlight. I wasn’t afraid of this—not the dark, not the openness. But my heart beat wildly, thinking of what might be coming. Who might be watching or following. Over the creek, up onto my property, to the back steps with the burned-out porch light.

I sneaked into my own house, quietly turning the key. And I didn’t turn on any lights as I hastily grabbed a bag of clothes, the essentials, my laptop.

It was when I was halfway done, looking back at the shadows as I used the light on my phone to find my things, that I saw the chaos caused in my wake by my rush: my purse on its side, contents spilling onto the table, my bedroom drawers half-open.

A chill ran up my back, because I knew where I’d seen this before: Elyse’s apartment. Even her car door hadn’t been firmly shut when I’d first found it in the parking lot. Like she’d been frantic, in a rush. Sprinting from her car. Racing for her apartment.

Like she’d been running from something. Like she’d known she had to move fast.

That someone was coming for her.

EMAIL INBOX

[email protected]

Subject: ADMIN LEAVE

Ms. Meyer: Due to the nature of the ongoing investigation and the current media attention, effective immediately you are placed on paid leave, pending further information. Please turn in your badge and key at your earliest convenience.

Subject: INTERVIEW REQUEST

Ms. Meyer,

We’d love to get your side of the story. Contact us any time at the details below. We can get something out ASAP, a rebuttal if you’d like. Ready whenever you are.

Subject: REQUEST FOR QUOTE

Hey Olivia,

Alice here, from the Observer. Wanted to circle back to see if you had a response quote to the piece that ran yesterday?

Subject: WTF?

I thought we were friends? How could you keep something like this a secret?

Subject: OFFERING SUPPORT

You don’t know me personally, but I work in the hospital. I knew Elyse, too. If you need an ear, or just a shoulder, know that I’m here.

Subject: REMEMBER ME?

I remember you. From back in high school. I knew you were a killer the day you threw me into a wall.

Subject: HELLO FROM EMMA LYONS

Dear Olivia—I’ve tried contacting you in the past as part of a series of interviews relating to the coverage of your rescue in Widow Hills. We’ve never connected directly, but I knew your mother. I want to help. Please reach out if you need anything.

CHAPTER 23

Thursday, 6:15 a.m.

HAD ELYSE BEEN AFRAID of Nathan Coleman?

Had he already been in town long before I knew it?

Maybe she had seen him outside my house or worried he might be back—and that was what she’d been warning Bennett about during their fight on my front porch.

Sean Coleman must’ve come here to warn me about his son.

Could Nathan have killed his father while he watched outside my house?

These were the thoughts circling all night, keeping me from sleep. Too agitated, too aware of every noise outside my room, every headlight glare on my window.

I’d had to stop last night halfway to Widow Hills. The pass through the winding mountains, the darkness—checking my rear-view mirror for his car, not paying attention to the sudden curves. I’d found a motel off the road with a vacancy sign, a small enough place that, even though I had to give my name and use my credit card, I didn’t think the media would be tracking me down here in the middle of the night. And neither would Nathan.

Because, I realized, that’s what he was.

A stalker. A longtime obsessive stalker. Would he have killed his father to stop him from warning me? Were all parent-child relationships so sacred that I should pretend this wasn’t a possibility? He’d said himself that they weren’t close.

As the sun rose, I wasn’t sure if this handful of hours of fitful sleep counted as rested, but at least I had calmed. I sat on the bed, opening my laptop, checking in to my work email remotely.