Chapter 12 #2
“Thank you for coming,” I tell them, unable to bring myself to apologize, even though he probably thinks I overreacted.
Boone reaches around me and extends his hand, first to Officer Hawks, then to the female cop. The police chat near their cars for a brief moment before leaving. The next natural step would be to go back inside, but even with Boone with me, I’m not eager to do it.
“Are you ready to go?” Boone asks, pulling me from my thoughts about the condo.
“Go? Like to breakfast?” I’m a little surprised we’re just going to act like everything is normal.
“Yeah, lets grab what you need.” He tips his chin toward the house and waits until he’s right next to me to whisper, “No talking about any of this inside.”
“Okay.” I exaggerate the word slowly. “I just need to grab my bag and… am I riding with you?”
“Yeah,” Boone answers while ushering me onto the porch, then opening the door for me to go inside. I look back to make sure he’s coming with me, but he’s right on my heels. He gives me a small nod of reassurance.
Stepping inside is an exercise of will. I’m scared but also pissed off that I’m so leery of a place I fell in love with only a few days ago.
Resolve straightens my spine. Maybe I’m feeling brave because I know Boone and the two other officers already cleared the place, or maybe it’s just because Boone is still with me, but either way, I stomp through the house, not allowing my nerves to slow me, until I realize I’m going to need to run upstairs before we leave.
I look around for a moment, avoiding the inevitable. Boone must notice, because he says, “Do you want me to grab something while you run to the bathroom?” He points to the small half-bath near the front door.
I could absolutely melt into a puddle. His observation skills are going to make me fall hard way too fast, or at the very least set a damn high standard. “My purse is upstairs, on the dresser, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing it while I freshen up.”
“Got it. Purple, right?”
“Burgandy, but yeah,” I agree, wondering if he noticed it when he was upstairs earlier.
I lock myself in the small bathroom before he makes it halfway up the stairs.
There’s no way anyone could hide in here, but I still take a cautious look around to be sure.
When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I use my hands to smooth my hair again.
A terrifying thought filters through my mind.
How long was that person in the house? Were they there while I was in the shower and blow drying my hair? While I got dressed and put on makeup?
My stomach lurches, and I spin toward the toilet as nausea rises and warm saliva pools in my mouth. A sudden knock on the door startles me, and I regain my composure. “Just one second,” I answer weakly before turning on the water to wash my hands and buy a few more moments.
The click of the lock disengaging seems loud as I turn the knob. I muster an unaffected expression, or at least try, when I greet Boone, who is waiting with my bag in hand just outside the bathroom door.
“All good?” he questions, searching my face. I wonder if I still look a little green.
“Yup.” I reach for my bag and slip it over my body with familiarity, then I pat my rear pocket to confirm I have my phone. In all honesty, I don’t even remember putting it back in my pocket.
The short walk to Boone’s car is silent beyond my sigh of relief when we step out of the condo. Thoughts of what could have happened are still too fresh to pretend I’m not thankful to be getting out of there.
Surprising me, Boone leans past me, brushing against my shoulder to open the passenger door for me. I glance in his direction and mutter a soft, “Thank you,” before climbing in and reaching for my seatbelt as he shuts the door.
The scent of his cologne fills the interior of the car.
I’m not familiar with it, but I find comfort in the warm, peppery aroma.
Neither of us speak until we pass the guard shack.
Thankfully, the gate opens without any hesitation.
Once we’re on the open road, Boone turns to glance at me. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really, but I don’t want to go back right now, and I would love a cup of coffee,” I reply.
He nods as if he suspected as much. “You should still try to eat something.”
“Maybe,” I concede. It will depend on how my stomach feels by then. I’m not even sure coffee would agree with me at this point.
He drives toward the water, and I practice avoidance while staring out the window.
Before long, he pulls into the rear lot of a small strip of storefronts about a block away from Lake Michigan.
When he turns off the car, neither of us rush to get out.
Words I thought I didn’t want to say slip from my lips in the quiet interior.
“What did you see that made you believe me?” I can’t bring myself to look directly at him, not when I’m still worried he agreed with me just to keep things simple.
“There was something in the sink.” I catch the motion of his hand pushing down his thigh in my peripheral.
Curiosity and the thought that it could have been a glass I picked up at some point makes me ask, “What was it?”
“A knife.”
“A knife?” My question comes out deceptively soft for all the emotions I’m feeling. “What kind of knife?”
“One from the kitchen. If you tell me you got up last night and used it, I will be so fucking happy, Harlyn, but—”
“I didn’t,” I interrupt.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He rubs his hands down his legs again.
“When I was in the bathroom, I was wondering how long he was there. Why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance?” My voice is flat, even more devoid of emotion than it was seconds ago.
“Fuck, Harlyn, don’t say that,” Boone admonishes.
“Why not? I need to know, right? Like, did he just miss his chance, or was the plan to mess with me all along? Make me and everyone else think I’m crazy until he decides it’s enough?”
“I don’t think he missed his chance,” Boone admits tightly. “If he was in the house…”
I finish the sentence before he can. “He could have killed me.” A disquieting sense of relief that I’m alive washes over me, but the feeling is short-lived, because I know I might not be so lucky next time.
“How do you think he found me?” I voice the thought aloud before it’s even fully formed.
Boone’s warm hand covers mine before he answers, “If he’s been stalking you, which is clearly the case, then it wouldn’t have been hard.”
“I haven’t posted anything on social media, and I have my location turned off in all my apps that could have given me away,” I argue.
“What about flight information, your search history, and email?” Boone turns to face me, and I’m compelled to do the same.
I shrug lamely in response, because it’s obvious I haven’t been as careful as I should have been.
“He could also have other means.” Boone’s lips are turned down, as if this is the last thing he wants to tell me. “He could be tracking you, listening to you, and even recording since we know he’s had access to your house.”
That sick feeling in my gut returns, and I grab my stomach before slipping my hand out from under his to cover my mouth. I think I’m really going to throw up this time.
“Breathe, Harlyn,” he instructs while placing his hand under my hair on the back of my neck. His grip is firm enough to let me know he’s there, yet gentle enough that I don’t feel trapped.
“Do you…”
I can’t bring myself to finish.
“Do I think he’s tracking you? Yes. That’s why I didn’t want to talk in the house. If he wasn’t listening before, he could be now.”
“Then why move the file and leave the knife? If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have even known he was there.”
“I think he wanted you to know he was there, even if it was just to scare you.”
“And to make me think I was nuts. This is the same kind of shit he would do to Hayzel—empty a new bottle of shampoo, move her clothes around… leave the stove on!” I toss my hands in the air, only now realizing this isn’t the first time he’s been in the condo.
I didn’t leave the burner on. At least I don’t think I did.
Now, I really do feel crazy, because he’s making me question everything.
“I need to call Livy.” I tug my phone out of my pocket with shaking hands, and I tap on her contact info.
Boone doesn’t question my insistence, not even when it becomes evident that she isn’t going to answer her phone.
Normally I would hang up without leaving a message, since she rarely checks them anyway, but I feel compelled to now.
“Olivia, I know you’re pissed, but I need to talk to you. This is really important. Answer your phone, or at least text me back so I know you’re reading my messages.”
My hand, still clinging to the phone, falls into my lap.
I didn’t want to do this through a message, but I have to tell her she isn’t safe at the house.
It takes me several attempts to type out the message, and when I finally hit send, I’m still not happy with it, but I hope it conveys how serious I am.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping the telltale bubble will appear to indicate she’s reading and going to respond, but nothing happens.
“When was the last time you heard from her?” Boone kneads his fingers along my neck.
“Three days ago—no, four,” I amend.
“Is she usually this stubborn?”
“Yes and no. I didn’t think she would ignore me if I really needed her.” Admitting that’s exactly what she is doing is hard.
“Is there anyone else you can call to see if she’s talking to them?”
Just when I think I have a grip on the horror show that is now my life, I realize how much worse it could really be.
It never dawned on me that Livy might not be ignoring me intentionally.
“Oh my god!” I scroll through my contacts for her boyfriend’s number.
My instinct is to call, but when I notice the time, I know I’d have a better chance texting because Parker’s at work.