Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
I got off the phone with a vague promise that I would go to Jake’s that night, then explored whatever suburb I was in for an hour, waiting for the breakfast and two Gatorades to do their thing.
I ended up buying an outfit that spoke to me—black jeans with carefully manufactured tears, not outright holes but the tantalizing promise of them someday, and a dark gray sweater that had those thumb holes at the ends of the sleeves.
It wasn’t like I could keep pretending a pastel palette was going to help me hide anymore.
Was there enough information out there to really find me?
My stalker had killed everyone who knew my true identity and had stolen my file from the storage unit.
The problem was, not everyone who knew had been eliminated—not anymore.
Dominic was on his way home on a train, facing basically a death sentence if he opened his big fat mouth to the wrong person.
It was time to suck it up and make the long drive back.
- - - - -
When Dominic answered the door, I dangled the keys out in front of me like they were a peace offering. He yanked them away and plodded back into the apartment building, leaving the exterior door open without explicitly inviting me in.
I followed him up the stairs and into his apartment, shutting the door behind me. “We need to talk.”
“You think?” He had looked better. The train ride hadn’t done him any favors.
“Let me try to explain and you can ask whatever you want,” I said. “I really need you to understand you can’t tell anyone, and I know that sounds selfish, and it is, but it’s also because it will literally get you killed.”
He huffed and puffed a bit as he rested against a stool at the breakfast counter.
“Listen, okay? Reanne is dead,” I admitted, proof I was ready to be forthcoming.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t know if the police know yet; I assume they do, but she’s dead because of me.”
“I thought this talk was you convincing me you weren’t the killer?
” He showed maybe, just maybe, a touch of a smirk behind his indignation and I sensed there was hope, even for the real me.
I liked Dominic. He was no longer just a pawn but maybe a friend.
I couldn’t tolerate him hating me long-term.
“I didn’t kill her,” I clarified. “But I got her killed. Whoever is doing these things brought those arms to my apartment. I was the one who planted them to be found. Someone has been messing with me and I was really worried they would do something to Porter, so I went to see Reanne as a diversion.”
“That’s fucked-up,” Dominic said, informing me of his opinion on the matter.
“I know.”
“How do you know she’s dead, then?”
“I just do. Please don’t make me elaborate.”
“Who do you think did it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. It was a simple answer that carried a lot more weight to me.
I really had no idea. My father had raised me with an inflated ego that told me I was somehow better, that I was tougher, scarier, and smarter than other people, just like he was.
The truth was I had no idea who was behind this, no idea what they wanted, and no idea how to stop them.
I covered my face. I needed Dominic to get over it so I could focus on everything else.
He inhaled, audibly, on purpose. I lowered my hands and he opened his arms. “Come here.” A white flag.
I avoided eye contact, but went to him and let him wrap his arms around me. “I want you to let it go,” I said into his chest. “Just for now. Let me figure this out. I promise, I’ll tell you everything once it’s safe.” I pulled back so he could see me smile.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“No, I can’t worry about you too.”
He sighed like he understood, and I hoped it was true. I knew I had a very small window to operate in before he would stick his nose in everything again, but any window was better than nothing.
I left him, closing the door with an unintentional borderline slam, and jogged down the stairs.
I flung open the exterior door, continuing my momentum directly into the cozy midsection of a woman—one of two official-looking people standing on the small porch, fishing for a way inside Dominic’s building.