Chapter 32
Annabelle
The Porsche stops outside the library, and my stomach turns over so hard I nearly tell Ethan to drive straight past.
He kills the engine and looks at me. “You can still change your mind.”
I stare at the stone steps, the glass doors, the stupid hanging basket by the entrance that Margaret insists makes the place look welcoming. Everything is exactly where it always is. That feels obscene. My whole life has cracked open, and the library still looks polite.
“No,” I say. My voice is thin, but it holds. “If I don’t go in, I’ll sit in your fancy penthouse and lose my shit.”
“That can also be arranged.”
Despite everything, a breathy laugh slips out of me. “Not helping.”
His eyes soften for a second. “I’ll be outside.”
“I know.”
“Aidan will be inside soon. We just need Cal to play decoy for a bit longer.”
“Okay.”
I reach for the handle. He catches my other wrist before I can open the door. My pulse jumps. He does not kiss me. He only studies my face like he is fixing every detail into his head.
“If anything feels wrong, let us know.”
I nod once and pull free, climbing out before I can think too much about the fact that I want to stay in the car with him.
The heat is already building. It presses against my skin as I walk up the steps. I don’t look back until I reach the door. Ethan is still there, watching. That steady presence is the only reason I can make my legs move.
Inside, the cool air hits me. The familiar hush wraps around me, and for one stupid second, I want to cry from relief. Books. Carpet. The low hum of the computer at the front desk. This place has always made sense to me.
“Morning,” Margaret calls from behind the desk.
“Morning.”
She looks up fully this time, and her expression sharpens. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, fine,” I lie because there is nothing I can say that would make the truth sound sane.
“Well. Try not to faint on the returns trolley. I’m too old to catch you.”
“Noted.”
She makes an annoyed noise and turns back to the screen. I head for the staff room, put my bag away, then stand there with both hands on the edge of the counter and breathe through the tightness in my lungs.
I am here.
I am doing this.
That thought doesn’t calm me nearly as much as I need it to.
I splash some water on my wrists from the tiny sink, dry them on a paper towel, and go back out.
The library is quiet this early. A couple of pensioners in the local history section.
A mother with a pushchair near the children’s corner.
A teenage boy is pretending to browse while obviously using the free Wi-Fi.
Ordinary people with ordinary lives. I envy them so much it nearly hurts.
I make it through twenty minutes of checking in returns before the first crack appears.
The front doors open, and my whole body goes rigid before I can stop it.
It is only a man in a hi-vis vest carrying a toolbox.
My breath still catches hard enough to hurt. I stare at him like he’s death itself until he nods at Margaret and says, “Here for the air-con service.”
Margaret waves him through without even checking anything. “Plant room’s through the back.”
I force my hands to move again. Scan. Stamp. Stack. My fingers feel numb. Sweat prickles at the base of my spine despite the cool air.
Get a grip.
I hate the phrase the second it runs through my head, because I’m trying. I am trying so fucking hard.
The engineer disappears down the corridor. My heart takes its time coming down. I keep my face neutral because if Margaret sees me looking like a startled animal every time the door opens, she’ll start asking questions I can’t answer.
A book lands on the desk in front of me.
I jump anyway.
The teenage boy nods like he doesn’t care, and I check out his fantasy novel with hands that are steadier now. He shuffles off without another word.
I tell myself that is good. Normal. I can still do my job, still stand here, breathe through the panic, and keep moving.
That matters.
I take the next stack from the trolley and focus on the barcodes. History, crime, gardening, two battered romances with cracked spines. My hands know the routine even when my head is a riot. I cling to that. Every beep from the scanner gives me something solid.
The front doors open again.
My pulse kicks.
An elderly couple comes in arguing quietly about whether they returned a DVD last week. I plaster on a polite expression and point them towards Margaret, because I cannot cope with a dispute over overdue discs while my nerves are flayed open.
Another ten minutes pass.
I start to believe I might actually get through the morning until it all goes dark.
The power whirrs down, plunging us into the dimness of a library without lights.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Margaret expostulates. “Bloody air-con man!”
My body has frozen like a statue. I haven’t even taken a breath, and my lungs are screaming for air. I let out a breath as the power comes back on and nearly faint with relief and from lack of oxygen.
At that moment, the door bursts open, and Aidan strides in, looking frantically around until his gaze lands on me.
He alters his expression immediately and nods, swapping panic for something casual so fast it would be impressive if I weren’t busy trying to remember how to breathe.
He walks to the front desk with the kind of ease that tells me he has already decided how this is going to play out.
Margaret blinks at him. “Can I help you?”
Aidan gives her a charming smile that would probably make most women melt. Margaret only looks suspicious. “Reference section?”
“Upstairs to the right.”
“Thanks,” he says, and heads for the stairs without looking at me again.
Margaret watches him go. “Very handsome.”
I nearly choke on absolutely nothing. “What?”
“The man.” She lowers her voice as if we are discussing state secrets. “Very handsome. Shame about the tattoos.”
I make a strangled sound that might be agreement, but definitely isn’t. My heart is still battering at my ribs from the blackout and from the sight of Aidan storming in like he was about to tear the building apart to get to me.
The engineer reappears from the back corridor, muttering under his breath. “Sorry about that. Had to isolate it to reset the unit.”
Margaret gives him a look sharp enough to peel paint. “A warning next time would be nice.”
He lifts a hand in apology and disappears again.
I scan another book. Then another. My breathing starts to even out by force rather than grace. Until I see Aidan on the stairs, his face a mask of complete and utter danger.
“Fuck,” I mutter and press myself closer to the return trolley.
Aidan’s gaze catches mine, and his face goes even darker.
“Fuck,” I mouth.
He nods, confirming my worst fear.
Jack Deveaux was just inside the library, and Margaret just let him waltz past us and plunge us into the dark.
My skin goes cold so fast it hurts.
“Could I get a little help up here?” Aidan calls out. “I can’t find a book on the history of the town square.”
My eyes widen. “What?” I ask.
“Oh, go and sort him out,” Margaret says, waving me off. “I don’t have the patience. The display is right here.”
“I know, right?” I mutter, easing out from behind the counter and almost rushing to the stairs, towards comfort.
As soon as I fall into step beside Aidan, I ask even though I know the answer. “Was that him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did he cut the power?”
“Could be surveillance, and it needed a reboot.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can,” Aidan says, low enough that it does not carry. “You already are.”
He guides me towards the shelves with a hand at the small of my back for half a second, then drops it before anyone can notice.
We stop in the local history section, boxed in by tall shelves and dust jackets that suddenly feel useless.
My heart is punching against my ribs so hard I can hear blood in my ears.
“Tell me exactly what you saw.”
“Nothing. I mean, I saw him, but not really. He had the high-vis on. The toolbox. I thought he was just the engineer.”
Aidan’s jaw tightens. “Did he look at you?”
“I don’t know. I was trying not to lose my mind because of nerves.”
His eyes search my face, checking damage. “He came in through the front?”
“Yes. Margaret sent him through to the plant room at the back.”
“He was doing something specific,” he mutters with a frown.
I press a hand to my middle. “Oh, God.”
“Don’t.” His voice sharpens. “Stay with me.”
“I am with you.”
“Then keep your eyes on me. He was in here to see if we were,” he says.
“You weren’t at the start. When the power went out, you barged in. Did he see you?”
“Probably. He was probably expecting it. Testing reaction time.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Aidan…”
“It’s fine,” he says. “We fell into the trap. It won’t happen again.”
“And next time the power goes out, what then? You leave me in the dark?”
He gives me a withering glare. “Obviously not. But we have to be smarter.”
“How? How do we outsmart a serial killer who has never been caught?”
“By knowing him,” Aidan says. His voice is flat, controlled, but there is murder under it. “We’ve had a lifetime of practice.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It isn’t meant to be. It’s meant to be useful.” He glances past me, checking the aisle, then steps closer without crowding me. “Listen carefully. He likes pressure. He likes to force mistakes. He likes proving he can get close. That means he will keep escalating.”
I stare at him. “You say that like I’m supposed to be fine with it.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Panic later. Right now, think.”
My chest rises too fast. “I am thinking.”
“No. You’re spiralling.” His tone softens by a fraction. “Annabelle. What exactly happened before the lights went out?”
I force myself to breathe. “He came in. Margaret let him through. He went down the back corridor. Then the power cut. Then it came back on. It was out a few seconds, max. Then you came in.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“See anything?”
“No. I was frozen in panic.”
“Anyone else go through there?”
I think. My mind feels brittle. “No. Just him. I think. I don’t know. Frozen, remember?”
Aidan nods once. “Good.”
“How is that good?”
“Because it narrows it down.” He looks towards the stairwell, then back at me. “He either planted something, checked on something, or wanted a clean look at your response in a controlled disruption.”
My mouth goes dry.
“I need to get to the plant room.”
“I can’t just waltz you past Margaret. The back corridor is off limits.”
He smirks.
It takes me a second. “Aidan,” I growl. “This isn’t the time.”
“It’s always the time, little bell.”
“Shut up and focus. I’ll have to distract her, and then I’ll tell her I need the loo. You need to come around the counter without her seeing and head to the door labelled Staff Access Only. Not the Staff Only one, the Staff Access Only one.”
“Got it.”
We head down the stairs, me in front, him trailing behind. I go around the counter and stop beside Margaret, trying to block the way so Aidan can sneak through.
“Margaret,” I say. “You’re right. I’m not fine.” I bring tears to my eyes. It’s not hard.
“Oh, love,” she says, patting me on the arm. “You’ve been putting on such a brave face.”
“I have,” I sob loudly as I sense Aidan. “Do you have a tissue?”
“Of course, dear,” she says and bends to fumble under the counter.
I make a shooing motion to Aidan, who slips quickly and silently past as I sniffle and sob as loudly as I can without drawing too much attention from the library patrons.
Margaret straightens up and thrusts a packet of tissues at me, her face pinched with concern.
“Go and sit in the staff room for five minutes.”
I press one to my eyes and shake my head. “No, I’m okay. Just hormones. You know.”
Her expression turns awkward in that very British way older people do when periods get mentioned too directly. “Right. Well. Have some water.”
“I might nip to the loo first.”
“Go on then.”
I nod and move away before she can change her mind. My legs feel strange under me as I head towards the Staff Access door, where the toilets are, along with the boiler room and, apparently, the plant room, trying not to look like I’m doing anything except keeping my shit together by threads.
The second I’m out of Margaret’s line of sight, I quicken my pace.
The corridor is empty. Grey doors on either side. Fluorescent lights overhead. The hum of the building settles back around me, but it doesn’t feel safe anymore. It feels watched.
The plant room is at the end of the corridor. Aidan is already in there, crouched in front of an open metal panel beside the wall. He glances up when he hears me.
“What are you looking at?”
“Not a whole hell of a lot. This appears to be what I said. A test.”
“Of you and me.”
“Your reaction, our response.”
“So he knows you’re here, and he won’t try anything.”
Aidan stands up, shutting the panel with a hard click. “Not while he thinks we’re this close.”
I stare at the metal box as if it might cough up an answer if I glare hard enough. It looks ordinary. Everything about this morning has looked ordinary until it hasn’t. “He was right here.”
Aidan’s expression changes. Less sharp. More dangerous in a quieter way. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.” My voice cracks. “I looked right at him and didn’t know. I just stood there like a fucking idiot.”
He steps closer. “That doesn’t make you an idiot. It makes him practised.”
I hate that he is right. I hate more that hearing it from him steadies something in me.
“What now?”
“Now I check the rest of this room, just in case, and you go back out there and pretend you didn’t just sob in front of Margaret.”
“Easier said than done,” I mutter, but I go, because if I don’t, Margaret will come looking for me, and that will lead to more questions I can’t answer.