Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
And I seriously doubt Hawke would ever be that careless. He kept it a secret from me for years.
I should get Farrow, but I don’t want him to know about the hideout. I’m not ready to make that decision.
I could just leave, ignore it for now.
But Manas and Deacon have helped, and they’re the only other ones who have access. What if they can help Lucas?
Stepping toward the mirror, I peek inside the dark hallway, the end of it brightened to a dark gray by the faint light from the windows in the Great Room.
There are no sounds, and the smell remains the same. No one is smoking or cooking inside, that I can tell. If someone was here to hurt me, they could’ve just been waiting in the shop.
I take a step in and walk quietly down the hallway, the place seemingly empty.
My gaze lands on the island and my parents’ love story lays open. My heart skips a beat. The book was definitely not open when I left.
Approaching the counter, I see black writing scrawled on a page.
Maybe you had it the hardest.
To be worth the price that was paid.
I understand you now.
I grab the book and flip through the rest of it, looking for more writing.
But that’s it.
I study it again. …To be worth the price that was paid.
Is this meant for me?
I had it the hardest? Hardest out of whom?
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I snap a picture and text it to Dylan.
She’s read part of this book with me. She’ll recognize it.
Found this written inside, I write.
I look around while I wait for a reply. Nothing else is disturbed from what I can see.
Dylan texts back. We both know that writing.
I stare at it again, remembering Winslet’s diary that I passed on to Hawke.
Could it be her? I wasn’t used to her writing in full sentences, but yes, the strokes are similar.
My skin crawls, feeling like I’m being watched again, but to be honest, I feel like that all the time now. If it’s not Deacon Doran, it’s Lucas or my brothers.
I tap out a reply to her. Stay close to your phone.
I want to know who’s in the Dodge. If they’re a danger, they sure are patient. Could they have been protecting me, maybe?
If it’s one of the brothers—or her—they know Weston and Shelburne Falls. Maybe they’ve seen Drew Reeves too.
Carrying the book with me, I run out of Carnival Tower like someone is chasing me and close the mirror. Farrow has moved to the front of the shop, behind my Jeep, and I race to the kitchen, pulling open a drawer. Bypassing the big butcher knife, I grab a paring knife—small, pointy, efficient.
I double-check the back door is still tied shut, tuck the book under my arm, snatch up my car keys and three Monster cookies, and charge for the front of the shop again, exiting the front door.
Farrow watches me.
“I’ll meet you at home!” I call out.
He peers at me through the open passenger side window. “Lucas said to stay with you!”
I toss the little bags of cookies through his window. “I’ll be there.”
“Lucas said to stay with you,” he repeats.
I glance up and down the empty road. He’s not going to let me out of his sight. What will the Dodge do if I’m alone? I need to ditch Farrow.
After hesitating a moment, I wipe the sweat above my chin and nod. “Lead the way then,” I tell him.
And I walk away just as his lips part to speak, but I’m gone before he has a chance to argue. Climbing into my car, I start the engine and fasten my seatbelt.
Checking my mirrors, I see half-a-dozen cars parked along the curb around me, but none of them look suspicious. Lucas has been arrested, and this is all connected somehow. Whatever the Dodge is going to do, it’ll be tonight.
Signaling, I grip the wheel and wait for him to pull out behind me. He drives past, throwing me a look as he goes.
Yeah, he’s on to me.
Hitting the gas, I cruise behind him, driving up High Street, taking a right on Woodland, and a left on Fall Away Lane. The wind whips through the Jeep, making my hair fly, and I don’t even have to look in my rearview. I know the car is there.
I glance, recognizing the dark windows far behind me. The shape of the car seems different—the height of the vehicle and the position of the grill—but it’s too far behind me to see clearly.
But the lights are off, and it’s following me. Same as always.
I punch the car up another gear, picking up the pace. I’m sick of this shit.
“Who are you?” I ask the stalker in my mirror. “Are you her?”
The words float through my mind. Never lead danger home. Never lead it to where you’re alone.