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I hear the doors unlocking and jump in the back, turning off my phone so that Alistair won’t be able to track me. As I do, I feel desperate for his company and protection, but I know that would be signing my brother’s death warrant.
“Brighton, please, as fast as you can.”
The taxi driver eyes me suspiciously via his rearview mirror, perhaps to check if I’m in labor, drunk, or running from the police. He slowly takes off.
“Faster,” I urge. I’m too scared to look behind me. Don’t want anyone to see my face and give chase. I slink down into the seat while he finally puts his foot down.
I have less than twenty minutes to think of a plan.
Jeff is manipulative, but could I beat him at his game? He’s the one obsessed with me, so doesn’t that give me a certain amount of leverage? My thoughts flit around like nervous birds, not settling for long enough to make sense, or think of a plan. What do I know for sure? That Jeff, frustrated that he couldn’t approach me at home or The Raven, is making me come to him. He’s pressing into what he knows is my most vulnerable place: my love for my brother. I knew Jeff was troubled, but I had no idea he’d stalk me at The Raven, or threaten Jamie’s life. From the looks of it, he spiraled quickly from a violent narcissist to a psychopath.
I will neutralize the situation, I tell myself. I will do whatever it takes to make sure Jamie is safe. The rest doesn’t matter.
The phone burns in my pocket. I wish I could check for messages. Becks must be beside herself with worry. Alistair will be furious. But none of that matters now.
What does Jeff want? I mean, I know he wants me back, wants a relationship, but even he must know that it’s no longer an option. Not after this. But he wants something.
Revenge? I wonder. For leaving him. For proving that I was better off without him, because he always told me I was nothing. I was worse than nothing. I was poison.
If the psychopath wanted revenge, he could have it. But only with me. If touches my brother … I can’t even go there. It is not an option.
The clock says 13:42.
I close my eyes. Think, Ivy. Think.
“Are you goin’ to boak?” asks the driver. He doesn’t sound accusing, just concerned.
My eyes snap open. “No,” I reply. “I’m not sick. Just thinking.”
He purses his lips in a way that makes me think he doesn’t buy it.
“You’re awfully pale,” he says. “Like a ghost. I can take you to a doctor, no charge.”
“I’m fine,” I say. My eyes travel down to the drinks holder that separates the front seats. There’s a can of pepper spray.
“Can I buy your pepper spray from you?” I ask.
He furrows his brow. “Are you in danger, lassie?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “I can take you straight to the station. You’ll be safe there.”
“It’s someone else who’s in danger,” I admit. “Please just take me to Brighton. I need to help someone.” We’re almost there. “Pepper spray? I’ll give you a hundred pounds for it.”
The driver scoffs. “Candy from a wee baby! No way. You’re takin’ it for free. It’s a gift. I get them two for a tenner at the local.”
The tension between us softens. “Thank you,” I sigh. I look for his name on the credentials on his dash. Dougie MacKenzie. “Thank you, Mr. MacKenzie.”
He passes it back to me. “Be careful with it. Get to know it. I can’t tell you how many folks spray it right in their own faces.”
“Right,” I reply. I see the way it unlocks, and where I need to press down. I practice it a few times, getting used to the feeling, hoping to quickly create some muscle memory in case my fear freezes me in the moment when I need to use the thing. Slide to unlock, press down to spray. Slide to unlock, press down to spray. Then I put it in my pocket and practice it in there. “Got it,” I say.
I watch the clock, adrenaline flooding my bloodstream. It’s 13:46. Jeff hates it when I’m late. And being anything less than five minutes early is “late.”
Just outside of Brighton, I give MacKenzie Jamie’s street address.
As we approach the house, the taxi driver slows down, hesitant to drop me off when he knows I’m in some sort of trouble. “I’d like to wait for you outside, if you’ll let me.”
“No,” I reply. “He’ll see you. It won’t be safe. But thank you. For everything.”
