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I spin around, crumpling a pink envelope in my fist. “They’re the same.”
“What is? Walk me through what you’re thinking, sugar.”
“These.” I shake my fist for emphasis, my eyes wide and wild. “The handwriting is the same as that.” I point toward the new envelope in the box of photos. “What else is in there? There must be more. Here, help me.”
I start taking out the Polaroids, some of them look familiar in the way movie scenes or famous movie quotes are. I recognize them but I can’t place from where.
We go through hundreds of photos quickly, and I know I need to take my time and look through them all properly. But I have a hunch, a gut feeling that there’s something else in this box. And I’m going to fucking find it. I need a clue—something, anything to help me figure this out.
And there, taped to the bottom of the box, is a single photo. It’s me, in the back of that fucking van, unconscious.
And scrawled in the caption area: I warned you.
I stumble back a few steps, my hand covering my mouth in horror.
“Evangeline,” Lincoln says, his hands cupping my elbows and his face filling my vision.
But I’m not really looking at him. I’m stuck in my memories, going through everything with a new lens. One that paints an entirely different picture than any of us thought.
The man who abducted me from Lincoln’s house has been stalking me for years.
36
SILAS
“Remind me what we know.” I lean against the kitchen counter, cradling a neon pink hand-painted mug against my chest. The steam from my fresh coffee wafts up, and the scent of cardamom and cinnamon is kind of making my mouth water. For the last few days, I’ve been sneaking some of Evie’s chai tea latte mix and using it as a creamer.
Bane exhales, running his hands through his hair and falling into the chair at the kitchen table. “This box got delivered today. It’s full of Polaroid photos.”
“Some of these are mild. Like here’s a random tree, and then an iced coffee, and some random brick building. Those could be taken anywhere by anyone. But some of these”—he grabs a different stack and holds them toward me—“these are fucked-up. This is the door to the place she used to work at before she came to Rosewood this summer. This is that box of stationery she found on her bed last month that she swore she got rid of years ago.” He tosses each photo down as he lists it. “The Carter family mausoleum in Rosewood Cemetery. The stall at the farmer’s market where she bought jam with Hunter. Hamilton tickets. The same bouquet of flowers she bought three weeks ago for our house.”
Nova tosses the stack of photos on the island and plants his hands on his hips, his head hanging. “These don’t help us figure out who he is. All it tells us is that he’s been watching her for a long time.”
“There was a graduation announcement in one, which potentially gives us a timeline,” Bane adds, his voice subdued.
“Plus the cards, right?” I jerk my chin toward the letter-sized manilla envelope on the table. “How long ago do we think those started?”
Bane shakes his head, covering his mouth with his palm. “Fucking years. A decade maybe?”
I take a sip of my coffee, enjoying the warmth from the chai spices. “So, what do we know about long-time stalkers?
“They’re persistent and patient,” Evie says from the doorway, startling the fuck out of all of us. She looks like a goddamn wet dream dressed in a matching pale purple lounge set.
“Sugar,” Bane says, pushing to his feet. “You should be resting.”
She waves off Bane’s concern, stepping further into the kitchen with a determined look in her eyes. “I’m not hurt, and I’ve done more resting in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life. You want to know about long-term stalkers? Well, I just so happen to have watched a few very informative docuseries recently.”
Nova stalks across the kitchen, drapes his arm over her shoulders, and guides her to the table, away from the photos. “Alright, sweetheart. Lay it on us. What should we be looking for?”
Evie pulls out a chair, angling it so it faces all three of us. She sinks into it, crossing one of her long legs over the other.
My gaze zeroes in all that smooth, creamy skin on display. It’s fucking distracting.
My mouth waters to taste her again, and I must be the biggest kind of asshole to mentally calculate how soon I can get her underneath me again. Or on top of me—any fucking way I can have her, really.
I let my gaze slowly trail over her, drinking in every inch of her. When I get to her eyes, my shoulders jerk in surprise to find her gaze already on me. The side of her perfect mouth ticks up, and I know I’ve been caught.
I clear my throat and hide my warm cheeks behind my mug.
