The diary she’d hid beneath the mattress of the bed.“Atlas?”
His head lifted.Turned toward her.He shut the diary.“I found it on the floor.”
“I—”
“She’s dead!”Sloane cried.
Lily blinked.
“Did you hear me?Because I don’t think you did,” Sloane huffed.“I am sitting in an airport in New Orleans, watching the news, and the story airing is about Tonya Johnson.The name ringing a bell?Because it did for me.A super loud one.She was murdered outside of the bar where she works in Shreveport.”
Lily shook her head.
“Stabbed to death.At least according to the blonde reporter who is talking.This happened sometime yesterday or last night—or,I don’t know.The blonde isn’t really clear on the when part, but I have to tell you, this is making every internal alarm I havescreamin warning.”
Lily’s mind was screaming.
“You’re taken,” Sloane said.“You escape.Your house is broken into.Someone steals your files, and then one of the names on our list—Tonya Johnson—happens to be murdered right after that?Tell me you see the waving red flags in this.”
“I see them.”
Atlas rose.He left the diary on the bed.
Her throat wanted to close on her.Had he been reading the diary, while she slept?
Atlas shook his head.“No.”
“Itcan’tbe a coincidence,” Sloane said at the same time, her faint southern accent coming through with her stress.“Because if it is, then that’s the worst coincidence in the entire world.”
“I wasn’t reading it.”Atlas stepped toward Lily.“I found it on the floor.I went to my room to get some jeans, and when I came back, I accidentally kicked it.It was on the floor.I picked it up.”
Sloane hummed.“Is she—was Tonya—the closest subject to you?No, no, of course not.Atlas Bennett is the one physically the closest.”
Atlas was right in front of her, close enough to touch.
“But of the others, sheis—or, dammit, was—the closest physically to Dallas, Texas, wasn’t she?Dallas and Shreveport are like what—three hours away?Two and a half if you drive fast and there is no traffic?I don’t like this.”Her voice notched up as Sloane repeated, “I don’t like it.”
Tonya Johnson.The daughter of Meredith and Lyle Johnson.Tonya’s father had picked up over a dozen hitchhikers when he’d been working as a big rig hauler across the US.He’d picked them up, and they’d never been seen again.At least, not seen alive.The bodies had all eventually been found…by a group of Boy Scouts out on a hike.Lyle had liked to keep his kills in one central location.
Meredith and his baby girl Tonya had not known of Lyle’s crimes.The perfect father had been the devil.And Meredith had spiraled into drugs and booze after his conviction.As for Tonya…
Convictions for petty theft.A brush with prostitution.But Tonya had never physically hurt anyone.She’d gotten out of rehab about six months ago, trying to kick her own drug habit, and she’d seemed to be doing well.
“Who is the next closest one?”Sloane wanted to know.“If this prick got your list, if he’s offing the subjects one by one?—”
“We don’t know that,” Lily cut in to say even as her stomach twisted.“We can’t jump to that conclusion.”
“Yes, well, how about we follow the whole ‘better safe than sorry’ rule on this one?”
“That’s not a rule.”Her hair tumbled forward, and she shoved it back with one hand.
“Who is the next closest subject?”Sloane demanded.
“They are not subjects.They arepeople.” When had she stopped thinking of them as subjects?When?
A beat of silence.“Then we need to find our nextperson.Shit.Forget it, I’m pulling it up on my laptop because no one stole mine—oh, God, that was a bitch statement.I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.It’s not your fault anything got stolen.It’s that prick’s fault.The one who took it.I didn’t mean to be a bitch, you know I didn’t.I’m just stressed, and I’m scared, and I am so worried about you.”Her words were rapid-fire, as they often were when Sloane was stressed.“I don’t want him coming afteryou.”
“I’m safe.”
