“Interest,” I whisper.
“Good.” Her voice turns deadly calm. “Then you can steer it.”
"Tash, I can't do this." My voice breaks completely. "I can't spy on him, I can't—every time I see him, I'm going to remember the gun, and I'm going to fall apart, and Patrick's going to kill Ethan—"
"Val." She cuts me off, and her voice changes. Goes cold and professional in a way I've only heard a handful of times. "The police could handle this. One call. And the police will swarm his case like ants to sugar, they’ve been looking for him, they will help you. No more threats. No more missions. You know that right?"
My breath catches. "What!"
"You heard me. One call to the police, and Patrick could be done. Gone. You and your family walk away clean."
For one second—just one—I let myself imagine it. Patrick gone. Mom and Ethan safe. No more burner phone. No more impossible deadlines. No more living in terror.
But then reality crashes back in.
"No." The word comes out strangled. "No, Tash, I can't—what if it goes wrong? What if Patrick has backup plans, people who can come after us even if the police manage to put him away? What if he has half the police in his pocket? Men like him must surely have half the police force in their pocket."
Tash sighs. "You are right. I was just trying to think of other options that do not put you in the lion's den."
“There is no other way.”
“I tried talking to my father, but he is not ready to send his men and resources into a war that will make him look like a reckless leader.”
“Thank you for trying. For being my friend.”
“I wish there was anything more I could do because men like Patrick don't let their victims go.”
Her words send fear straight to my chest, but I push it down.
“You have done enough.”
“Please, Val, try and keep in touch as often as you can.”
"I promise."
She hangs up and I sit there staring at my phone, her words echoing in my head. Men like Patrick don't let people go.
But I have to believe he will. Have to believe that if I just survive three months, just give him enough to satisfy him, this nightmare will end.
Because the alternative—that I'm trapped forever, that there's no way out—that's too terrifying to consider.
The burner phone buzzes in my bag.
My stomach drops through the floor.
No. Not yet. It's too soon—
But I pull it out with shaking hands anyway, because ignoring Patrick is worse than facing him.
Unknown number. Incoming call.
I answer. "Hello?"
"Valerie." Patrick's voice is smooth and cold, like expensive scotch mixed with poison. "I've been waiting for your report."
"I—I'm still getting oriented. The house is huge, there's security everywhere, I need more time to—"
"You've had twenty-four hours. That's more than enough time to find something useful."
