But I can ignore the sting of heat in my cheeks when my whole body’s melting down anyway. “Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth.
I switch the walkie-talkie to my other hand as my palm slicks with sweat. A minute passes. I take a seat and look through my signal-less phone so I don’t have to make eye contact with Cheryl.
“The printer’s jammed,” Cheryl says. “I’ll be right back with your slip.”
Cheryl disappears into the back. I eye the front door, willing Gerry to step through it with Beck’s keys. Screw the paperwork.
Please let Beck be handling Paisley okay. We’re so close.
I flip through the photos I took of Evan’s cabin and Paisley’s phone.
Has Natalie figured out what happened to Evan yet? Why would she be contacting me so panicked about my well-being if so? She must be smart enough to connect the dots. It’s also barely been five minutes, but my stomach goes cold as I realize I don’t remember if I gave Natalie a location, if I told her I was at the mechanic shop or motel.
What if I did? What if Natalie’s on her way to Beck and Paisley now?
What if—?
The front door opens.
But it’s not Gerry. It’s Natalie. She’s out of uniform and in a linen shirt and pants. She’s here, trying to find me, on her day off. She’s desperate to find me—and now she has me.
My legs go weak at the sight.
Meanwhile tension falls away from her shoulders as she sees me. “Oh, thank god. Emma, I was so worried about you and Beck.”
She practically runs toward me, only stopping when we’re a foot apart. Close enough to stab me, strangle me, whatever she likes. Black spots coat my vision.
“We’re fine,” I say. “We just need to get back home.”
Does she know we haven’t packed up the campsite? Can she see right through my lies?
She clenches her fist at her side. “Okay, but before then, I need to talk to you.” She pushes her body even closer to me, her voice low. “I found Evan.”
My breaths come in rapidly, but my throat burns like no particle of oxygen is reaching my lungs.
She knows.
She’s boxed me into this seat and sheknows.
I reach into my bag, fingers wrapping around the pocketknife.
“What happened?” I ask.
We both know I’m lying.
She grabs my wrist. The one holding the knife.
“We need to go back to the station,” she says. “We need to talk alone.”
She’s going to kill me.
I look to the walkie-talkie as my eyes burn. Can I at least warn Beck and Paisley?
The door opens.
“Hey, Medina, let go of the kid! I’m trying to get her out of here.”
Gerry.
