Page 188 of Trust No One

I didn’t want that kind of relationship with Molly. I didn’t want her to resent me or count the days until my death. I wanted better.

Maria’s and Gabe’s graves waited, the freshly tilled earth heavy, sticky, muddy. Sadness spiraled in my chest.

The monitor crackled. My breath caught, but the screen confirmed that Molly was asleep. I turned back toward Hale House, the glow of a few lights—kitchen and upstairs hallway—burning.

A sense of unease rippled over my skin. As I walked briskly back toward the house, the monitor hissed again.

I peeked at the screen. Molly was still sleeping. But shadows shifted in the corners of her room. My stomach lurched. The image flickered, warped. No intruder appeared.

I ran. Twigs and wet leaves snagged my feet, sending me tumbling twice. On the monitor, Molly’s body still lay curled. But the shadow swelled around her small frame.

Two at a time, I bolted up the stairs. The top step groaned as I landed, loud enough to make me flinch.

Breathless, I opened her door. A scan revealed only shadows. Molly’s soft, even breaths reverberated in the silence.

In the hallway, I closed the door partway. I exhaled—and then froze. I saw him.

At the top of the stairs stood Pete Miller, a gun gripped in his right hand. His grin was jagged, wolfish.

“What are you doing here?” My voice barely carried—a whisper frayed by fear.

“I came for you.” His yellowed teeth gleamed in the dim light.

“How did you get in?”

He took a step closer. “Old houses like these are easy to break into.”

The flashlight trembled in my hands. “Leave. Now.”

“Not yet.”

“What do you want?”

His fingers twitched—the same restless tic I’d seen before he’d grabbed my throat. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing me in, and his smile widened. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every day.”

Fear clawed. “I tried to help you.”

“You didn’t take my case for me. I was another scalp in your belt. Another rung up the ladder.”

“Who told you that?”

He snarled. “I’m not stupid. I figured it out all by myself.”

“How did you find me?” I demanded.

He ignored the question, his gaze flicking toward Molly’s door. “That little girl is cute. Been watching her sleep while you poked around the graveyard.”

Ice slid through me.

Keep him talking. My fingers tightened around the flashlight. Could I hit him and reach the gun in my nightstand? And if I did, could I shoot him?

“How did you get out?” I demanded again.

“You’re not the only one with friends.”

“What does that mean?”

He stepped toward me, the gun at his side. Only inches separated us. “A lot of people don’t like you. They’ll be better off when you’re dead.”