Page 1 of Someone Just Followed You

Prologue

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Maple’s eyelids flicker but she won’t open them. She wants to live here, in her happy memory, not in the stifling, claustrophobic darkness that actually swamps her. The door to the outside isn’t far away, just a few steps maybe, but it’s too far for her. For the shackles on her wrists and ankles, chaining her to the bed.

But the memory has gone now, reality back behind her eyelids, so she gives in, opens her eyes. Takes in her shadowy surroundings. Within seconds the tears start, like always, hot and sticky on her cheeks.

She’s lying on her back. There’s just enough length in the chains to roll onto her side, but she doesn’t. Her whole body feels too heavy, like her muscles are still asleep and her limbs belong to someone else.

She stares at the ceiling. How long has she been here? Her brain is too sluggish; she can’t figure it out. She wants to fight against it, to think straight, to find a way to escape.

To pray for someone to come save her.

But she hasn’t got the strength to think. She’s too tired.

She closes her eyes again. Drifts off.

Chapter 1

Kirsten

We walk into the arrivals’ concourse, and I spot him immediately. A man in a fitted white shirt, black jeans, and thick-framed square glasses. Sure, he looks exactly like I imagine an advertising executive from California to look, but it’s the laminate card he’s holding that really gives him away. The one typed with my daughter’s name. Maple Clark (talent).

Talent.

I close my eyes and savor the moment. Fourteen years of hard work gleaming back at me in shiny black typescript. The clinking and chiming of Harry Reid Airport’s slot machines somehow the perfect backing track. With my palm on the small of Maple’s back, I maneuver us through the crowd of tourists and gambling addicts toward him.

I smile. I’ve practiced this a lot, getting the perfect balance between gratitude and expectation, and it seems to pay off because his LA-tanned face lights up.

‘Mrs. Clark,’ he says, reaching for my hand. ‘So great to meet you. I’m Jules, from Studio 88, the lead brand agency on this project.’

‘Please, call me Kirsten,’ I say, pulling my hand back, vaguely wondering if I retracted it prematurely, then deciding I needn’t worry. Talent. ‘And this is Maple.’ I give my daughter the gentlest shove forward.

‘Oh, hey,’ she says, lifting one hand into an awkward wave. She clearly hasn’t been practicing as much as me, which is a little irritating, given the number of times I’ve talked to her about first impressions, but I don’t let my disappointment show. ‘Nice to meet you.’

He nods and his eyes linger a second longer than maybe they should, a thirty-something man meeting a fourteen-year-old girl. But of course, Maple isn’t any teenager; if she was, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.

‘Well, welcome to Vegas,’ Jules says. ‘We’re so excited that you were available for today’s shoot; I know it can be hard during the school year, but we’ve got some immovable deadlines; you know how it is.’

‘It’s fine; we get it,’ I say smoothly, pretending that we do photoshoots in iconic locations all year round. Glossing over the fact that Maple skipping school to be here means she will be getting a black mark against her name on the attendance record round about now. ‘Luckily Maple’s school principal is a fan of her work.’

Jules spreads his hands. ‘Well, who isn’t?’ He laughs, a little falsely maybe, then points to the sliding glass doors. ‘I have a car waiting outside, if you’re ready?’

I find my best Hollywood smile. ‘Lead the way.’

We follow him out of the terminal building, then down a ramp toward a line of luxury cars with drivers sat up front. He pauses at one and gives us a triumphant grin. ‘So does this work for you, Maple?’

Maple’s jaw drops, literally, turning her mouth into a black hole. ‘OMG, Mom!’ she squeals. She flicks her face toward me, then back to the car, her golden-brown eyes wide with awe. ‘This is for us?’

Jules grins. ‘If you haven’t cruised the strip in a custom-built baby-pink Cadillac Escalade, have you even been to Vegas?’ He opens the door like a chauffeur might, then raises his eyebrows in a way I imagine a chauffeur would get fired for.

Maple giggles, any awkwardness now gone, and climbs in. I worry for a moment that Jules is going to follow, leave me on the pavement – the forgotten mom, even though I do practically all the work. But of course he doesn’t. He gestures for me to go next, and so I do, clambering inside as demurely as I can manage.

Chapter 2

Kirsten

Jules is right to brag. The Cadillac looks more like a limo inside, with four huge leather seats facing into each other. Maple has claimed one, her forearms wide on the armrests, the soles of her Nikes visible as she sinks into the deep bucket seat. I sit down next to her, and Jules climbs in, taking the seat opposite Maple.