Page 37 of Tempest’s Torment

There’s no name, no signature, nothing else. I look at Lilah, she doesn't ask what it says; she doesn't have to. One look at my face and she closes her eyes for a second before they open again, wider this time, panic settling in.

"Lilah."

"He found me," she whispers breathlessly.

"Who?"

Silence fills the hall between us, long enough that I wonder if she's going to answer. "Evan."

I look at the envelope in my hand.

Did you miss me?

It’s not a threat but a greeting; now I know what kind of man we're dealing with. I put the envelope carefully on the floor beside the door.

"Can I come inside?"

She finally turns; her face is blank, almost empty, and that worries me more than if she'd started crying. She looks at me for a second, then pushes the door open and steps aside. I step inside and head straight for the bathroom. I check behind the shower curtain, then the window; it’s locked. Then onto the bedroom. I stop in the doorway, scanning the room before I step inside, check the closet, and under the bed before moving to the window, which is locked.

The room's neat, her bed’s made, there’s nothing that jumps out at me. I back out and check the living room, then the kitchen, all windows are locked up tight. The fire escape catches my attention, I test the latch, and it holds, but I don't like it. I'll have Sniper look at it tonight.

One last look around tells me what I already know. There’s nobody here.

"Nobody's here."

She's standing in the middle of the living room with her arms crossed, her bag still over her shoulder. Her eyes flick to me, then toward the door before settling back on the floor. I don't crowd her; instead, I drag out one of the kitchen chairs and sit down, leaving the couch for her. After a long second, she walks over and lowers herself onto it. I place the envelope on the coffee table between us.

"You don't have to tell me anything," I say. "But I'd like to know what we're dealing with."

She looks at the envelope, then the coffee table. I watch as her eyes drift past me, unfocused, and she takes a slow breath.

"His name is Evan Calloway." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "He was my twin sister's boyfriend."

I don't say anything; I just wait for her to continue.

"Three years ago, he took us." She swallows. "Me and Lucy." Her eyes stay fixed on the coffee table. "He ran us off the road, he had a gun, there was another man with him." She takes a breath before continuing. "They took us to a cabin in the woods. Everything was already there; he'd planned it." Her fingers tighten around each other. "He kept us there for two days. He blamed me for Lucy leaving him; he said I'd turned her against him." She closes her eyes for a second. "He... used us to hurt each other."

I don't move. I keep my gaze on her, watching and listening to everything she’s saying.

"Lucy died there. He killed her. I got out through a back window while he was dealing with..." She stops and pulls in a ragged breath. "I ran and that’s where Omen's club found me on the road."

She finally meets my eyes.

"He was never arrested. He disappeared before any investigation got anywhere. Six months later, he showed up again, outside my workplace in Connecticut, and then at Lucy's grave." Her jaw tightens. "He left white lilies, she hated lilies. That's when Omen moved me. New city, clean start. I've been here for nearly three years."

I look at the envelope on the table.

Did you miss me?

This is definitely a greeting from someone who considers this a reunion.

The sunflowers, the SUV positions, the plate being deliberately obscured, and the envelope slid under a door in a building with a keypad entry which means he either got in behind a resident or he has the code. He's been here longer than this week, he's been watching long enough to know her routine down to which parking space she uses. He's been patient.

People like him savor the buildup; they want you to know they're present before they move because knowing is part of it. I keep all of that completely off my face; I don’t want to frighten her any more than she already is.

"You're not staying here tonight," I say.

She looks at me. "This is my apartment."