Page 47

Maybe they already did, but just don’t know who he is because the man took his wallet and phone. Maybe they have to identify him by his fingerprints or dental records?

I don’t know.

I wish I didn’t know enough to wonder.

Outside, the sky is already turning gray-blue in the late afternoon. The rain from Thursday is long gone, but everything still looks damp and dirty, as if Pittsburgh hasn’t quite dried out.

I pull my coat tighter and walk toward the bus stop by the pharmacy. My boots sink slightly in puddles.

I’m halfway there when I notice the car—a black sedan with tinted windows parked two rows from the entrance, its engine running. My feet slow.

No.

Different car.

Has to be.

The one at the warehouse was newer.

I think.

Was it…?

I saw it for a while, and that was only two days ago, so my memory of it should be perfect, but it’s not; it feels smeared.

Despite my rising heart rate, I push forward and take shelter at the small bus stop. Three other people are there, which makes me feel marginally better. Still, I stick close to the older woman and young teen with headphones on, keeping some distance between myself and the man who looks like he’s just off a construction site.

I check the route app, confirming that the bus will arrive in seven minutes. When I look up from my phone, though, the black sedan’s brake lights come on, and it slowly pulls out and drives past the bus stop.

I can’t see much through its tinted windows, just the shape of a person who appears to be watching the road ahead, not staring at me.

Once the car is out of sight, I let out the breath I’d been holding, drawing the attention of the woman beside me.

“You all right, honey?”

I startle a bit at the sudden question, but rein it in quickly. “Yes. Sorry.”

“You went pale,” she says, her brows knitting.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Thank you.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Bit chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She nods as if we have solved the mystery.

It’s not long before the bus arrives, and we board. I take the seat behind the driver, knees pressed together.

I end up getting off two stops early because I’ve convinced myself that a dark car has been following us for five blocks.

I panic, and it’s only once the bus drives away that I realize I’m standing beside a closed dentist’s office about a mile from home.

I inhale and squeeze my eyes shut. “Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb,” I mutter, accidentally spooking a passerby.

With nothing else to do, I start walking. It takes a lot longer than it would’ve if I’d just stayed on the bus, but I think the walk actually helps to calm me down a little.

After several blocks, the neighborhood becomes familiar again, with old houses, narrow porches that sag, and cars crammed up against both curbs.