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“Tell me,” I say.
Although there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to hear it. Because I know what she’s about to say. I can wish that she’ll go into a tirade about a bad class, or a friend who upset her over something, but Emily’s not the type to get this worked up about any of those things.
I had a bad feeling about her returning to school right from the start. The risk was just too big with that crazed psychopath still out there. I know that’s the reason. I know he must have done something to her. Oh, God, if he put a finger on her—
“I think I know who it is, Peter.” She swallows hard and her breath catches in her throat.
“What?” Dumbfounded, I can’t think of anything else to say. How could she know? Did he approach her? And if he did, what did he do to her?
My blood is on fire under my skin and I can feel it thudding in my ears. I swear to God, they will have to hold me back once I find this guy.
“At least I—I think I do,” she stammers, shaking her head vigorously. It’s like she’s trying to get her brain to make sense of something and thinks that giving it a good shake will help things along.
“What do you mean, Emily? Did something happen?”
She wipes the remaining wetness from her face with the back of her hand and takes another shaky breath.
“I don’t know.” She looks out the window, anxiously scanning the parking lot. “He has to be watching me. How else did he know? This guy, Trevor—”
“Trevor?” I immediately feel bad for interrupting. But Trevor? That’s probably the least crazy stalker name I’ve ever heard.
“He goes here,” she says. “And I guess we were in Organic Chemistry together, or that’s what he says at least. I don’t really remember.”
“Are you sure?”
She fixes her gaze on me again and I see something dark shift behind her eyes. “I was on my way over here just now, when he pulled up in his car and—” Her eyes fill up again, and I know I have to do something.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
Letting go of her feels so wrong, but I have to do it. For now. The engine swings to life and I pull out of the lot. He could still be hanging around here. Watching. But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’ll get a tail on me. It feels a little like I’m back working the beat. I check my rearview mirror every few seconds for any suspicious activity.
“Did he hurt you?” It pains me to think about it, let alone ask the question, but I need to know.
“No. He didn’t get out of the car.”
“Did you get a look at it? Make and model?” That helplessness from before is gone now. This is my playing field, good old cop work. It’s where I function best.
“I don’t know,” she says again.
“Come on, Emily. Think.” I don’t mean to pressure her, but these details are necessary. They could even be a matter of life and death. “What color was it? Did it have any markings or—?”
“Can you please stop badgering me!” She grabs her head, digging her fingers into her hair.
Shit. Now I feel terrible.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just really important that you remember what you saw.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She rounds on me, her expression much the same as the one from this morning right before she stormed out of my apartment. “Do you honestly think that I’m just sitting here, deliberately saying I don’t know and I can’t remember for the hell of it? Newsflash, Peter, the one person who wants this sicko put away more than you is me. It’s my life in danger here. I’m the one who could end up getting hurt. I don’t enjoy looking over my shoulder all day, or feeling scared all the time, or being gawked at on the street by creepers in blue Mazdas!”
I glance over to her and her eyes are big and round, her mouth open in shock. She’s just as surprised as I am that the description of the car came out of her mouth like that.
My attention goes back to the road and I smile to myself. “Now that I know getting on your nerves is an efficient way of getting answers, I’m going to be doing it more often. Just a heads up.”
She slaps my arm playfully, and when I look at her, she’s smiling, too.
“The left taillight is out, too.”
“Okay, now you’re just showing off.”
