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I put my phone away, and look back to see Cheyenne is pale and shaking.
“Who are they?”
“The good guys. They’ll be who you give the evidence to.”
“But you look scared. Why are you scared if they’re the good guys?” she demands.
I gesture to my bloody appearance, then the dead guys in her floor. She doesn’t have a speck of blood on her.
“I’m not the good guy,” I remind her, and she exhales like that’s a relief to hear.
What a twisted town…
I grab a piece of paper from the table, and I scribble down an address as fast as I can, trying to get out of here before Logan makes it to the house.
“Have him escort you out of town. Tell him you never saw me, only knew I was in here because you heard the commotion. You were in the bathroom with your daughter the entire time, okay?” I ask, careful not to touch her with my bloody hands.
She nods, her throat bobbing with nerves.
I hand her the piece of paper.
“You can’t go anywhere there might be family or friends. They’ll track you that way. Leave your cell phone. Go to this house. It’s my Connecticut home, and a woman named Olivia lives there. She’ll give you the funds to replace anything you need.”
Her eyes water as she looks over the paper.
“Why would you do this for me?”
I watch her eyes as they lift back up. “I’m doing it for your child more than I’m doing it for you. This town doesn’t care if it’s a child. They planned to not only kill you, but to kill her tonight as well. Keep that in mind. And the evidence won’t be somewhere as obvious as his safe. Think of somewhere he goes daily. He would have been paranoid, always checking to make sure it was still there, but discreet enough not to do it in front of you.”
I peer out the window again, and curse, immediately dropping the curtain when I see the SUV moving this way now.
She looks lost in thought, then finally her eyes widen. “I know where it is.”
“Good. Have him escort you there, get it, and then leave. Make sure he follows you out of the town, just in case the sheriff gets wind of your retreat. And don’t stop driving until you absolutely have to—for gas or whatever.”
She nods vigorously, clutching the paper like it’s the anecdote to life. The door to the front is still open from it being kicked in earlier, so I don’t dawdle with racing to the back when I hear approaching footsteps.
But just as I reach the back, I catch a glint of blonde hair at the door, through the window there. His eyes are down, so he doesn’t see my cartoonish slide to a stop. Internally cursing, I spin back and dart into the broom closet, hating myself for being so reckless.
Please don’t let there be a blood trail. Please don’t let there be a blood trail.
I should have known he wouldn’t be alone.
Just as I silently get the door shut, I hear the back door opening without so much as a knock.
I can’t see, only listen.
“Logan, we have bodies,” Leonard’s voice announces.
Logan doesn’t respond. My stomach sinks to my toes when his shadow interrupts the stream of light coming under the door. This shallow closet isn’t going to hide me if he opens the door.
The door knob starts to turn, and I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable. I’ve planned for everything except him, and the waters keep getting murkier. What will he do if he finds me? Shoot me? Arrest me? Hurt me? Hate me more?
I don’t have to find out right now, because he apparently changes his mind, leaving the door shut as the sound of footsteps move away from me. I expel the painful breath I’ve been holding, and I listen as he talks to Cheyenne.
She tells them the story I crafted on the spot, and I hear the little girl’s voice calling for her from upstairs. “Stay there, sweetie,” Cheyenne says with a broken voice. “We have people down here right now.”
“I’ll be right back,” Cheyenne tells them, as I try to think of a magical way to get myself out of the damn closet without being seen.
