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“I don’t know.” Exasperated, my voice rises. “Asked around my office? Hacked my email? Bugged my phone?” My pissed-off level rises rapidly at his attitude.
He throws the device onto a soft chair. “No escape. Ever,” he says slowly, enunciating every syllable. “I think he means if he can’t have you, he’ll kill you.”
I double over, gasping, as if I had taken a blow to the solar plexus. “Are you serious?” I still think of Sam as the clowning guy I met all those years ago. Never really serious, even about his art. Certainly not a secret killer.
“Didn’t he just set fire to your parents’ house? This escalation is, is…”
“Concerning?”
“More than that.” His laugh is short and unhumorous. “These are anonymous. Are you sure they’re from Sam?”
I roll my eyes. Who else would send me texts like these? “I can’t imagine them coming from someone else.”
“Isn’t he blocked? Tell me you at least did that.”
“New number,” I say tiredly. “I blocked the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that. It’s a game he plays.”
“Why haven’t you changed your number?” He sounds censorious.
Bristling, I snap, “No fucking time.”
“Crisse de câlice de tabarnak d'esti de sacrament de trou vierge,” he mutters under his breath. “You need to make the time. Can’t you just call?”
“No, I have to go to a store and have them do it. They need to swap the card.”
“Did you block him again?”
I take back my phone and copy the texts, putting the document into my notes. Then I block him, deleting everything.
“Now I have.” I slip the phone back into my bag. “As soon as I’m home, I’ll go in for a new number.” After I deal with whatever the fallout is at work.
Bossy boots has another idea. “Cancel your service. We can provide a burner phone for a while. As long as you keep to just a couple of contacts, he can’t find you.”
“No way. I have to be reachable by my office.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Tabarnak. Can’t you keep in contact by email?”
“No. We have these video calls every day—well, except today. Would the burner number work with my computer? Would I be able to give them that number?”
“No, the whole point is to limit access. I’ll talk to Max about options.”
“Stop treating me like I’m some irresponsible teenage girl. You’re not my dad and you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I am your protector, so I definitely can tell you what to do if it will keep you safe.”
“Maybe I need to have my own room for the rest of the trip.”
Now he looks like a sad raccoon. Dark circles stand out under his eyes. “Look, I’m under a lot of pressure right now, and all I want to do is wrap you in cotton wool and hide you away from the world.”
My blood turns to fire and my lungs can’t get enough air.
He takes my hand and starts thumbing circles around the back. “Please try to be patient with me. I don’t believe Sam is here, but all these texts are a way of tracking you. I am trying to give you the access you need without endangering you at the same time.”
Nodding, I settle back. “I’m sure my office won’t give out the number.” I try to sound more confident than I feel.
“Maybe, maybe not. After all, he could have called impersonating a potential client and someone may have told him you are in France.”
“What do I do? I’ll continue to have meetings. And send reports.”
