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Elliot crosses his arms. “Probably a prudent decision. There are still one or more killers at large. You don’t want to chance running into one of them, especially if you’ve got no idea what they look like. I hate to add more fear to your situation, but any stranger on the street could be one of them.”
One or more killers. What he means is that Rome is behind bars, leaving the rest. Could be one. Could be more. I never did see the man wearing the mask. Never did establish if it was just one psycho visiting us, or several. Rome swore there were three of them when he spent time upstairs, two guys and a girl, but so far the cops don’t seem to be taking anything he says seriously. Elliot hasn’t heard a word I’ve said over the past weeks protesting Rome’s innocence.
I stop myself from launching into the same tirade I’ve already shared multiple times. I’ll deal with the Rome situation and make sure his name is cleared. But first, I need to know if my ex-boyfriend is stalking me.
“It’s not strangers I keep running into.” My heart beats faster as the pieces click into place. “It’s my....ex-boyfriend. Will. I only started leaving the house this past week, and I’ve seen him everywhere. All over the city. Just now in Colma. It’s too much to be a coincidence. I don’t think it’s malicious, but it’s freaking me out.” I pause momentarily, suddenly gripped by a horrible feeling that I’m betraying somebody who loved me–and only me–for the better part of a decade, even with all my family bullshit and baggage.
Still. If I don’t ask the question, I won’t get an answer. “Do you guys have some tacit agreement to keep tabs on me? It’s getting weird.”
Weird is an understatement. I’m ready for Elliot to laugh. To crack a smile. To say that there’s no possible way anyone’s paying this much attention to me.
But he frowns. A chill skitters down my spine. “That is weird,” he agrees.
“He’s a good guy,” I say quickly. God, am I trying to expose him or defend him? Neither? Both? I’m so confused.
“Do you have a phone on you by any chance?” Elliot asks.
The burner phone. Damn it.Of course.
I don’t want to tell the detective, in case I’m wrong, and then I lose the only thread of freedom I possess. I definitely don’t want to give that up, especially if Elliot is working with them. I look up at the house, catching movement in the ground-floor window. Theyarefucking watching.
“Are you on my uncle’s payroll?” I blurt out. Elliot looks startled. My legs are aching, and I sit down on the bottom step that leads to the front door, the smoothie in my hand warm now. I set it down and focus my attention back on Elliot, who is hovering at a respectable distance.
“It’s not a big deal,” I add. “Half the SFPD is.”
“No, I’m not,” he says emphatically, sitting across from me so we’re facing the long driveway and wrought-iron gates that are firmly closed. “I’d have a much better car than that piece of junk if I was getting under-the-table payments from your family.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but something about him is… I can’t quite put my finger on it. The weary expression in his blue-green eyes and the tattoo sleeves peeking out from his shirt sleeves tell of a life harder and more complicated than your average paper-pusher working for the SFPD downtown.
Neither of us say anything for a moment. It’s a nice afternoon, the breeze slight, bees merrily collecting pollen from the roses my mother painstakingly tended for years before she died. The sky is a brilliant blue with occasional fluffy clouds hurtling overhead on their way inland. The sun is warm on my face. I should feel happy. But suspicion and betrayal twist painfully in my gut, their presence turning all of the good things dark.
“He gave you a phone, didn’t he?” Elliot guesses.
I nod. “I thought he was trying to be helpful. My family isn’t exactly… letting me have my own life right now, if you know what I mean.”
My family is driving me fucking insane with their constant hovering, truth be told, but it comes from love, so I haven’t said anything about it. Yet. I haven’t had to, because this phone has given me the lifeline I thought I needed.
“You got it on you?”
“I do.” I scoot closer to him and open my purse, taking the phone out. It takes everything I have to put it into his hand.
“Password?”
I rattle off the four-digit code and Elliot types it in with his thumb. He flicks back and forth through the apps. There aren’t many, but he lands on one in particular—I don’t think I’ve ever tried to open it. I spend all my time on the browser, trying to find out what’s happening to Rome.
“Avery,” he says quietly, and it scares me more than a shout would have. “Does anyone else have access to this phone?”
I push the hair out of my face again and gather it into my fist to hold it back against the breeze. “Nobody has access to it now. Will—he’s the one who brought it to me in the hospital.”
He turns the phone around so I can see the screen.
At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. I know apps like this exist—everyone does. I’ve just never seen one, and especially not on my own phone.
It’s innocuous. A little search icon with a blue background. I don’t use separate apps to search the internet because I’m a normal fucking person who uses Google.
Underneath that icon is a series of lines of text. They say things like transmitting data.
Transmitting location.
