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Parked in the driveway, I dash in the house, pack a duffel for the weekend, grab my laptop, then call in an order at the diner. I walk room to room and check all the windows are locked. Check every entry point to make sure the bolts are securely in place. Once the alarm is set, I jump in the car and drive to the diner.
Relaxing this weekend sounds heavenly. Me, Skylar, takeout, snacks, and television. Perfect.
Unfortunately, if the unwelcome pang beneath my diaphragm has a say in the matter, there won’t be any relaxing moments until this whole mess ends.
Hopefully, this all comes to a close soon. If all goes according to plan, the guilty party will be behind bars in no time.
Chapter Seventeen
SKYLAR
Holy. Shit.
I blink, then stare at the screen with narrowed eyes. Zoom to two hundred percent, then narrow my eyes again. The image turns grainy, but I have zero doubts about who is on the screen.
Kelli Bitchface Langston.
But it isn’t just her. Nope. That bitch is lip-locked with some guy. Terrance Marshall. This is his social media account, after all. And the profile picture looks like an older version of the guy in this photo.
Delilah told me to dig deep, so that is what I did.
Kelli’s social media is public and spotless. I expected nothing less. The last few hours have been a mix of work catch-up and internet searches. Too much time was spent on Kelli’s accounts. I had no expectations but hoped for a nugget of information.
Nada.
So, I moved onto a generic internet search. Typed her name in the search engine and siphoned through an endless stream of results. Articles from the Stone Bay Gazette depicting the Langston family over the years. Pageant photos from her childhood. High school yearbook pictures.
Three pages of results in and I was ready to give up. Nothing fruitful had shown itself. But I said one more page, and it paid off. At least, I think it will.
I adjust the zoom back to normal and print what I found. It is the only picture I found on Terrance’s profile with Kelli, but maybe it is enough. God, I hope so.
“Shit,” I mutter after seeing the time. Lawrence will be at the house any minute.
I shove the printout in my purse, shut down my computer, and wind my way out of the office. Fob in hand, I push through the door and dart for the car. A light drizzle coats my skin and cools the summer heat.
A quick press of the fob and tug of the handle, I open the door and hop in, pressing the ignition. Music blares from the speakers as I riffle through my purse for my phone and type out a quick text to Lawrence.
Skylar: Leaving now. Be there in 5.
Might be more like seven or eight, unless I press the accelerator a little harder.
Lawrence: Just got here myself.
Thank goodness. I shove the phone back in my purse and toss it on the passenger seat. Buckling my belt, I throw the car in reverse and look in the rearview mirror. A set of bright-white teeth gleam back at me.
Before I open my mouth to scream, the world goes dark.
Chapter Eighteen
LAWRENCE
“Do you have any hot friends?” Kirsten asks as we wait for Skylar to get home.
There isn’t an occasion I remember feeling intimidated by a woman, but Kirsten definitely comes on strong. Even in general conversation. I mean, she is skirting around flattery so as to not intrude on her friend’s relationship. But this whole conversation has been weird. Mainly because I don’t look at my friends and think he’s hot, or she’s hot.
Maybe women do that, but most men I know don’t. Not saying there aren’t the occasional ones who do. They are out there, they just aren’t my friends.
“Uh, maybe?” I answer with uncertainty.
