Lost Boy

“He misheard.” My tone hardens, teeth clashing.

Pointing to my cut, he frowns. “What happened?” Is that a genuine concern? Probably not.

“Fell.”

“I’m here to help you, Lizzy. I’m not your enemy.” The words are just that: words.

“No? Then why am I here and Willis is still out there killing?”

Silence.

Pushing the words through clenched teeth, I ask, “Are we done, or are you going to charge me with something?”

With a firm nod, he says, “We’re done.”

I stand. “But you can’t go back to your apartment. It’s a murder scene now.”

I peer over at him, my muscles tensing. “You think he killed her there?” Scenarios play without permission through my head. How? When?

Unbuttoning his jacket, he pushes it aside and buries his hand in his pocket, the gun holstered to his ribcage. “No, but we need to be sure.” How easy would it be for a Willis of the world to tackle him and relieve him of it?

“Lizzy?” I jerk my head from his gun to his eyes.

“You’re free to leave.”When we get to the foyer, my stomach dips. It’s dark outside. How long have we been here? “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he comes around me, opening the door.

“Yes,” I lie. I haven’t even thought about where I’ll go. I just want out of here.

When I step out onto the street, Stephan and Charlotte are there waiting for me. “We thought he was going to keep you all night. Do they really believe you could have something to do with this?” Charlotte looks tired. Dark bags swell beneath her eyes.

“It’s routine. Don’t worry,” I try assuring her, but there’s no conviction behind it. I’m not sure what I believe anymore.

“We should go,” Stephan blurts out, and a wave of déjà vu blasts through me. We’re here again, going around and around the bodies piling up.

“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte shivers, rubbing her arms.

“Maybe I need to get out of town,” I announce. “It would be safer for you all.”

“No,” Charlotte snaps, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. “Don’t let him drive you into isolation.”

“Who’s he?” Stephan asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Are there things you’re not telling me?”

“Yes.” Charlotte narrows her eyes on him. “Of course there are. You’re the friend who has a crush on her, I’m the best friend who is more like a sister, so she tells me more.”

Grabbing her wrist, Stephan grits his teeth. “You’re over the damn line again.”

“Ouch, you bastard! Let go!” she moans, tugging to no avail.

“Stephan,” I warn, shaking my head and pulling his arm away from her.

“Whatever. I’m sick of this bitch. I’m out,” he sneers.

Spinning on Charlotte, I growl, “Do you have to antagonize him?”

Raising her chin, she jerks her shoulder, calling out to his retreating form, “Yo, Stephan.” When he turns, she flips him the bird before turning to me. “Yes, I do.”

Irritated, I jerk down on my sleeve. “What are we going to do now? He was our ride.”

Tapping me on the shoulder, she turns my body. “We have another.” Jack. He’s sitting at the curb in his car, his eyes glued on me. “Come on.” Charlotte yanks me. “For the record, I don’t trust him, but it’s cold, and I don’t want to sleep in my crappy car.”

Smiling over at her, I slip into the car, grateful she took the backseat this time.Twenty-ThreeThe yellow tape covers our closed door as we pass it on the way up to Jack’s apartment. It still feels too close—that poor woman stuffed into a duffle bag beneath the place where I shower. A tremor vibrates through my body as I linger my gaze on the door. Jack’s large hand encompasses mine, squeezing. “Come on.” He nods his head to the stairs.

Once inside, Charlotte whistles, turning in a circle in the center of the room. “Wow. You’re a neat freak?”

“I like order. My upbringing was chaotic,” he tells her, placing his keys in a decorative dish and going into the open-plan kitchen, getting out some glasses. “I have water, wine, whiskey.”

“Ohhh, wine for me, please.” Charlotte grins, running her hand down the drapes as she moves around the room.

“Thanks again for letting us crash here tonight.” I take a seat on the stool opposite him.

“Of course.” He uncorks a bottle of red and pours two glasses, pushing mine across the counter with a heart-stopping smile.

“Do you have a TV?”

Darting his eyes up to Charlotte, his jaw ticks. “No.”

“Boring.” She huffs, throwing herself down on his couch, pulling out her cell phone and flitting her thumbs over the screen.

“You must be hungry,” he asks me, studying, dissecting.

“Starving,” Charlotte booms. “Do you have any potato chips?”

“Charlotte,” I groan.

I feel her eye-roll as she gets to her feet, storms over to us, takes my glass of wine, and gulps it down like its water. “I’m out of this snoozefest! Don’t wait up.” She waves her phone and moves toward the front door.