Page 49 of If Books Could Kill
Grant finally hangs up the phone and stares at it for a second. “I am so lucky I work with the most gullible guy to ever earn a master’s.”
“Sounds like a good friend,” I say. “Covering your classesandfeeding your cat?”
“That’s Steve for you. The whole department, really. Apparently, they wanted to plan a group outing to see me in the hospital. It’s almost too bad—assuming everything really does reset when this is over and they forget I was ever gone—they’d throw a hell of a welcome-back party otherwise.”
It’s so strange to imagine the past week being wiped from existence when this thing ends. As if I never met Jack or stole an Uber. As if I never stood here with Grant, counting the lines where his forehead creases up in thought, hearing the crunch of his toast as he cuts it into even triangles. I have bruises on my arm from where he’s accidentally clipped me in training. Will they disappear? Will there be any evidence at all once we go back to a world where I had no one to flee and Grant Ubered home without incident?
I think of that world—the one where I’m constantly looking for my next escape, and Grant’s going to work and trivia nights and parties without me—and it feels odd and unfamiliar, the way home feels a little off after a life-changing trip.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual yet enthusiastic and probably failing at both. “Big day today. Anna Matthews, here we come.”
“Mm,” says Grant, studying his toast before taking a bite.
“You have the event tickets, right?”
He nods. “Signed us up our first day here.”
“Good. Great. So then we’ll just go tonight. And figure it all out. At the place, with Anna Matthews.”
He eyes me and the coffee he made me, probably wondering if he should take it back. “What’s up with you?”
“Me? I—”
Before I can stutter out a suitable response—not that I know what one would be—the French doors from the patio bang open. Lesley struts in, pointing to us with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Rooooooxgrant,” he croons in a pitchy imitation of Sting. He pauses for dramatic effect, then announces, “Big day today.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There was a moment this morning when I thought Lesley knew about our plans to sneak away and confront Anna, thereby ending the story and causing his and Lissa’s world to collapse like an imploding star. But no. Surprising no one, his idea ofbig day todayis approximately 100 percent more murdery than that.
A same-day homicide announcement has never happened before, but here we are. Grant and I are hiding in the bushes across from a block of flat brick row houses, hoping to squeeze in one last murder interception before we beg Anna to end it all.
Today’s offender abducts food delivery people, and Lesley could not be dissuaded from calling him the Takeaway Takeawayer. The plan is for one of us to commandeer the delivery and the other to break into the house and provide backup once the coast is clear.
The first thing I wanted to know during this morning’s briefing was how exactly the Takeawayer has pulled this off, given that he targets people whose locations are almost certainly tracked.
“That’s the sneaky bit,” Lesley said. “His victims get called out for a delivery, and after they go missing, there’s no trace oftheir last destination in their employers’ systems. No address, no GPS routes, nothing. So it would seem that he’s—”
“A ghost,” I finished.
“Obviously ahacker,” said Grant, that very specific groove forming between his brows. He has this way of looking at me sometimes, like he can’t even be properly condescending because he’s too bewildered by the things that slip past my brain-to-mouth filter.
Obviously.Such a ridiculous word under the circumstances. Even if I have to admit that Grant’s logical thinking is often useful, and that he is unfortunately right most of the time, I reserve the right to be annoyed about it.
Judging by the amount of nervous fidgeting and weight-shifting beside me now, I’m not the only one feeling edgy.
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t just flip a coin to decide who goes in first,” Grant says. “The suspense makes it so much worse.”
“Well,obviously,” I say, wringing every syllable dry, “it has to be whichever of us most closely resembles the intended victim. Weobviouslycan’t send you in if he’s been told that Jennifer is delivering his order.Obviously.”
“Oh my God. You’re still not over that? I said I was sorry. And in my defense, hacker is a hell of a lot more obvious than actual ghost.”
“And inmydefense, we’re only here because a magical barista-slash-weather-psychic-slash-Fedora-enthusiast went on a power trip. So I don’t know that anything should be off the table.”
“Fine,” says Grant. “Then I hope our training works on evil spirits.”
I hope it works, period. Despite his initial reluctance, Grant’s been a dedicated student over the past week. His improvement has been, frankly, remarkable. But if he has to face the killer first,will it be enough? And will I be able to get in there in time to help him if not?
