Page 82 of Unholy Masks

I was already reaching for my coat, yanking it off the chair with one hand. “I’m going right now,” I said, storming out of the door.

“Wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m almost there.”

“We don’t have time for that,” I said, stepping outside the building and jogging toward the coffee shop.

The glass door creaked open, and someone stepped out.

Head down. Shoulders hunched just a little too deliberately. A pink scarf covered most of her face, wrapped tightly around her neck, and she wore sunglasses.

It must be her.

“Stop,” I said.

She looked up.

“Patty. Stop.”

She flinched like the word struck her, then turned and bolted without a word.

“No,” I shouted, already running. My lungs burned. My throat ached. She was here. She was so close. “You wanted me to find you. I did.”

She tore down the street. I chased her.

“Patty!” I shouted. “This is what you wanted!”

She looked back, shook her head, and stumbled. She froze when my hand brushed against her jacket. I tugged, but she was quicker, desperate. She pushed me down. Her foot connected with my side.

“I’m sorry,” a hoarse voice said before she darted into an alley. I scrambled up and ran.

My legs screamed, and my lungs felt like they would come apart. I sighed, stopping just as the narrow alley split.

“No. Damn it!”

She was right there. Inches away. And I missed her again.

With a curse, I turned back, and walked toward the Coffee Connexion. The warm yellow glow inside was jarring after the dark alley. I pushed the door open, the little bell above it chiming sweetly, mockingly, as if nothing had happened.

Everything was normal inside.

Lisa was scribbling something onto a to-go cup. She looked up when she saw me.

“Hey,” I said, walking up, trying to steady my voice. “Did someone come in wearing a pink scarf? She was also wearing sunglasses?”

“Yes. That was weird. She was completely covered.” Her brow furrowed. “She came in just a few minutes ago. Ordered a latte.”

“And?”

“She took it to go. She kept glancing at the door like she was waiting for someone.” Lisa rubbed her face. Frowned. Looked at me suspiciously. “Someone.” Her eyes narrowed. Is it you? She didn’t ask, but she was thinking it. I didn’t give her the time to gather her courage.

“Did she say anything else?” I asked, my fingers tapping against the wood.

“Wait, she left something,” Lisa said, scratching her nose. “Is it for you? Do you know her?”

I leaned in. “What?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t explain. Just told me I’d ‘know who to give it to.’” Her voice was cautious now, eyes flicking down, back up to meet mine. Her frown deepened. She didn’t look comfortable. “Here.”

She bent under the counter and came back up holding a small cardboard box.