Page 80 of The Girl from Widow Hills
“I got a text,” I said, phone held awkwardly in my hand. “They need to talk to me.” I swallowed nothing. Held my breath.
“Who?” He shook his head. “You can hide out here,” he said, stepping in my path so that he stood directly between me and the exit.
My legs twitched with the need to run.
I tried to channel calm. Dissociate. I remembered that I had survived three days in the dark, underground. “If the detective finds me here, she won’t be happy.” Trying to remind him that Detective Rigby was invested, that she would be coming, that he couldn’t hurt me—not now. Not when others were looking for me, too.
He smiled then. “You’re not just using me for information, are you?” Something in my face must’ve cracked, because he put a hand on my cheek. “I’m kidding.” He ran his thumb along my jawline, and my skin broke out in goose bumps. It took everything within me not to flinch. Then he dropped his hand and stepped aside so I could get to the door.
Three steps to the living room before I took a breath. Six steps to the exit. I turned the lock, begging my body not to give me away.
“See you soon,” he said as I gripped the handle.
“Bye, Nathan,” I said without looking over my shoulder.
IT TOOK ME THREEtries to buckle my seat belt, my hands were shaking so much, my eyes constantly flicking back to the hotel entrance. But Nathan hadn’t followed me out.
I called Rick as I backed out of the lot.
“Everything okay?” he asked as soon as he answered.
I had told him we should keep our distance. Detective Rigby had warned me not to share intel with him, but I needed him now. “Rick, is anyone out at the house?” I needed to get home, get my things. I knew exactly what to do. My entire body was humming with it:Go, go, go.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think someone’s here, parked out by the road. Someone came to my door, but I didn’t answer.”
“Okay. Okay,” I said. “Rick, I’ve got to head out of town for a bit. I just wanted you to know I’m okay, though.”
Silence. I knew what he was picturing. His son leaving town.
“I’m coming back,” I said. “I just have to do something first.”
Finally, he replied, voice low and guarded. “Be careful,” he said.
“I will,” I said.
I left my car on Haymere Lane, cutting through the night on foot, without a flashlight. I wasn’t afraid of this—not the dark, not the openness. But my heart beat wildly, thinking of what might be coming. Who might be watching or following. Over the creek, up onto my property, to the back steps with the burned-out porch light.
I sneaked into my own house, quietly turning the key. And I didn’t turn on any lights as I hastily grabbed a bag of clothes, the essentials, my laptop.
It was when I was halfway done, looking back at the shadows as I used the light on my phone to find my things, that I saw the chaos caused in my wake by my rush: my purse on its side, contents spilling onto the table, my bedroom drawers half-open.
A chill ran up my back, because I knew where I’d seen this before: Elyse’s apartment. Even her car door hadn’t been firmly shut when I’d first found it in the parking lot. Like she’d been frantic, in a rush. Sprinting from her car. Racing for her apartment.
Like she’d been running from something. Like she’d known she had to move fast.
That someone was coming for her.
EMAIL INBOX
Subject: ADMIN LEAVE
Ms. Meyer: Due to the nature of the ongoing investigation and the current media attention, effective immediately you are placed on paid leave, pending further information. Please turn in your badge and key at your earliest convenience.
Subject: INTERVIEW REQUEST
Ms. Meyer,
