Page 33 of Stay Awake
Then I remember the man who’d called the office earlier. He asked if I’d taken a knife. Fear rushes through me at the terrifying thought that there’s yet another link connecting me to this crime.
“Liv?”
I flinch at the sound of my name.
“Liv?”
I walk faster, pretending not to hear. I’m afraid it’s the detective coming after me. Ahead of me is a green traffic light. I stride ahead, willing myself to make it across the street before it changes to red.
It’s too late. The light flashes amber and then red before I reach the curb. I’m cornered. I move deep into the knot of people waiting to cross the street, desperate to disappear into the crowd.
“Liv. Liv Reese.”
Just as I’m about to bolt across the street against the lights, a hand squeezes my shoulder.
Reluctantly, I turn around. I’m both shocked and relieved to see it’s Dean, Marco’s investor. He wears jeans and a white shirt. His craggy face seems genuinely happy to see me.
Before I can say a word, he leans in and kisses me on both cheeks before stepping back to admire me, still holding my hands. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”
“Great. Really good.”
“That’s terrific. I heard you moved abroad? London, right? I guess you wanted a clean break.”
His words ring ominously in my head. A clean break from what?
Before I can ask him, the traffic light turns green. We cross together, pushed by the tide of pedestrians behind us.
“How about we grab some lunch?” he suggests. “You’re a foodie, right? Boy, do I know a place that will knock your socks off!”
Without waiting for my answer, Dean raises his arm to hail acab. As the cab changes lanes to pull up by the curb, my heart drops when I glimpse a ballpoint pen message scribbled on the side of my hand.
DON’T TRUST ANYONE,it says.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Two Years Earlier
I’m on the train heading home when Frank, my editor, texts me with a request to attend an art show preview.
Now?I text back with one hand, clutching the overhead rail with my other hand to steady myself when the train brakes suddenly to stop at the next station.I have plans tonight.
Are you in or out? It’s a huge deal. It’s Q!!
What’s Q???
I immediately regret it the second I press Send. Note to self, never show ignorance about the arts scene when you’re working at a culture magazine. Frank texts me an eye-roll emoji. A moment later my phone rings.
“Liv,” Frank says, without any preliminaries. “Q is a guerrilla artist. He’s one of the hottest new names in performance art.” The background noise gets louder as the train speeds up. “Q doesn’t just test boundaries, Q takes them to a new constellation. Like Banksy, nobodyknows Q’s real name. Q could be the art gallery guard, or a waiter carrying a tray of champagne at the opening. Or Q could be someone in the audience. Nobody ever knows.”
“Sounds intriguing,” I respond, even though I’m not intrigued at all.
“You have no idea how lucky we are to get this invitation, and it was addressed to you. Will you go?”
Amy’s arranged a dinner for her birthday at her favorite restaurant and I can’t be late. “The thing is that I actually have another…”
“To be clear, Liv.” Frank’s voice is clipped. “If I have to ask someone else to do it then I won’t ask you the next time an opportunity this good lands on my desk. I need to know that my reporters will drop anything for a good story.”
