Page 170 of Letters From A Stalker

Temperature-wise or aesthetically?

Three dots appear immediately.

Tessa:

Yes.

I snort and take a picture in the mirror before I can rethink it. Her response arrives before I have even put the phone down.

Tessa:

OH BITCH.

If Michael survives that dress he deserves some kind of legal award.

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Me:

This is a charity event.

Tessa:

Charity begins at home.

Me:

Goodbye, Tessa.

She sends six eggplant emojis and one angel. I leave her on read. I stare at myself in the mirror one last time. It has been almost ten weeks since I saw Kai, not that I’m counting. The fact that I know the number is purely accidental. Probably. I pick up my coat.

The safe house sits far enough outside Rapid City that the city disappears gradually during the drive, commercial buildings giving way to open stretches of winter-yellow grass, low hills and a sky so enormous it makes Minneapolis feel crowded by comparison. Daniel is beside me in the back seat of the SUV our firm arranged, scrolling through the event notes on his phone while Michael sits up front talking with one of the partners.

“You know,” Daniel murmurs without looking up, “when Rachel said this was a safe house, I pictured something smaller.”

“Renee.”

He turns toward me. “What?”

“The director’s name is Renee.”

He blinks. “Who the fuck is Rachel?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Actually, I know exactly who Rachel is, which makes the mistake funny enough that my mouth twitches.

Daniel narrows his eyes. “Why do you know the director’s name?”

“Because I read the briefing packet.”

He looks personally attacked. “I read it too.”

“You apparently did not.”

“You are insufferable.”

“I know.” The answer leaves before I think about it.