Page 58

It’s the weirdest kidnapping and blackmail I’ve ever heard of.

I’d feel safer if he’d said no once.

“You’re very quiet,” Kane says.

“I’m having a realization. It’s unpleasant. Give me a block.”

“Take as many as you’d like.”

We come out at the water a little before ten.

I’ve walked this stretch a hundred times, mostly at hours when normal people are asleep as I head into the bakery to begin the midnight shift.

It’s always beautiful at night. The harbor sparkles like onyx and diamonds. A container ship moored at the port is lit up from stem to stern. Across the water, Jersey glitters and glows. If it weren’t for the frigid wind ripping from the west, I could stand here forever and admire it.

That’s when I notice the man.

He’s on the opposite side of the street, maybe forty or fifty feet back, in a dark jacket with his hands deep in his pockets. When we slow down, he slows down, too, never taking his eyes off us.

Then a car goes by. A black sedan, no plates I can read at this distance. It passes slowly, U-turns at the end of the block, and returns.

“Am I losing my mind?” I ask aloud.

Kane looks at me. “What makes you say that?”

“That guy is staring right at us, and I could almost swear I saw his identical twin like half a mile back. Plus that car keeps circling… I dunno. It’s like they’re following us, but not approaching. Watching, but not watching. And they’re not trying particularly hard to be subtle about any of it.”

“They’re not trying at all,” Kane says. “They’re with me. Their job is to keep us safe.”

“Us,” I repeat. “As in you and me?”

“Do you see anyone else out here who needs armed escorts?”

I do a slow turn on the promenade, but it’s just us and the shadow army following in our footsteps. As I look, two more appear that I missed on my first scan.

My brain, which has been running on fumes since Vivian’s videos first hit my phone, finally gets around to the obvious question.

Who is this man?

I thought he was some cousin’s kind if arrogant plus-one hiding out from my family in the pantry.

That was wrong.

Then I thought he was some sort of strange party crasher.

That was wrong, too.

It’s wild how quickly my problems have escalated. Two hours ago, my biggest problem was my husband cheating on me with my ungrateful sister.

Now, the stakes have risen to “life-or-death” territory.

“You know what my night was supposed to be?” I say. “Run the party, present the slideshow, go home, sleep for ten hours, then go to work in the morning.”

“Things change without warning.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

We resume our walk without talking for a while—until, with no warning, Kane stops at a corner near the piers, where an old storefront sits behind a roll-down gate. The gate is halfway up, revealing a pair of feet standing in the dark. I see tendrils of cigarette smoke leaking out into the night.