Page 24

“I think someone’s following me.” The words leave my mouth before I can decide whether they’re ridiculous. Or if, maybe, I should ease her into that fear instead of just dumping it on her.

The silence on the other end tells me she wasn’t expecting them either. We’ve been friends since the 2nd grade, but I’m not sure Isla will ever get used to how abrupt I am.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Nothing happened, exactly.”

“Matty.” Her voice is serious, the voice of Dr. Grace, not the girl who tears up at the thought of feral cats in New York City’s harsh winters.

“I just feel like I’m being watched.”

I tell her about the man outside the office and the feeling I had in court. I even tell her that I’ve started checking reflections without realizing it.

When I finish, Isla doesn’t laugh it off. Which makes me roll my shoulders.

“You think it’s related to work? That it might have something to do with the case you just finished up?”

“It has to be.”

“What about Lake Placid?”

“No.”

I stare out the window. My informant, the one I never actually met, has gone MIA. He hasn’t returned the calls or messages I left before driving back to the city. But I don’t tell Isla that, because I don’t want to freak her out. The cops are already looking into where he might’ve slipped off to. Most likely explanation is, he just got cold feet.

“You answered that awfully fast.”

“Because nothing happened up there. I drove up. The guy wasn’t there; I drove back.” An edge of agitation has me picking my nails. I hate lying to Isla, but I also don’t want to tell her that I hooked up with a complete stranger and it threw me off so much I had to drive back to the city immediately.

That was a stupid decision, and women like me don’t make mistakes.

“Just be careful,” Isla says quietly as my cab pulls up outside the apartment building. Without paying attention, I tap my card against the reader, wave a hand, and step out. The doorman is distracted with a delivery pallet that has fallen apart almost right in front of the doors. I skirt around the mess, getting the door myself and striding toward the elevator.

“I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re stubborn. You’re not invincible, Matty, that’s all I’m saying.”

On the fourth floor I jiggle the key into the lock. It’s always been a tight fit. I press a shoulder against the door, waiting for the telltale give of everything clicking into place. The lock grinds open and I half-stumble into the apartment, dumping my purse in the foyer and kicking off my heels.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” I ask.

Isla and Mike are to be married in less than six months. I’ve never been engaged, so I have no idea if they’re behind, right on time, or ahead. My main concern with the wedding is doing my duty as her maid of honor and setting up a bridal shower. I had that finished weeks ago.

The itinerary for the evening is outlined, the venue booked, vendors paid. But that’s as far as my duties go; a sliver of guilt spears me as I remember just how uninterested I’ve been in the rest of the planning.

“Oh,” she chirps, her voice suddenly higher, “it’s going! You know, just trying to agree on things here and there. Napkin colors and bouquet sizes and everything.”

I definitely do not know, but I hum in interest anyway, flicking on lights as I move through the hallway. There’s a frozen dinner (a dozen of them, actually) with my name on. I order them twice a month from this organic, health-centered bistro.

“Um, actually an emergency just came in⁠—”

I pull the phone away from my ear and frown, checking the time. It’s almost 6:10 p.m., way past her normal shift.

“Oh—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow? But please be careful, Matty. I mean it.”

With a roll of my eyes, I promise, “I will. Love you.”