again.
“You too, right, Megan?”
“Me too what?”
“You’re scared. You’re shaking because you’re afraid of him too.”
Megan didn’t know how to reply.
“You’re in danger, aren’t you, Megan? Is he visiting you too?”
Megan started to say no, started to say something comforting about being fine, but she pulled up. She didn’t want to lie to Agnes. Why should Agnes think she was the only one who ever got scared?
“I… I don’t know,” Megan said.
“But you’re scared he’s come back to get you?”
Megan swallowed, thinking about Stewart Green, about how it all ended. “I guess I am.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I shouldn’t?”
“No.”
Megan tried to nod. “Okay. Tell you what. I won’t be scared, if you won’t be.”
But Agnes frowned and waved the patronizing deal away. “It’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re young,” Agnes said. “You’re strong. You’re tough. You’ve known adversity, haven’t you?”
“Like you.”
Agnes ignored that. “You’re not an old woman confined to a bed. You don’t have to lie helplessly in the dark, shivering, waiting for him to get you.”
Megan just looked at her, thinking, Wow, who’s working—and who’s receiving—the validation therapy now?
“Don’t wait in the dark,” Agnes said in an agitated whisper. “Don’t ever feel helpless. Please? For me? I don’t want that for you.”
“Okay, Agnes.”
“Promise?”
Megan nodded. “I promise.”
And she meant it. Validation therapy or not, Agnes had spoken a universal truth: Feeling scared was bad, but feeling helpless was far worse. Megan had been toying with the idea of making a big move since Lorraine’s visit anyway. It might unearth the past, bring it back in a bad way, but as Agnes had pointed out, it was better than lying helplessly in the dark.
“Thank you, Agnes.”
The old woman’s eyes blinked, as though fighting back tears. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes. But I’ll be back.”
Agnes spread her arms. “Can you stay close for a little while longer? Not long. I know you need to be on your way. But a few minutes won’t make a big difference, will it?”
Megan shook her head. “It won’t make any difference at all.”
7
B ROOME HAD JUST STARTED GOING through the surveillance videos, watching various idiots stumble out with drinks, beads, party hats, and girls, when Rudy from La Crème called him.
“Carlton Flynn had a favorite girl,” Rudy said.
“Who?”
“Tawny Allure.”
Broome rolled his eyes. “That her real name?”
“As real as anything else on her, if you get my drift,” Rudy said.
“Yeah, you’re the master of subtlety. When will she be in?”
“She’s here now.”
“On my way.”
Broome was about to switch off the television when Goldberg, his superior and a dickwad of biblical proportions, said, “What the hell is this?”
Goldberg leaned over him. He reeked of beer, sweat, and tuna.
“Video feed of La Crème the night Flynn vanished.”
“Why you checking that?”
Broome didn’t really want to get into this, but Goldberg wouldn’t just let it go. Goldberg wore a beige button-down dress shirt that’d probably started life off as bright white. He snarled when he spoke,figuring that bluster would hide the dim. So far, it had worked for him.
Broome rose. “I’m seeing if there is any connection between Stewart Green and Carlton Flynn. Both men vanished on the same date.”
Goldberg nodded as though in deep thought. “So where you off to now?”
“Back to La Crème. Flynn liked one stripper in particular.”
“Hmm.” Goldberg rubbed his chin. “Kinda like Stewart Green?”
“Maybe.”
Broome ejected the flash drive from the computer. Maybe he’d have Erin look into them. She had a good eye for
“You too, right, Megan?”
“Me too what?”
“You’re scared. You’re shaking because you’re afraid of him too.”
Megan didn’t know how to reply.
“You’re in danger, aren’t you, Megan? Is he visiting you too?”
Megan started to say no, started to say something comforting about being fine, but she pulled up. She didn’t want to lie to Agnes. Why should Agnes think she was the only one who ever got scared?
“I… I don’t know,” Megan said.
“But you’re scared he’s come back to get you?”
Megan swallowed, thinking about Stewart Green, about how it all ended. “I guess I am.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I shouldn’t?”
“No.”
Megan tried to nod. “Okay. Tell you what. I won’t be scared, if you won’t be.”
But Agnes frowned and waved the patronizing deal away. “It’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re young,” Agnes said. “You’re strong. You’re tough. You’ve known adversity, haven’t you?”
“Like you.”
Agnes ignored that. “You’re not an old woman confined to a bed. You don’t have to lie helplessly in the dark, shivering, waiting for him to get you.”
Megan just looked at her, thinking, Wow, who’s working—and who’s receiving—the validation therapy now?
“Don’t wait in the dark,” Agnes said in an agitated whisper. “Don’t ever feel helpless. Please? For me? I don’t want that for you.”
“Okay, Agnes.”
“Promise?”
Megan nodded. “I promise.”
And she meant it. Validation therapy or not, Agnes had spoken a universal truth: Feeling scared was bad, but feeling helpless was far worse. Megan had been toying with the idea of making a big move since Lorraine’s visit anyway. It might unearth the past, bring it back in a bad way, but as Agnes had pointed out, it was better than lying helplessly in the dark.
“Thank you, Agnes.”
The old woman’s eyes blinked, as though fighting back tears. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes. But I’ll be back.”
Agnes spread her arms. “Can you stay close for a little while longer? Not long. I know you need to be on your way. But a few minutes won’t make a big difference, will it?”
Megan shook her head. “It won’t make any difference at all.”
7
B ROOME HAD JUST STARTED GOING through the surveillance videos, watching various idiots stumble out with drinks, beads, party hats, and girls, when Rudy from La Crème called him.
“Carlton Flynn had a favorite girl,” Rudy said.
“Who?”
“Tawny Allure.”
Broome rolled his eyes. “That her real name?”
“As real as anything else on her, if you get my drift,” Rudy said.
“Yeah, you’re the master of subtlety. When will she be in?”
“She’s here now.”
“On my way.”
Broome was about to switch off the television when Goldberg, his superior and a dickwad of biblical proportions, said, “What the hell is this?”
Goldberg leaned over him. He reeked of beer, sweat, and tuna.
“Video feed of La Crème the night Flynn vanished.”
“Why you checking that?”
Broome didn’t really want to get into this, but Goldberg wouldn’t just let it go. Goldberg wore a beige button-down dress shirt that’d probably started life off as bright white. He snarled when he spoke,figuring that bluster would hide the dim. So far, it had worked for him.
Broome rose. “I’m seeing if there is any connection between Stewart Green and Carlton Flynn. Both men vanished on the same date.”
Goldberg nodded as though in deep thought. “So where you off to now?”
“Back to La Crème. Flynn liked one stripper in particular.”
“Hmm.” Goldberg rubbed his chin. “Kinda like Stewart Green?”
“Maybe.”
Broome ejected the flash drive from the computer. Maybe he’d have Erin look into them. She had a good eye for
Similar Books
