Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Her eyes glisten. She stares at me as if urging me to say it. To tell her I love her. Then the laptop makes a notification sound.
“That’s an email,” she says, turning away.
Maybe she sensed it too, how close we were.
“It’s the website, Jamie. Holy… They’ve accepted it. The headline took it right to the front of the pile. They’re going to publish it tonight.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy
“Is all this true?” Sabrina asks on the phone.
I’m sitting in my bedroom listening to Jamie and the police officers coming and going. The article blew up last night. The major news outlets started covering it.
News cameras are out front of the house, with a dedicated police vehicle across the street. Honestly, the cops don’t seem too keen on protecting us, but Jamie was right. Now they have to take this seriously. They can’t brush it away, pretend it didn’t happen, or anything like that.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Lucy told me, ‘I fell for him the first moment I saw him in the documentary ‘Artists Inside. I never dreamed he’d feel the same. When I discovered my father was still alive, I knew my heart was telling me the truth. He was the man for me. He isn’t a killer.’”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
Sabrina lets out a long, trembling breath. I bet she’s wrapping her blond hair around her finger with her face scrunched up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he killed my dad. What was I supposed to say? I’ve got a major crush on a brutal, sadistic killer—the man who took my only remaining parent?”
“You’ve had so much sadness in your life, Lucy. Your dad, your aunt… It’s just not fair. One person shouldn’t have to lose so much. I want you to be happy, but it all seems so…”
“It’s okay. You can say it.”
“Crazy,” she sighs. “Doesn’t it? Love at first sight?”
I glance at the door and bite down. Standing, I walk to the window, peel the curtain back an inch, and see the news crews standing on the street in the overcast gray. I didn’t even want my neighbors to know back when this started, but that was before I knew he wanted me too.
“You only met with him a few days ago. Not even a week, right?”
“Right.”
“So how can you know you love him?”
“We haven’t actually used that word.”
“Why are you whispering all of a sudden?”
I can’t help but smile. “Am I?”
“Are you scared of saying ‘love’ in case he hears?”
“No.”
“Say it, then,” she teases.
I laugh. “I love it when you tease me. How’s that? Okay, we haven’t said it, but I feel it and know he does too.”
“Are you sure?”
I think so.
“Anyway,” I go on, ignoring her question, knowing she’ll be able to sense I want to move the conversation along. “We’ll be able to handle all that after they’ve caught Dad.”
“They’re going to make a TV show out of this, seriously. My head’s spinning.”
“Mine too.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Hold on a sec,” I say, covering the phone and walking toward it.
Jamie opens the door, wearing a simple, clean shirt and sharp pants. Last night, after the article, he swung by Tommy’s and picked up his clothes. He said he might need something presentable if the cops showed up. He shaved, too, highlighting his strong jaw. There’s something scary in his expression. He stares at me bleakly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You need to come downstairs.”
“I don’t like that sound of that.”
He places his hand on my arm. “I don’t want to scare you, but it’s not good.”
“Sabrina, I have to go,” I say into the phone.
“Yes, go. Deal with that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Jamie takes my hand as we walk down the stairs. There’s something almost terrifying about the way he does it, combined with how he looks at me. His eyes are hard, as if ready for violence, getting that glazed-over quality that makes him look prepared for anything. He leads me into the living room.
“Where are the cops?” I ask.
“In the kitchen drinking coffee,” he replies. “I asked them if I could be the one to tell you this. Look.”
He gestures to the table. There’s a photo of a kid on it, a boy with greasy hair tucked behind his ears.
“It’s the boy from the diner. Zack.”
“Oh.” I remember when I followed Jamie to the diner. “What about him? Oh, God, is he okay? Dad hasn’t… has he?”
“As far as we know, he’s alive. I thought your dad was using him like other drug kingpins use kids. Mules. Lackeys. Servants. Lying to them, saying they’ll make them rich. Saying they’ll make it so they never have to be afraid again, but I was wrong. It’s worse than that.”
Jamie looks at me steadily now. It’s just how he looked when I revealed what Dad used to do to me. There’s so much support in him.