Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Thinking of all the things I can do on my fourth pass over the small space, I stand in front of my computer and type in Cynthia’s name. When the search engine loads, I look at a picture of her, and a shiver runs down my spine.
She’s pretty.
Blond hair.
Blue eyes.
It’s eerie, actually, because she sort of resembles me. Older. But the features are similar enough that it gives me the creeps.
When I see the name of the small town she’s from, I jot it down. Then I open my email and fire off an email to my boss, letting him know I’ll be working on my article at home and plan to be back in the office by the end of the week.
Next, I walk into my closet and start pulling out clothes. As I pack my bag, I pick up the phone and call Mara.
“How are the faucets? Still dripping?”
“They’re on hold, but if boss man asks, I’m home, knee-deep in retro if you catch my drip.”
She laughs at my bad joke. “What do you have going on instead?”
“I’m going away for a few days.” The sound of the drawers opening grates against my nerves as I wait for her to ask the question I know she wants to ask. It takes her a few moments, but then she does.
“With lover boy?”
“Actually, no,” I tell her, but I’m not dumb. Just because I’m not going away with Cain doesn’t mean she won’t continue with her pursuit of knowledge.
“Spill.”
“I’m going to Somerset, New Jersey.” Holding out two pairs of leggings, I pick the one that looks to be in better condition and then pack it. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Hopefully, only one day, but you never can tell where the truth will bring you, so I have learned to always be prepared.
“Why in the hell would you be going there?”
I stare at my half-packed suitcase for a second, wondering if I should tell her the truth. “Cynthia is from there,” I mutter.
“Am I supposed to know who this Cynthia is?”
“The Compass Killer’s first victim on his latest murder spree.”
I can hear the familiar sound of a sharp inhale of breath escaping Mara’s mouth. “What the hell are you up to, Layla?”
I don’t need to be near her to know that Mara is probably seething. “You know I want more than this. You know I need a story to pitch in order to leave . . .”
“You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea to investigate a serial killer who happens to be targeting women who look like you.”
“And that is exactly why I need to. Don’t you see these women could be me? How can I sit back and not help? How can I sit back and not try to figure out who the killer is?”
“This is an absolutely horrible idea,” she responds.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind? At least promise me you’re not going alone.”
“What kind of an idiot do you take me for?” A giant one because I am going alone. But instead of confessing, I bite down on my lip and stifle the lie.
“Be safe. Keep in contact with me. I love you, woman, and expect check-ins every day.”
“Okay, Mom. I love you, too.”
I end the call and head outside. My car is parked a few blocks over on the street. One of the reasons I keep a car in the city. Even though it’s very annoying to change parking spots every day, multiple times a day, sometimes, when you’re a journalist, it’s necessary to have transportation. Case in point, today’s idiotic adventure.
My phone rings as I walk; it’s Cain. This is not going to be easy lying to him.
“Hi,” I answer.
“I miss you.” Hearing his voice makes my knees go weak on a good day; hearing him say these words, well, that turns me into a gooey puddle on the floor. “I miss you, too.”
“I might be able to take off and see you—”
As much as it kills me not to see him, I can’t, so I stop him before he can go on. I need to pursue this, and I can’t let anything derail me from the story. “Actually, this week is crazy at work. Can it be over the weekend?” I lie again, a pattern I’m not liking, even though it’s necessary.
“Of course.”
“Thanks, you’re amazing. See you Friday.”
“See you Friday.”
I feel awful, but I know I can’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t be happy. He would tell me to back away, and I just feel that I need to pursue this. When I get in the car, I turn it on and start my trek to Jersey.
A little over an hour later, I’m pulling up toward the small town. The sun has already set.