“Deal.” Deven’s heart galloped into overdrive with the agreement. Then the fear trickled in, only heightening as Paul moved to lead the way next door. She needed answers, but now she didn’t know what she would do when she got them. No amount of time could prepare for seeing a sister everyone said was dead.

This time, Deven stood at the base of the porch while Paul went up to knock on one of the doors. She held her breath as they waited. He knocked again, then a third time before pivoting to glance at Deven.

“Try the other one,” she suggested though the little bit of hope she had was beginning to dissipate. What would they do if no one was home? Come back? Stake out the apartment?

Obediently, Paul knocked on the opposite door, and they waited again. Deven eyed the truck, sure she didn’t recognize the vehicle. Maybe Paul had a point, and the neighbor had been drunk or confused. Maybe it was easier to accept that concrete rationale than to sustain belief that maybe, just maybe he had been right. Because then she would have no choice but to face the ugly truth. Yes, that Kennedy was alive. But that she was also a liar and a thief. She didn’t know if she was ready to accept that part.

“Let’s just go,” she called to Paul’s back after a moment. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, wait a minute. I think someone is coming.” Paul leaned his ear closer to the door to listen. “Yeah, someone is coming.”

Deven all but ran onto the porch. She, too, clearly heard the heavy footsteps approaching. Then, a baritone, “Who is it?”

She cleared her throat and looked to Paul with a worried glance. “Um, hi. I’m looking for someone and I was wondering if you could help.” Silence. Then a lock clicked, and the door swung open wide.

At first, Deven wasn’t sure if he was an illusion brought on by stress and desperation. But then, the man smirked, and she knew he was too real. And too much of a coincidence. “Hey Deven,” he greeted like they were old friends, though Deven had never spoken to the man a day in her life. But still, she recognized him, and the memory had a breath catching in her throat.

The man pulled a rubber band from his wrist and used both hands to pull his locs back from his face. The same face she remembered from the mall. The same cocky stance as he watched her across the aisle at the kiosk, then again in the food court. The same man she’d figured was stalking her sister, and now he was here in Building G. And he knew her name, said with prepared acquaintance like they had history. What the hell was going on?

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen