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Back Break Us Save as PDF
Chapters (43)
  1. DEDICATION
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. EPILOGUE
  38. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  39. BACK AD
  40. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  41. BOOKS BY JENNIFER BROWN
  42. CREDITS
  43. ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

“I think we’re about ready to shoot the sidewalk scene?” the young man said, clearly nervous to be talking to this man. This white-blond-haired man who looked like the devil in my eyes. This man who knew Luna and knew Jones and knew Celeste.

Director? He was the director?

“I’ll be there in a minute, Corey,” the white-blond-haired man said. “I’ve got—”

But I didn’t give him the chance to finish the sentence. I shoved past him and bolted out the door.

I veered away from the front doors wildly, guessing at which would be the faster way to Chris’s car. I’d lost my bearings in the dark building. I tried to jump over a low bush but was too nervous to clear it and tumbled. I let out a grunt as I hit the ground and rolled, my shoulder groaning under the blow. I thought I heard the swish of the door opening behind me but was too panicked to look back. I scrambled, pushing myself back up onto my feet and churning through the grass, cramming the matchbook into my pocket as I went. I turned a corner, nearly colliding with a Dumpster, and my feet hit asphalt. Thank God. I pushed harder, raced faster, until I saw Chris’s car, which was already on the move, coming for me.

I dove into the car, breathing so hard I was gagging. Fucking cigarettes. I pulled the door shut, and Chris took off out of the lot. We were probably a mile down the road before one of us finally spoke.

“I would ask you what happened and why you’re dressed like that,” he said. “But I have a feeling I already know.”

I was breathless from my run, and in no mood for his judgment. “Just keep driving,” I said. The matchbook pressed into my hip, but I didn’t tell him that.

8

WHILE I WAS inside Pear Magic, Chris had spent his time idly searching for Heriberto Abana on his cell phone. He had come up with nothing much. I remembered sitting in his office before the hit-and-run. Heriberto’s name had been searched and searched on his work computer, but, other than some addresses, nothing had really come up. I told him I’d do some poking around when I got home, which, for some reason, pissed him off. I got hit by a car, but I’m not dumb, he’d said. I didn’t point out to him that I never called him dumb. He was being sensitive. I guessed I couldn’t blame him. If I’d lost a big chunk of my memory, I would be sensitive too.