I haven’t seen him since that incident in the alley, just over twenty-four hours ago now. Part of me wants to hold on to that memory a little bit longer before we meet again. I want to imagine what it would be like if Lander wasn’t Lander and I wasn’t me. I want to imagine what it would feel like to be touched like that by a nameless man with a nebulous past. I want to imagine what it would be like to be with Lander if we both had the opportunity to send our demons to hell where they belong.

But that’s not how life works.

I pick up the phone. I’m sleeping, I write.

I press send and wait. A minute passes, then two . . . and then the text comes: Obviously you’re not.

I giggle to myself as I consider my response.

Fantasize about me tonight, I write, and then tomorrow I can make your fantasies come true.

I send the message. I turn on my bedside light in time to see a spider gracefully drop from my ceiling fan as he spins a web almost as complicated as the one I’ve woven for my own prey, though perhaps not as delicate.

Another text comes in.

The man you met with . . . his name isn’t Javier.

I stare at the message a long time. The spider rises again, flying on his invisible string.

Again my phone vibrates in my hand.

Please come to me now, Bell. You’re in danger.

I sit up in bed, my heart beating in time with the thoughts that are racing through my brain.

How do you know who I was with tonight?

I wait one minute, two . . . but there is no answer.

Lander?

Enough of this, I have to call him—but then I get the next text.

He may have followed you, Bell. He may know where you are and where you live. Come to me now. Before things get bad.

I jump to my feet, take the gun out of my desk. With shaky hands I load it, nestling each bullet in a separate cold metal cocoon.

How much does Lander know? Was he following me? But if so he’d have to have done something like go into the bar after we left and start asking questions of the other patrons until he found one who overheard me or Travis refer to our companion as Javier.

And I don’t think any of the patrons in that restaurant were close enough to hear us.

So does Lander know Javier? Or has he talked to Travis?

And if it’s the latter . . .

I shake my head. Once again I find myself questioning what Lander does and doesn’t know. I throw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater as I tuck my gun into my waistband . . . just like Javier.