Nic had been so preoccupied with Chief Watkins and Daisy Hollander, Reyes and Booth and Kurt Kent, she had nearly forgotten about Edith Moore and the lie she’d told about having been in New York.

“Listen—she met with a man in the parking lot of the hospital where she works as a nurse. I couldn’t place him, but I swear he looks familiar. Like someone we met in Hastings. Schenectady is a long way to go for a visit in a parking lot.”

Nic felt a shiver.

“Can you send it?”

“I just did. Put me on speaker. I don’t want to lose you.”

Nic hit the speaker button, then opened the text from her father. She could easily make out Edith Moore. The other figure was slightly hidden behind her, but she had no trouble making him out either. He was unmistakable.

No . . .

“Nic? Did you get it?”

Nic took the phone off speaker and held it to her ear. She smiled and slid down from the bar stool. Her cheeks were trembling.

“Do you know who it is?” her father asked.

She held her hand over the receiver as she started to walk toward the door. Kurt was watching her carefully, curious now.

“I have to go—something back home,” she said to him.

But he didn’t believe her. She could tell by the expression that didn’t change.

“Nicole!” her father said again in the phone, pleading with her to answer.

With the phone still pressed to her ear, she bounded the last few steps until she was at the door. She swung it open and walked outside, then raced across the street.

“Nic? Are you there?”

Finally, she stopped moving.

“I’m here,” she said, standing at the edge of the parking lot for the inn.

Her father repeated the question.

“Nic—do you know that man?”

She exhaled to calm her voice. Then she answered.

“Yeah, I do.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Day sixteen

I hear the car outside. So does Alice, and she leaves me to run to the front door.

We have been doing her schoolwork through the bars, making sure Dolly sees us.

I hear a high-pitched squeal of excitement. Then a man’s deep laughter.

They go to the kitchen. Cupboards open and close. Voices muted. Plates. Glasses clanking.

I sit with my back to the camera and make no motions. I am perfectly still on the outside.

On the inside, I am racing—to the end of this day, to my escape.

Time passes. I hear footsteps and turn. It’s Alice with a tray of food. Not the usual peanut butter sandwich. Today I have grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“It’s so good if you dip the sandwich into the soup!” she explains.

She opens the bottom panel. She slides the tray through, then relocks it.