“Wait! Lia Finch!” Bushy Sideburns repeats as he runs up with the flowers I left in the car. He has a big, goofy smile on his face like he’s being helpful as he holds out the bouquet. “You almost forgot these.”

I’m about to tell him he can keep them when Richard reaches out and grabs them instead. “Thanks.”

“Your phone too.” Bushy Sideburns holds out the cell with the twins’ family pictures plastered all over the case for me to grab.

“That’s not mine.” My face flushes as I try to sound convincing, like I’ve never seen it before and have no idea where it came from.

Richard stares at me. He’s reading my face. I can feel it. I lift my chin while Bushy Sideburns stands there, holding the stupid phone out for me to take, refusing to turn around and leave with it already.

Richard grabs the phone from the attendant, watching me the entire time. “This phone isn’t yours?” He glances down at the pictures on the case.

I shake my head.

“Isn’t that odd,” Richard says, like he’s piecing it together.

He taps the screen and stares at the number pad as if trying to decipher the right key code to unlock it. Richard looks back at me, doing my best not to appear guilty.

“There it is!” A woman leaves the stroller with two screaming children behind with her husband. She runs up to us with Bushy Sideburns still standing there. “That’s mine.” I try to look clueless as Evil Twins’ mom reclaims the phone. “I must have left it on the Ferris wheel.”

Her red hair blows around her head as she grabs it from Richard, giving him a distrustful look.

Richard watches me as he lets her take it. Bushy Sideburns and Evil Twins’ mom walk away in separate directions, while Richard tucks his hands into his pockets and flashes a wicked smile. “Next Saturday then. Cullen will pick you up. Seven o’clock. Sharp.” He takes a step back, tapping Cullen on the shoulder like it’s time to go.

Cullen looks up at me. His face unreadable, or maybe I’m too freaked out about what just happened to read anything right now.

And then it hits me. I pull out my own phone and call up the calendar.

Next Saturday. October 20.

The date of the next attack.

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

What brings you in today?” an overly eager Apple sales associate asks. She stands across a blond wooden table covered with laptops on display. I scrutinize her expression, her body language, gauging whether there’s more to her interest in me than selling me a computer. Maybe a desire to snap my picture. Or maul me.

“Just looking.” I turn away, hoping to shoo her along. I fidget with my purse straps slung across my chest. But I sense her presence, lingering like some rancid odor that won’t disperse.