“And you say I’m crazy.” I go for my buckle, but he clamps it down and holds it, trapping me in place.

A woman in a tight suit looks up from her patio table. She watches me as she sips her red wine.

“As I said, I am not a cab. I am, however, all about negotiating.”

“Let me go.” I claw at the straps of my belt.

“How did you know there would be an attack?”

He tries to pull off a playful smile, but there’s something sinister behind his narrowed eyes.

I grit my teeth and glare at him. “I didn’t know about the attack. It was a horrible, cruel, ironic fluke I was there. Now let me go before I give you a different reason to be on the news tonight.”

Cullen lets out a low chuckle and releases his hold on the belt. I unbuckle, fling open the door, and nearly jump out of the car, trying my best to look more pissed off than panicked.

Cullen shakes his head and puts on a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.

“So many secrets, Lia. Don’t think I won’t get them out of you.” He leans across the passenger’s seat and drops his voice to a near whisper. “I’m pretty good at getting what I want.”

I slam the door as hard as I can, as if I can somehow hurt him. Instead, it draws the attention of the café’s half dozen patrons enjoying a late-afternoon meal.

Cullen cranks up the music before cutting off a car as he pulls away from the curb.

I swear I hear him laughing as he speeds away, leaving me behind.

Alone.

And even worse, exposed.

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

I burst through the doors of the library. Rushing past the main lobby to the nearest staircase, I take the stairs two at a time to the third-floor computers and find an empty table in the corner. I throw my stuff down, slump in the chair, and release the breath I’ve been holding since getting off the “L.” Nervous energy prickles beneath my skin. I slide my hat off and unravel my scarf, keeping my hands busy so no one notices how badly they’re shaking.

After Cullen abandoned me in the middle of downtown Chicago, I concealed my face with the hat and scarf stowed in my bag. I kept my head low, watching for anyone trying to sneak up behind me. Stab me in the back. Throw me in the river. Toss me near the Metra tracks.

It took an hour navigating the two miles. I hugged storefronts and imagined all types of common accidental deaths: a mugging, getting caught in gang crossfire, a nudging into oncoming traffic. When I got to the “L,” I sat against the chain-link fence with my keys laced through my knuckles, ready to maul anyone entering the station to murder me.