Ryan’s steps hitch for a fraction of a second.

“The first aid kit? The trash can? The broom?”

I know before he says anything that it’s from watching me. He’s been stalking me for who knows how long. I glance at our kitchen windows and imagine him outside in the dark, staring at me as I eat dinner, do homework, watch TV. Is he the one who took the picture? Wrote the warning on my grill? I become self-conscious, as though millions of insects are crawling all over my skin.

“Get out.” I choke over the words.

“Lia . . .” He starts toward me and speaks in a calm, collected voice like he’s speaking to a child.

I grab the phone and dial 911.

“It takes the cops exactly seven minutes to get to my house. I suggest you get a head start.”

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Ryan’s eyes are callous, metallic, the color of stainless steel. “Put the phone down.”

My thumb hovers over the send button.

“I’ve been here before,” he says, “with your dad.”

It’s a trick. I’m sure of it.

“You took pictures of me with my phone outside that window and left the articles to threaten me.”

“You didn’t exactly listen.” He steps closer, looming over me. A shiver runs along the base of my neck. “You’re running around the city daring them to kill you.”

“Like you’re daring me to turn you in?”

“There is a car parked down the street watching your house. They are following you, monitoring online activity, noting where you go, who you talk to. In case they want to hurt someone you care about.”

“Who’s they?”

“I don’t know.”

Of course he knows. He has to. I lift my phone, threatening the 911 call again.

“You won’t get answers if you do that.” Ryan’s expression is serious. Sterile.

“Then tell me who I should be afraid of. Who’s in charge?”

“I don’t know. No one does.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s lying. “How can you not—”

He lowers his voice and cuts me off. “I was trying to help your dad figure that out.”

I blink several times. It’s not what I anticipated. Every scenario I concocted in my head explaining the relationship between Ryan and my dad involved Ryan cutting a deal with my dad to avoid punishment for whatever crime he committed. My dad made them all the time.

I lower the phone, keeping it clutched in my hand, ready to hit send any second.

Ryan scratches the back of his neck just beneath his hairline. He props the broom and dustpan against the French doors and walks toward me, dwarfing me with his size. He perches on the coffee table and gestures for me to sit in the armchair. Across from him. Face to face, captured beneath his gaze. I push back against the cushions, creating distance between us.