He held what she at first thought was a knife but on second glance realized was a letter opener. Despite it not having a very imposing blade, it looked sharp enough to do some damage if it were used with any kind of practiced technique.

“Why are you following me?” His voice was soft and not necessarily accusatory, laced more with curiosity than a threat.

Why didn’t he go directly into the house?

Did he see you waiting for him when he got out of the taxi?

“My name is Julianne Springman. I’d like to work with you.”

He eyed her quizzically. “Work with me? I’m a novelist. I work alone.”

“Not in that capacity.”

“In what capacity, then?”

“Is there a better place—a more private place—we could talk?”

“Why would I want to do that? I told you I don’t work with anyone else.”

“You weren’t careful, Mr. Sabian. I found you. And if I found you, there’ll be others who’ll find you as well. You could use some help. I used to work as a CSI tech back in Detroit. I know all about crime scenes. How to leave clean ones.”

She glanced at the letter opener in his hand. “Would you really stab me with that? Do you really want to chance that I haven’t told anyone else I was going to speak with you tonight?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just a chance to explain myself.”

He used the letter opener to scratch harshly at his arm. “My place is close. We can talk there.”

++++

The falafel burger from earlier hadn’t filled me up, and I slipped out of the bedroom to grab some leftover lasagna that Christie had made before she left. On the way down the hall, I noticed that Tessa’s light was still on and I figured I would just tell her good night, but when I knocked and called to her she didn’t reply.

I knocked again. “You alright?”

Nothing.

I wanted to respect her privacy, and she might just have her headphones on, so she was probably fine. But also I felt a thread of parental concern.

Privacy was a big deal to her, and even just opening her door could make her upset.

I knocked a little harder. “I just wanted to say good night.”

I started to ease the door open, but she yelled, “Don’t come in!”

Immediately, I closed it. “Are you okay?”

That’s when I heard her sniffle.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Was it me? Did I do something to upset you?”

“I said I don’t wanna talk!” Her voice was cut through with pain.

I wished we weren’t having this conversation through a closed door, but maybe, in a certain respect, it was better this way.

“Just leave me alone.” More sobbing. “It’s not you, okay?”