Jesus, those eyes … the sadness in them … it’s swallowing me whole right now.

Maybe that’s why I say what I say next. Or maybe I’m really just as stupid as my father says I am.

“No, I’ll help you,” I tell her, and relief washes over her pretty features.

“Awesome,” Harlow says then pushes open the door. “I have to use the bathroom. If the waitress comes while I’m gone, order me a chocolate shake with extra cherries, a burger without pickles, and a large order of fries.” She climbs out of the car, shuts the door, and then heads inside.

Silence briefly stretches between Raven and me as she stares down at her phone.

“So, I’m guessing from the way you’re staring at your phone that you received a text from someone anonymous and want me to track it down,” I say, breaking the silence.

Nodding, she glances up at me. “It’s from an unknown number.”

“Can I see it?” I start to reach for her phone, but she wraps her fingers around it.

“Before I show you, can you promise not to ask me questions about the contents of the message?”

“I never do that with my clients.” And usually, I don’t care. With her, though … I’m curious about her. Where she comes from. Who she is.

Why she looks so sad.

“Thanks.” Then she takes a deep breath and hands me the phone, showing the message.

Unknown: I know who you are, and I know what you did.

Okay, yeah, I want to ask her questions, yet I know I can’t.

So, instead, I say, “I can definitely look into this. How long it’ll take, though, all depends on what sort of phone the person sent this from. If they just used a blocking app from their own phone, it’ll be easy. If it’s a burner phone, it might take a bit.” I dig my own phone out of my pocket. “I can tell you right now which one it’ll be.”

I swipe my finger across the screen, open the scanning app, and then put it close enough to her phone so that I can scan it.

She watches in fascination. “Where did you learn how to do this sort of thing?”

“From people who work for my dad.” I set the phones on the dashboard. Then I brace myself for her to ask questions about my dad.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t.

“That’s kind of cool. I mean, that you know how to do this stuff,” she says. “I honestly think it’s just my cousin. Well, I think my cousin had someone send it.”

I glance at her. “Does your cousin often send you ominous messages?”

She nods. “Yeah … She has a thing for making my life miserable.”

I hesitate, unsure if I should ask, but the need to know overwhelms me. “She’s that blonde girl, right? The one who started school today, too.”

She nods, eyeing me over. “Her name’s Dixie May. Have you met her yet?”