She stared at the bloodstain, remembering the giant hand clamped over her mouth, the smell of latex, the coppery taste of blood. She’d bitten him. She’d bitten him. Her stomach clenched at the realization. The edges of her vision blurred, and she felt a weight on her chest. Her lungs constricted and she couldn’t breathe, and suddenly she was back in her office, pinned beneath that impossible weight.

“Leigh?”

“Sorry. I—I’m at the dry cleaners. Let me call you back.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

She hung up. The clerk was still in the back room, somewhere amid the endless rotating racks of clothes. The hangers zoomed by in a blur, and Leigh felt dizzy again.

She grabbed the stained blouse and walked out, her stomach heaving as she stumbled into the cold air. She returned to her car and slid behind the wheel, desperate to get into the safe haven of her private space. She popped the locks, then flung the stained blouse into the seat beside her and stared through the windshield.

Breathe.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Inhaled again.

Her heart raced a million miles an hour and her hands felt sweaty on the steering wheel. She opened her eyes and saw that her knuckles were white. Loosening her grip on the wheel, she forced herself to take another deep breath.

She stared through the windshield, trying to get control of her racing pulse and her swirling thoughts. Rush-hour traffic streamed past, the red taillights blurring in front of her as her eyes filled with hot tears.

Do. Not. Cry.

It was good that she’d remembered. It was a new detail, coming to her late, like Brandon had talked about. And now she had physical evidence that might be useful. The blood on her blouse might belong to her assailant.

Leigh’s stomach flip-flopped and she forced the tears back, angry at herself for falling apart like this. She was alone. She was in her car, in a public place. She was perfectly safe.

Her phone vibrated, making her jump. She took a deep breath. It was a text message, probably Javi checking in on her because she was acting like a freak today.

She dug the phone from her purse. It was a number she didn’t recognize and whoever it was had sent her a video. Leigh tapped the screen.

A line of girls moved in sync. They wore purple leotards and carried shimmery silver pom-poms. They punched at the air in unison—up, down, left, right. Up again, down again.

Leigh’s phone chimed, and she answered distractedly.

“Hello?”

“Did you get it?”

Leigh looked at the screen. “Who is this?”

“It’s Vanessa. Did you get the video?”

An icy trickle slid down Leigh’s spine as she studied the line of girls. “The dancers?”

“It’s Kelly. That’s her!” Vanessa sounded panicked. “He’s threatening her. You have to help me.”

“Wait. Who—”