“One more thing,” he had said, holding up a hand. “If you’re ever sitting in your car for any reason, just do me a favor and make sure your doors are locked.”

“Duh, Dad.”

Whether it was the stress from the day or my general lack of focus recently, I’d neglected to lock the doors again when I shut off the car. As the man got in my car, I was so paralyzed with fear that I didn’t move, didn’t think to scramble out the other side, didn’t think to do anything.

And then I saw who it was.

Ryan Hooks.

In my car.

Again.

He closed the door behind him and turned to look at me.

The scream was at the back of my throat when he put a hand up and spoke.

“I just want to talk to you,” he said.

“How did you—”

“I went to see your husband.”

“You what?” I asked, all thoughts of running fleeing. “Why did you do that?”

“I went to talk about the piece he’s going to do for me.”

“You asshole,” I muttered, my body tense and ready to fight. “You had no right to do that.”

“And you had no right to blackmail me,” he spat back. He took a deep breath and pushed back his hoodie. He looked a lot different than he had the other two times I had met him; his eyes were tired, and his beard had grown in considerably in the last couple of days. “He was so upset that you weren’t there to meet me. Nice guy actually.”

“What the hell do you want?” I asked, cutting him off.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I was leaving, and I saw you pull up. I just want to talk.”

“You already said that. What about?”

I still had one hand on the door, and I watched him carefully. I could make a run for it, but after an entire day of thinking about him, I found that I was interested in what he had to say.

Hooks stared back at me, and there was both anger and exhaustion in his eyes. “I want to know why you called the police,” he finally said.

I swallowed and then slumped back even farther against the car door.

He knew?

A thousand thoughts ran through my head. Should I deny it?

Pretend I had no idea what he was talking about?

Admit it?

Clarify that I hadn’t actually called them—I’d texted them?

I paused for too long, and he jumped in.

“There’s no use in denying it,” he said. “They called me and said that an anonymous tip had come in, stating that I’d been at the apartment building on the night that woman died. Emma’s apartment building.”