Shit, I hope he’s not dangerous. My insides twist.

They’re talking now.

Oh wow, no, I think Thomas might be yelling.

The man looks up at the window.

Fuck.

I move back to the side of the curtain so I can try to peek through.

Thomas has the guy pinned up against a wall now, their faces really close. Then he lets go. The guy runs away. Fast.

I feel sick. God, I might actually vomit. I move over to the bed and sit down, trying to calm my breath.

Then Thomas is coming back inside.

The door opens with a creak. Then closes gently.

I look up at him and he smiles. ‘He’s gone,’ Thomas says, dropping his keys on the counter with a metallic clang.

‘Who was he?’ I ask.

Thomas hands me a business card. ‘A private investigator.’ He sits down on the bed. ‘I told him I was going to call the police if he kept loitering. That I thought he was casing my flat.’ He looks proud of himself. All puffed up.

‘Thanks.’ I smile.

‘It’s pretty creepy though. Are you sure it was the same guy?’

I nod and scroll through the photos on my phone to the ones I took at the metro station the other day. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Look.’ And then I show him my phone, hovering beside him to make sure he doesn’t look at anything he shouldn’t. He swipes through them slowly, taking them in.

‘You can’t see his face,’ he says – and you can’t, the man’s face is well covered by his cap. ‘But why would he be following you anyway?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, and a shiver runs through me. Because now ‘whatcha doin’ princess’ is floating back. Then the way Stan was looking at my screen on Monday. The way he watched me today as he headed across the office to his desk. That envelope with Sabine’s mother’s address in the bin under my desk. Stan knows I was there the night Sabine disappeared. That I know Noah. Is he following me to see if I lead him to a bigger story? Would he really go that far?

The ping of a notification pulls me back to the present moment and we both stare at my phone screen. A message. From Nee-koh-lah via the dating app. Thomas saw it too and fuck, fuck, fuck the last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings while I need his help.

‘Right,’ Thomas says, handing me my phone back like nothing happened. ‘Let’s get you a cab. I’ll come wait with you.’

Then he hands me my coat, I slip the card into my pocket and order an Uber home.

Chapitre Vingt-six

Chapitre vingt-six

Five minutes later I’m looking at Thomas through a rain-blurred Uber window as he waves goodbye. I wave too. He goes inside. And we start to drive.