“Well, you can tell the cops,” I said. “They’re going to be coming to talk to you.”

“They’re on their way over now. I can show them everything I have. Which isn’t much.”

Again, he sounded so calm. So rational. I wanted to say something. Insult him. Call him a name.

But nothing came to mind.

So I said, “If you hear from her, tell her to call me.”

“I will.”

I poked the red END CALL button with as much force as I could muster. It in no way felt satisfying.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

Lily Rose.

Who the hell?

I gripped my keys tighter and pulled the back door open. The cool morning air brushed over me. Someone was mowing their lawn, and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass hit me, mocking me with its invocation of more innocent times.

I pulled the door shut and started to lock it.

“Hold it.”

I froze. That husky voice. The time of morning.

I spun. “I can’t deal with you, Dawn.”

She stood ten feet away, her hip cocked, her hands stuffed into the pockets of a hoodie. Her features were set as hard as marble. Her hair was loose from her ponytail, and dark circles showed under her eyes.

It must have been a long, sleepless night for her as well.

“You have to,” she said. “This is the time.”

“It’s over, Dawn. With you and me and all of this. The secrets are out. And I have to go.”

I started to move past her and she moved along with me, blocking my way. Her running shoes scraped against the pavement of the driveway like a basketball player’s.

“Get out of the way,” I said.

I reached out, intending to brush her aside, but she held her ground.

And pushed her hand forward in the pocket of her hoodie. Something long and firm pointed at me. Something that wasn’t a human finger.

“Dawn? This is crazy.”

“You didn’t lock the door yet. I was watching. Get back inside.”

“No.”

I tried to move past her with greater speed, and again she moved along with me. She came close enough to press the object in her pocket against my ribs. She applied so much pressure it hurt.

It was sharp. Metal.

A gun barrel. For real.

“Get back inside,” she said.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, a nutjob threatened me with a gun. While more sweat poured down my back, my insides turned to ice.

“Go,” she said.

Did I have a choice?

I backed up slowly, making no sudden moves, and pushed the door open. Dawn followed me inside. Her eyes were narrow, the pupils like polished river stones. She left the door open behind her, the view of the green grass and the car beyond taunting me with the possibility of escape. But it was so far away from me with her in between.