Another text: Better meet me before midnight, Cinderella. I’ll know if you try to screw me. You know where I’ll be.

And I was in motion, scooping Grace up so abruptly that she woke with a cry. In a blur, I snatched up her stuffed rabbit, pulled one-handedly on the portable crib to collapse it, and whirled out of the room, leaving a T-shirt and yesterday’s socks on the floor.

Nothing mattered but getting away. Lena knew we were here, and my family wasn’t safe.

“Let’s go,” I called to my parents, but my dad had already started the car, and my mom was waiting by the front door. She took Grace so I could carry the crib, the diaper bag, and my own suitcase. With a jolt, I thought about my phone, but its weight was in my pocket. My hands full, I staggered to the car and swung my baggage into the trunk.

My mother buckled Grace into her car seat but paused before climbing into the passenger’s side. “Did we lock it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told her, but she was already running, key in hand, alone through the dark. Watching my mom, my back pressed against the car, I pulled out my phone to see if any other texts had come through.

And then my stomach flipped. The phone. That’s how Lena knew where I was. She and Brady had installed cameras in our home; why wouldn’t she have put a “track my phone” alert on mine? Maybe in her backyard when I was swimming while she lounged by the pool, my phone unattended beside her. Maybe at my house, when I was in the bathroom and Grace was the only witness. A hundred opportunities came to mind, and I wanted to fling the phone from me like a venomous spider.

My fingers tightened, and I raised my hand, but then I remembered: I’ll know if you try to screw me. What kind of spyware might Lena have installed? Had she listened to my phone calls? Could she read my text messages? Had she seen every website I’d visited and every app I’d used?

I looked at the screen as I had so many times, but there was no glowing light or indication that its camera was looking back at me. Still, I could feel Lena’s calculating gaze.

If she got angry with me, she’d come after my family. After all, she was willing to wait, to play, to hunt us. She knew I post-stalked Aimee. She’d planned for me to see her in that photo. Whatever was happening in Texas, whoever was on that security footage, it wasn’t Lena. She was waiting for me here in Jersey. And I didn’t know if she was monitoring my location, my calls and texts, or every single thing I did.

Mom ran back to the car. “Ready?”