They were going to smoke before going in. I almost groaned aloud. They leaned against the back wall of the museum. If I could see them, they could see me, so I drew back a few more steps, concentrating on the distant sound of their muffled laughter. It was warmer between the two vans, as though their engines had just been turned off or they’d been transporting hot boxes and the residual heat still glowed.

I was almost holding my breath, straining to hear the sound of the door shutting, my signal that the coast would be clear, when a hand clamped over my mouth and a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “Took you long enough.”

I struggled, twisting in the iron crook of that arm, until I could see Lena. Her wavy hair spiraled out from the knot she’d made of it, but it was dyed a dark black, which threw her pale skin into relief. The pressure of her hand kept me from opening my mouth enough to try to scream. She was strong, strong enough to break my neck.

She threw me sideways, slamming my head into the side of the van. The pain stole my breath and my vision. I closed my eyes and tried to shout, but her hand was back, sealing my mouth as she loomed over me, pressing me against the van. I could scarcely breathe.

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed at me. “What’s the matter with you? It’s me.” She wore tailored black trousers and a button-down white shirt slightly too large, bagging under the arms and sitting too wide on her shoulders. Unlike me, she was dressed to cater.

Somewhere in my terror, what she’d said sunk in. She wasn’t planning to kill me. Which meant if I could buy some time, I could get away and call the police. I could get out of this.

I stopped struggling.

She squinted at me, the expression so familiar, the exact way she’d looked back when she’d said, “You’re on the benefit planning committee?” like she was trying to evaluate me from the inside, to see if what she thought about me matched who I actually was. I slipped a hand into my pocket and grasped the handle of the scissors.

I opened my eyes wide, trying to project innocence, and she frowned. Why did I have to be such a crap liar? Why couldn’t I be more like Aimee, with a poker face that exuded warmth when all I had inside was ice?

I couldn’t just pretend. I was going to have to feel it. And at the thought of the Lena with whom I’d made bread, these same strong hands that held me captive once pounding the dough, another friend who’d just been an illusion, I let my eyes tear up.

Slowly, she took her hand off my mouth. “Just be cool. Don’t freak out.”