Page 137 of Liar's Point

“Your backpack looks stuffed.”

“Oh. Yeah. Just... doing some errands. I came by my locker to pick up some clothes I need to wash.”

Cassandra’s phone chimed, saving her from more questions. “I need to get that. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

Cassandra hurried down the hallway as her phone chimed again. Alex. Of course. She unzipped the backpack and switched the phone to silent and then pulled out her burner phone and pretended to answer the call in case Reese was watching.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Cassandra pressed the phone to her ear as she unlocked the back door and stepped into the alley.

As the door swung shut behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She hated lying to Reese.

She hated lying, period. And as Alex had pointed out last night, she wasn’t very good at it.

She stopped to dig her keys out and turned to lock the door. A breeze kicked up, and the smell of garbage wafted over from the dumpster. Along with another smell.

Cassandra went still.

Gucci Pour Homme, Malcom’s cologne.

Gravel crunched behind her. An urgent voice in her head screamed Run! but somehow her feet stayed cemented in place.

“Hello, Catherine.”

The air in her lungs disappeared as something cold and hard pressed against the back of her neck.

Her heart pounded frantically. He’s going to shoot me. Right here by this dumpster.

She thought of her brother’s smiling face, and tears sprang into her eyes.

“Turn around.”

She didn’t move. Or breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears, and all she could think of was Lucas. I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m so sorry.

An arm reached around and plucked the phone from her hand.

Then a voice growled in her ear, “I said, turn around.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

The man wore a stained undershirt and board shorts, despite the cold. His feet looked warm, though, in a pair of thick white socks inside his sandals.

“Mr.Gregus, how long have you lived at this address?” Nicole asked him.

He blew out a stream of smoke and squinted. “ ’Bout three months.”

“And have you formally met Cassandra Miller?”

“Nope.” He flicked his ash on the sidewalk. “But I know who she is. She teaches yoga at that place over by the doughnut shop.”

This guy was creepy, and it wasn’t just the way he slouched against the side of the building, watching people come and go as Nicole conducted the interview. He knew a hell of a lot about Cassandra’s daily routine for a casual observer.

“And are you sure it was nine fifty when you last saw her?” Nicole asked.

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