Page 12 of Return to Me Always

"He's always out," Tyler said while heading toward a box pushed up against the wall. From inside, he grabbed a backpack and started to stuff it with contents from the carton.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my confusion now swirling with the shock.

"Stocking up." He didn't look up, just kept packing.

"Why?"

He paused to glance at me. "Well, lass, it appears we're now officially on the run from the police."

And, man, was I pissed. I couldn't think this fast, and I felt like I had been bulldozed into running. "You didn't give me much of a choice, did you?"

For a moment, I didn't think he'd respond as he stared at me, searching my face. But then, he returned to stuffing food in the backpack and said, "Feel free to leave at any time, Ryder."

"My first name's Kat by the way. Kat with a K. Not Ryder."

He completely ignored me. My legs were weak, and I suddenly needed to sit my shaky ass down. I sunk onto the nearest chair and tried to calm myself, using some of the breathing techniques I had learned. But for once, they didn't work. This situation needed way more than that—like valium or shots of tequila.

Panic hit me right in the chest. Oh, God, I didn't know what to do. Should I turn myself in? Should I go to the embassy?

Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe it was better to run until we could figure this thing out. I still couldn't believe this was actually happening.

Murder?

I mean, it was insane. I was trapped in the worst kind of nightmare.

Tyler went to the tiny kitchen and found several bottles of water before returning to the box where he grabbed a few more things. A nagging doubt started in my stomach as I realized it was definitely strange that he had stuff here.

"Are you moving here or something?" I asked.

He looked up, surprised by my question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why do you have this box here at your friend's?"

His attention went back to packing. "Just thought I might store a few things here."

He pulled out a wad of cash from the box that he stuffed into his pocket. Weird. It was almost like he was prepared for this or something.

Holy shit! A horrible thought struck me. Had Tyler just stabbed that guy? And then he'd stumbled on me? And now, I was a suspect or accomplice or accessory or whatever it was called in this murder?

I was going to be sick. Those damn fish and chips threatened a repeat appearance. My stomach cramped up as I fought the feeling.

Breathe, Kat. Breathe.

"Do you need the toilet before we go?" Tyler interrupted my sudden panic.

"No." My voice was a squeak.

As Tyler went into the bathroom, I decided to take a chance and ran over to this mysterious box to look inside. There was nothing left in there except a sweatshirt and some kind of overstuffed notebook with pages spilling out.

Snatching one of the papers, I held it up in the dim light. I could barely make out a drawing of a girl, but I couldn't see the details. Grabbing my phone, I turned on the light and aimed it at the sketch. I froze in complete shock.

The girl in the drawing looked exactly like me.

Chapter Four

The bathroom doorknob turned, and I threw the paper back in the box. My mind was spinning with unanswered questions. Why was there a drawing of me in Tyler's notebook?

I shook my head. That seemed rather irrelevant, though, compared to the even bigger question—was Tyler some kind of psycho serial killer?

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