Page 76 of The Writer

“How do you know?”

“She’s picking up her kids from their dad’s. Even if she was behind this, she wouldn’t do anything with her kids around. We need to keep watching the others.”

“Okay, so that’s one off the list,” she says. “I still have no idea where Victoria is going. I’m pretty sure we passed her building a couple of blocks ago.”

“That’s good,” I say, driving back in the direction I just came from. “Maybe she’s going to meet someone.”

“I’m getting a bad feeling,” she says. “The roads are thinning out. There are barely any people around. She’s going to see I’m following her.”

“Just stay on her,” I say, merging onto the highway. “I can make it back to Danielle’s office. We’ll have eyes on both of them?—”

A high-pitched, heart-stopping scream rings through the phone. The sound startles me so much I slam on the brakes, almost causing the car behind me to rear-end me. From behind, a horn blares.

“Marley, are you there?”

Nothing. The staticky rustling of the line, still connected, but no voice at the other end.

“Marley, did something happen?” I shout. “Answer me.”

The sound on the line changes. Becomes clean and crisp, like someone is holding it up to their ear. There are the heavy exhales of someone breathing?—

Click. The line is disconnected.

My nerves rattle, my heart pounding. Marley was still following Victoria when she let out that scream. Could Victoria have seen she was being followed? Could she, or someone else, have attacked Marley? If they did, the person would have looked at her phone afterward, and seen she was talking to me.

Every car on the road seems to move at a snail’s pace as I slam my horn, swerving in and out of traffic. Hurriedly, I type in Marley’s last known location into my GPS. She’s eight minutes away, only a few blocks from Victoria’s apartment complex.

In my mind, that terrifying scream rings out again and again. She’s in danger.

Last time a friend was at risk, I walked away. I knew the world was a scary place. My own experience with Michael hadtaught me that, but I was too insecure and afraid to fight for my friend’s safety, and that mistake cost Layla her life.

Now, I know better, and I’m not going to let Marley fight this battle on her own.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The world feels like it’s tilting, time a foreign construct, as I race to Marley’s location. I slam on my horn, urging cars to move out of the way. Heat pumps into the vehicle, droplets of sweat dripping down my neck, but even messing with the temperature dial feels like a waste of precious seconds. My vision zeroes in, focusing on the road ahead.

Four minutes until my destination.

I re-enter downtown and its crosswalk-littered streets. As much as I need to go fast, I’m afraid I’ll hit someone if I don’t slow down. I pump on the brake, my body aching. A group of college students walk aimlessly across the street. I blare my horn again, and they jump back just in time for me to zoom past.

Three minutes until my destination.

I’m not even sure where I’m headed. Somewhere in the vicinity of Victoria’s apartment. That’s where Marley was when I heard that awful scream, the echoes of which reverberate in my mind. How long does it take to murder a person? Strangle the life from their body? Crush their skull? What if I’m too late?

Two minutes until my destination.

My surroundings are becoming increasingly familiar. I’ve just passed McCallie’s Pub, the starting location of today’sstupid mission. To the left, a police car sits against the curb. Instinctually, I hit my brakes. The car must be empty because it doesn’t pursue, but that gives me an idea. I fiddle with my phone, my shaking hands almost dropping it, and dial 911.

One minute until my destination.

The phone rings twice before it connects.

“Whitaker 911,” the operator says.

“A woman is being attacked,” I say, searching the streets for a place to park. “Send help.”

“What is your location?”

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