Page 180 of Our Little Secret

“So you’re calling the police?”

And tell them what?

That she’d been snooping around about her sister’s intended? That she’d called in a favor that could get a coworker fired? That she’d been involved with the same man and they’d had brutal, near-death struggles? That she had foolishly put everything she’d held dear at risk to have an affair with a man she’d barely known, a man who had been lying about his identity.

He’s not who he says he is.

Someone else had known he was a con artist and tried to warn her when she was seeing him. Someone who knew her phone number and had access to her burner phone. That person might know more. But would they have proof?

“Did you hear me, Brooke? You’re telling your sister to avoid him, right? You’re going to the police.”

“I think I need more evidence before I call in the authorities,” she said, and she heard Caleb’s unhappy sigh on the other end of the line. Just because she looked like Emme, the missing woman, wasn’t enough. All her suspicions couldn’t be backed up. If she had the necklace . . . maybe. But even then, she doubted there would be enough of a connection for the police to arrest him.

“Brooke, just stay away from him,” Caleb insisted as the wind howled outside. “Have your sister break it off and change the locks. Who knows what he might do?”

Exactly, she thought, her blood turning to ice.

“I will.”

“Promise.”

“On my life.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, but I’m going to keep looking,” Caleb said. “See what else I can find. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

She thought of her family. All in one vehicle. With Elijah Rossario, suspected murderer. She had to warn them. She had to call the police. She glanced at the time. It was after one. The service was over.

She was about to text Neal when her screen lit up with a text from Marilee:

He disappeared.

Eli’s not with us.

Mom, be careful.

He’s not who he says he is.

CHAPTER 39

Marilee?

Marilee had sent the previous warning texts when she was seeing Gideon?

The messages were different, but just by a few words.

Or was it a coincidence?

Either way Brooke couldn’t take a chance.

She wrote back:

I know. Stay with your dad. Go somewhere safe. Find a hotel somewhere in another town. Let me know. I love you!

She pushed send, hoping the message would go through, but her phone connection was failing. Dead. “Come on, come on,” she said, shaking the thing, seeing a flicker of another message:

I told you I’d never let you go.

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