Page 114 of Can't Stop Watching
"This piece of shit doesn't work," she says, running a hand through her perfect hair. "If Wolfe's equipment is military-grade or whatever, this Best Buy special isn't going to find it."
"Great." I sink onto the edge of my bed, the same bed where Dane and I... where we... Did he record us?!
My stomach twists. Every memory feels contaminated now, like someone poured poison into my favorite drink. Was he really watching me the whole time? Did he see me cry after my nightmares? Did he watch me dance around in my underwear to Taylor Swift on laundry day?
"I don't think I can stay here anymore," I say, looking at the closed curtains. Somewhere across the street sits that abandoned building. Was that his perch? His little voyeur's nest? "Every time I turn around, I think of the cameras watching,himwatching."
Tessa stops her pacing. "You can stay with me until we find you a new place."
"Thanks," I say, grabbing my duffel bag and stuffing clothes inside without bothering to fold them. "Just until I can find somewhere new."
Ironically, money isn't the problem anymore. The New Yorker offered me thirty thousand dollars to write about my experience with Brian Langford. Thirty. Thousand. Dollars. More money than I've made in the last two years combined. My editor called it 'a haunting first-person account of surviving a serial predator.'
Part of me feels gross about it, like I'm monetizing my trauma, turning my near-death into content. But you know what? Fuck it. If I have to carry these nightmares around forever, I might as well get paid. And maybe help others in the process. The corruption of men like Langford needs to be exposed. If I find out Veritas was involved—they're denying it so far—they're coming down.
Tessa unpacks a box of cereal in the kitchen, carefully keeping her voice casual. "Have you heard from Dane since everything went down?"
"No," I say too quickly, sounding defensive even to my own ears. "Why would I?"
She gives me that look, the one that says she's about to poke the bear but can't help herself. "Just wondering. He did take three bullets for you."
"Yeah, right after he installed a secret peep show in my apartment," I say, even though deep down I know it wasn't like that. Deep down, I believe he only wanted to protect me. "I called the hospital yesterday," I admit. "To check how he was doing."
Tessa freezes mid-pour. "And?"
"And he's already gone." I shrug like it doesn't matter. Like I haven't been replaying our last conversation on a loop. "Apparently, he checked himself out against medical advice."
"Sounds on brand." Tessa slides the milk across the counter. "What are you going to do?"
Good question. What do you do when the guy who saved your life is also the guy who violated your privacy in the creepiest way possible? There's no Hallmark card for that situation.
"Nothing," I say, ignoring the pang of disappointment in my chest.
DANE
I sit in the Charger, engine idling, staring out at the rain-slicked street. Every breath still feels like getting stabbed. The doctors said six weeks minimum for recovery. I gave it six days.
Rolling my shoulder, I wince as fire shoots down my arm. The stupid sling is balled up in the back seat where I tossed it. Unnecessary weight. Unnecessary reminder.
My phone feels heavy in my palm. I've been holding it for twenty minutes like some lovesick teenager afraid to call his prom date. Pathetic. The old man would laugh himself sick if he could see me now.
Three bullets. Three separate entry wounds. And somehow they hurt less than the look in her eyes when she walked out of that hospital room… and never came back.
I swipe my thumb across the screen, pull up the number. My heart pounds harder than it did when Claire's goons burst through that door. Bullets I can handle, but this...
"Fuck it," I mutter, hitting dial before I can think better of it.
The ringing feels eternal. Each tone another heartbeat, another chance to hang up, another second to question if redemption is even possible for someone like me.
The line clicks. I hold my breath, waiting for voicemail.
"What do you want?" Her voice is cold, defensive, exactly the reception I deserve.
"Hello, Tessa." I keep my tone neutral despite the sandpaper in my throat. "I'm not calling to cause problems."
"Could've fooled me." The bite in her voice tells me everything about Lila's current state of mind.
"I need to see her." I watch rain streak down the windshield, distorting the world outside. Fitting. "Just talk. In person."
