Page 72 of Spotted at Lighthouse Bay
“I better never hear from you again.” Sebastian leaned in close, his sour breath hot on her face. “Or you won’t be talking to anyone ever again.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he laughed in her face. Then he and Julian turned and walked to the trailer. They unlocked the door before disappearing inside.
Addy stood there, holding her breath for what felt like minutes. She was afraid if she breathed, she might sob and get their attention.
She finally managed to take a shaky breath. This was quite possibly the dumbest thing she’d ever done. If she could just get out of here alive, she’d give this whole thing up. She’d never utter their names again, she’d wish her mom good luck. She’d move far, far away, out of their reach.
Her heart rate slowed. Maybe she could still get her phone so she could call for help. Call Joey. Sheila. Anyone.
Addy walked quietly to the back of the van and tried the door. It opened. She paused, looking at the trailer.
No movement. She had to work quickly.
Paint cans, old take-out containers. Tarps. A ladder. The front seats were separated from the back with a metal partition. It looked less like a murder van and more like a working van, albeit a messy one. She could do this.
She crawled inside, combing through the garbage until she found her phone wedged between a bucket and a toolbox. As she leaned forward to grab it, the door shut itself behind her
“Great,” she muttered.
She pocketed her phone and shuffled back, pulling on the door handle.
Nothing but hollow resistance. She pushed, she kicked. The door wouldn’t budge.
Addy shut her eyes.
No,thiswas the dumbest thing she’s ever done. She was about to crawl to the front when the driver’s door opened.
“He said they need the van,” Julian sighed.
“Yeah, but we’ve got things to do,” Sebastian said, climbing into the passenger seat.
Addy ducked down, covering her mouth with her hand. She was going for a ride.
Twenty-seven
This made no sense. Cliff, Flex Knock, IronClad Elite. There was no connection. There couldn’t be.
And yet.
Rick got down to street level, his breath catching in his chest. No one had come after him, but his nerves were still fried from the morning. He needed a moment to think.
There was a coffee shop across the way. Coffee would help. Maybe decaf. Something hot, though.
He tossed a look over his shoulder before jogging over.
How was it possible that Cliff was in charge of IronClad Elite, yet he was associated – or maybe even in charge of? – the company that had come after Addy’s mom?
He kept repeating it, over and over, trying to hold both ideas in his mind. When he thought too long about one, the other toppled out. It was impossible. He couldn’t accept it.
The door to the coffee shop was eight feet tall and made from a stark, black metal. It was cool in his hands as he pushed it open.
The shop was local. No branding. No frills. The floors were a rich, earthy hardwood. The walls had canvases and framed pictures with price tags. Roasting beans drifted through the air. The jagged edges of his breaths evened out.
He ordered a decaf latte. Addy had put him onto lattes. She liked to get whipped cream on top.
He skipped the whipped cream. The barista served it in a round, nearly overflowing mug on a wide saucer. A pair of shortbread biscuits balanced on the edge.
Food. That was interesting. He was supposed to eat after the panic attacks. “I’m sorry,” Rick said, pointing at the glass case, “can I also get one of those sandwiches?”
