Page 43 of Run for Her Life
So when Simon closed the distance between them and pulled her into a kiss, she didn’t resist.
His hands came around her waist. Warmth expanded in her belly. She cupped his face, seeking comfort in the familiarity. When so much in her life and about her past was an unknown, there was nothing to do but cling to what she knew. It felt good—the delicious weight of him pressing into her and the scent of whiskey assaulting her nose. He was filling up her senses, making it easy to forget about everything else.
She ran her hands down his muscular arms, brushing over his hands. Then, she felt it. His wedding band. She tensed. She pulled back and swallowed a hot rush of tears. What the hell did she just do? Did she even like him?
“We can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Z, I’m not with Nancy.”
“You’re still married.”
His arms around her went slack and he held his head low. She stomped out of the bar.
TWENTY-SIX
Fun House loomed ahead. Its silhouette jagged against the dimming sky.
Zoe stood in front of it, feeling like the only person in this world.
Peeling paint curled at the edges like dead skin, wooden beams bowed inward as if the whole structure were exhaling a slow, rattling breath. The wind blew softly as if it were assessing her, gauging her response, trying to understand her. The shadows on the uneven ground were long, shivering, but here—right in front of the house—there was only stillness.
The wind stirred. The old porch groaned like it was shifting in its sleep. Loose shutters clapped softly against the warped frame. Zoe stood motionless, her gaze tracing the details—the skeletal remains of a house, the windows gaping and black, like sockets where eyes used to be.
The air around it was infested with the tragedy. Six teenagers died inside while the carnival outside raged on. Why would the killer send her the hair of one of the victims? She swallowed, her pulse drumming in her ears. It was just an old house. A carnival attraction. A collection of wood and dust and neglect. But it washiding more than the lives it had stolen. Was it hiding injustice? A secret that was threatening to spill out?
So why did it feel like it was waiting for her? She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling that the house was… watching her. But then her antenna started blaring. It wasn’t the house that was watching her. It was something else.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a black sedan with tinted windows a block away from where she stood. It was just the two of them on the stretch of the road. The window was slightly rolled down. It was too far for her to determine who it was. But something was visible.
A bright Hawaiian shirt. There was only one person who dressed like that in Zoe’s memory. Someone who Aiden said might have followed her to Pineview Falls. Darren Galanis.
Zoe took off like a bullet leaving the barrel, her legs sprinting with speed and intention toward the car. A moment later, the car kickstarted its engine and swerved dramatically, its tires hissing on the asphalt, spraying dirt on either side. It began gliding away from Zoe but she didn’t slow down. She pushed herself harder as the car gained speed.
“Hey! Wait!” she yelled but the car zipped away.
She came to halt, panting, and pressed her hands into her knees. Her lungs burned, drawing shallow breaths. Frustration clawed at her. She wassoclose. But she had memorized the license plate.
She called the local police dispatch. “I need you to run a plate.” She recited the number and waited.
Darren Galanis.
The next morning, everyone was out searching for Jackie Fink. The substation was crowded, stretched thin, everything happening at once. Fax machines beeped, printers rattled, and chairs scraped against the tiles. The walls were lined with cluttered bulletin boards, a mix of wanted posters, departmental notices, and half-torn flyers for upcoming events no one had time for.
Zoe threaded her way through the buzzing place, searching for Aiden. Lisa was on the phone, getting K9 units to comb through the woods where Annabelle’s body was found. She spotted him in the break room, thumbing his phone.
“Hey.”
“Simon went back?” he asked.
“Yep.” She flushed. “Did you get anything from the letter?”
“Not yet. Why wasn’t it sent to you like the first one?” He frowned. “And why was it sent to the Seattle office? The killer must be watching you and know that you’re in Pineview Falls. He could have just addressed it to this station.”
“Good questions.” She walked past him and poured herself a coffee with three cubes of sugar. “I’m more worried about Jackie being found dead. Annabelle was killed within twenty-four hours of being taken.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “We don’t know what the abduction site was either.”
Zoe’s phone beeped. “It’s the crime lab. They analyzed the first letter with the poem sent to me.”
