Page 201 of The Night Shift
But two seconds later, his phone buzzes too.
He exhales sharply. “I am seriously going to break that thing one day.”
He pulls his fingers out slowly and licks them clean. He unties my wrists, pressing soft, almost apologetic kisses to the spots where his tie had been.
I blink hard, trying to clear the fog from my head, and step away to grab my phone off the bed where it’s charging, stumbling a little as my shaky legs struggle to hold me.
Theo watches me, his gaze sharp now, the teasing edge long gone. “Who is it?”
I unlock my screen.
“Holly, what’s wrong?”
I don’t respond. I keep staring at my screen. And at the two messages from the unknown contact.
UNKNOWN: knock knock. guess who? i wont tell but i got a gift 4 u
Attached below is a picture of my hotel room door. And duct-taped to the center of it is the severed head of Parker’s dead cat.
Chapter 38
Holly
Fourteen hours later
10:25 a.m.
The rehearsal dinner went fine. The speech — despite being cobbled together at the last possible second — also went fine, all things considered. No one cried except April, and honestly, I’m pretty sure that was just the alcohol.
After I wrapped Dog’s head in a towel and buried it out back, Theo and I tore through the hotel like a pair of lunatics. Five full sweeps. Every hallway. Every shadowy corner. I even made him sweet-talk his favorite receptionist again so I could sneak a look at the security footage. And what did we find?
Nothing.
Not a single clue. No blurry figures creeping in doorways. No one taping dead cats to doors. No ominous flashes of movement. No sign whatsoever that my stalker was here, aside from the very real, very skin-crawling proof sitting in my phone’s inbox. Whichshouldbe my main concern right now, and it would have been if April hadn’t decided to go missing an hour before her wedding.
“April!” I storm down the hotel hallway, my stupid maid-of-honor dress swishing aggressively around my knees while our mother totters behind me, fanning herself with a folded-up copy of the wedding invite.
“She has to be here somewhere,” Mom insists, peering into an empty banquet hall like April might be curled up under a table taking a nap. “April, honey?”
She’s not.
I push open a random door. Housekeeping closet. Slam it shut. “Maybe her frontal lobe finally developed, and she realized she can do better than Parker.”
Mom ignores me. “Have you checked with your father?”
“Yes. No reply.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have left him at the bar alone. What about your other friend? Oh, what’s his name again? The handsome British one?”
“I don’t have any handsome British friend.”
“Yes, you do. I met him yesterday.” She fans herself some more. “Such a sweet young man. And so tall too. I hope he finds someone nice to settle down with.”
I throw open another door — empty storage closet. “Can we please focus on the impending nuptials of youractual childfirst?”
Mom is now busy typing something out on her phone. “Maybe you should give that boy a shot before someone else decides to take him off the market.”
“Oh my god,stop. There is a time and place for everything, and right now is not the time to push the marriage agenda for the thousandth time.”
