Page 58 of Rooke
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say. He was ranting and raving about finding another doctor. I told him not to go, that he needed to rest, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept on and on about this doctor.”
“Why would he need another doctor if he was receiving treatment here?”
“How should I know? He had a serious head injury. Nothing he said made sense. He was going nuts about finding another doctor from the moment he staggered through the damn door.”
I let her go. I can see she’s telling the truth. She really doesn’t know where he’s gone. At this point, if she did know, I’m pretty sure she’d tell me whatever she knew just to get me to leave.
“Fuck.” I scrub my hands through my hair, trying to remember how to breathe. He was here. He wasjustfucking here. I should never have waited. I should have left the house last night, the moment Jericho sent that message over. So fucking stupid.
I turn around and Margot’s arms are raised. She’s holding her gun in her hands, the gun I’ve been ignoring until now, and she looks pissed. The weapon is pointed right at my head, and her finger is hovering over the trigger. “I really am going to have to ask you to leave now,” she hisses.
“Fine. Fine. It’s okay. I’m go—” Something occurs to me, then, stealing my words. Something hits me in the gut with the force of a battering ram, and I’m nearly bent double with the force of my realization. “The other doctor,” I say. “Was he talking about someone in particular? Did he mention a specific doctor by name?”
Margot’s brow creases, like she can’t imagine how this could possibly be relevant information. “I don’t know. Yeah, I suppose he did. Clark? Campbell? Carter? I can’t remember.”
Ahhh, fuck. Dread cycles through me, chilling me to the bone. “Connor?” I ask.
“Yeah, that was it. Connor. He said he was going to find Doctor Connor. Now get the fuck out of my house.
TWENTY-SIX
SURPRISE VISITOR
SASHA
Waking up alone is never fun, especially when it’s in someone else’s bed. Rooke left me a note telling me to stay at his place and wait for him, but honestly it felt weird being there without him, like I was intruding or something. I take one look outside and decide trying to walk anywhere is out of the question, so I call a cab and wait by the front door for thirty minutes until the guy eventually shows up to drive me home.
I’m not in the mood to make small talk, so I sit in the back seat in silence, watching the world slowly crawl by, everything white, everything silent and peaceful, the sound of the city somehow deadened by the snow, and I keep my thoughts to myself.
My heart sinks in my chest when I get out of the cab and see the broken pane of glass in my front door. I forgot Rooke had to smash the window to get in yesterday. If I’d remembered, I would have called someone, had them come over and at least board it up until it could be replaced. As it stands, my place has been open and unprotected for close to twenty-four hours. Anyone could have let themselves in and helped themselves to whatever they wanted inside.
I take out the pepper spray Ali bought me just in case. No sense in calling the cops just to see if someone’s inside. The front door is set back from the road in such a way that it’s actually really hard to see, so it’s unlikely anyone’s noticed the broken glass, anyway.
I unlock the door with my key despite the yawning hole in the window and I let myself inside. “Hello? Is anyone here?” The house is freezing cold. There are papers scattered all over the floor in the hallway; the wind must have blown them from the phone stand. A strange rushing sound is coming from the kitchen. I’m careful as I walk through the ground floor, checking in the living room and the dining room to make sure I’m alone before I head to the back of the house, toward the sound.
The cold tap is running, water rushing like crazy out of the faucet. A soaking wet tea towel is on the floor, along with a clear glass bowl full of murky water. I know I’d thrown up when Rooke found me. The hallway floor was clean just now. Rooke must have cleaned up the mess and left the tap running when the ambulance showed up for me. Luckily the sink was empty, otherwise it would have flooded and water would have been pouring out over the tiles for the last twenty-four hours. I turn the tap off and head back through the house, looking for signs that someone might have been in here.
There are none. Nothing has been moved. Nothing’s been stolen. Apart from the stack of paperwork from the museum that’s now on the floor in the hallway, everything is as it was left. I call out, checking upstairs as well, can of pepper spray clutched tightly in my hand, but there’s no one there, either.
My cell phone starts ringing. It takes a long time for me to find it at the bottom of my purse. It’s Rooke. I miss the call, but my cell starts ringing again almost immediately. I pick up, and loud street noises blast down the line.
“Sasha? Where are you? Are you still at my place?”
“No, I’m at home. What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“The guy who attacked you at the museum. Casper. His name is Casper. He’s looking for you. Does he know where you live?” The words are jumbled, all running together. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying over the sounds of the city in the background—car horns blaring, sirens wailing. My limbs suddenly feel very heavy. I can’t seem to move, like my feet are cemented to the ground.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He could have found out, though. There are ways to do that, right?”
“Yeah. There are. Don’t stay at the house. Leave. Go somewhere safe, somewhere with a lot of people. Text me and tell me where you go. I’m coming to you.” I can tell he’s trying to sound calm, but there’s a clear edge to his voice. He’s worried, and if Rooke is worried thenIought to be terrified.
“Okay, I’m going. I’m leaving the house now.” I hang up, panicked. Casper. How did he find out the guy’s name? Is that where he went this morning? To go look for this guy? My stomach rolls. Good god, please don’t let him come here. I can’t take it. I can’t handle seeing him again. Not alone. God, not even with Rooke. It takes a monstrous force of will to make myself move. Once I convince my body to cooperate, I’m suddenly galvanized and running, hurtling down the stairs, charging toward the front door.
Nearly there.
Only a few more feet.
