Page 108 of Before She Disappeared

Yet I still check my phone. No calls, no messages. I feel restless, thrumming with the edge of unfinished business. What has Lotham learned about Livia Samdi’s other brother? Or what about possible bank accounts for Angelique’s alter ego, Tamara Levesque? I hate being in the dark.

Pacing my tiny apartment back and forth, back and forth. Feeling my restlessness grow, my skin start to tingle, my scalp pull tight. Maybe I should head to a meeting. Nights like this are exactly when I need a meeting.

No need for a fucking police escort. I’ve lived tougher, seen neighborhoods more dangerous. I wasn’t lying to Lotham when I said as much earlier. I can do this.

I pull back my curtain. I stare at the street outside.

That’s when I see him.

Standing there, directly in a wash of light where I’m certain to spot him. Very tall, lanky build, red sweatsuit, multiple gold chains. His hair is pulled back from his face in an intricate pattern, revealing a face that is lean, callous. Cruel.

He stares right at me. I see him. He sees me.

I let the curtain drop. I tumble back onto my bed.

I think wildly, I need Piper. Where’s my attack cat?

But when I check under the bed, Piper’s gone.

I order myself not to panic. I tell myself I’m strong and capable and I’ve been in deep shit before. Then I nervously work the lock of my door, easing it open long enough for me to creep downstairs and grab Stoney’s bat. As long as I’m there, I check the front door—still secured. Then the side door—also bolted. The side door is unmarked and solid metal. No one is getting through that. The bar’s front door, however... Smoked glass. It can be shattered. Would probably set off an alarm, but maybe noise doesn’t matter. A determined predator on the hunt. In, out, done.

I recheck the locks, then head upstairs, holding the bat stiffly before me.

Once in my apartment, I hit the bolt lock. I gingerly move the curtain back. I see retro dude still standing on the sidewalk, staring up at me.

I should call Lotham. And say what? Livia’s evil older brother is watching me? And why haven’t I heard from Lotham anyway? Surely Boston’s finest has learned something by now. So why the radio silence?

One a.m. Two a.m. I sit on the bed facing the door, bat across my knees, phone within easy reach.

I doze off. Dreams of blood and Paul and screams so primal they shiver up my spine. I’m chasing Angelique Badeau down a long corridor, never able to catch up. Except then I turn a corner and the tracksuit man is there pointing a gun.

“Couldn’t leave it alone,” he says.

He pulls the trigger. Angelique screams and falls to the ground, a bloody hole in her gut. He pulls the trigger again and now I’m falling to the ground, a bloody hole in my gut. A third booming shot. Paul screams the loudest, blood everywhere, as he collapses beside us.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp.

“But you killed us.” Now they’re both angry and it’s all my fault and so many things I should’ve done differently, should’ve done better. I’m falling down down down. Into an abyss of tortured souls and clasping hands and guilty consciences, mostly my own.

A cat appears, growling low. She leaps into the fray, slashing out with her claws. I feel pain, startlingly harsh, refreshingly clear, just as I bolt upright, clutching my arm against my chest. My phone is ringing.

I spy Piper, now on my bed, twitching her tail crankily as she grooms her right front paw. I glance down at my forearms to discover fresh scratches.

I don’t have time to consider the matter. Three a.m. My phone still chiming. I answer it.

At long last, I hear Lotham’s voice.

He says, “We have a body.”

And just like that, I’ve failed again.

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