Page 127 of One Step Too Far

I stare at the backpack for a very long time, as if it’s the one who betrayed me.

Then I slowly rise to standing.

A calm has settled over me.

I have work to do.

CHAPTER 43

Any child of an addict knows what it feels like to be lied to. “I swear I’ll never do it again.” “I promise this is my last drink.” “Of course I won’t make a scene.” From backyard camping that never happened to a million missed events. You learn to ride the ride.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to take.

Night has fallen. At the first contact with the chilly air, I physically recoil, my heartbeat accelerating, a sense of panic building in my chest. What had Neil said about his PTSD being triggered by men in tuxes? I guess mine is now the cold.

I return to the room for my beloved army coat. While I’m at it, I find myself tucking a small flashlight in one pocket, a butane lighter in another. Then helping myself to someone else’s rigged-out paracord bracelet for my wrist. I have access to my own emergency whistle, which feels like a long-lost friend. I hesitate over one last item. Then I just have to do it.

I grab the scary serious tactical blade I told Josh I didn’t want and strap it to my waist, beneath the cover of my jacket.

The weight of it is instantly reassuring. My breathing eases, my panic recedes. I feel complete.

Maybe I’m a deadly-knife kind of gal after all.

I need information. I usually meticulously research my target destinations. I never did that for Ramsey, and now look at me, covered in giant splotches of violent purple while hobbling around like a hundred-year-old woman. I might be impulsive, obsessive, and a tad self-destructive, but normally I try to be smart about it.

This time of night, no public libraries or internet cafés will be open. Which leaves me with one option. Wrapping my arms around my torso for warmth, I limp back to the front office.

Pimply Face looks up immediately from the counter. His face brightens when he spots me, then falls when he realizes I’m not carrying the promised blood-spattered laundry.

“I decided it was too late to start now,” I offer by way of explanation. “Can I still use the machines in the morning?”

“I don’t know.” He’s definitely disappointed. “My shift ends at midnight. Can’t promise what the next person will be willing to do.”

“What’s your name?”

“Seth.”

“Hi, Seth. I’m Frankie Elkin. Pleased to officially meet you.”

This cheers him up. I continue. “I totally understand what you’re saying about permission to use the washers and dryers. I guess I’ll just have to hope the next desk clerk is as helpful as you have been.”

Seth’s expression says, Don’t bet on it.

“If it’s not too much, I do have another favor to ask. I need access to a computer. Like, right now. I don’t suppose there’s one in the back office I could use?”

“Why do you need a computer?”

“Well, you know, to let family and friends know I’m all right. Figure out my next steps. That sort of thing.”

“Why don’t you just use your phone?”

I produce my cheap flip phone and hold it up for his inspection. He nearly recoils in horror.

“Seriously? I didn’t know they made those anymore.”

“I could use an upgrade.”

I remain standing there patiently. This time of night, there’s no real activity, meaning it’s just him and me, and he’s clearly anxious to be part of something bigger.

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