Page 91 of Lies He Told Me

“Remember what I said, Silas — money first.”

This feels promising. This could be it. Blair’s phone buzzes. Another call. Kyle. “Hold the line, be right back,” he tells Silas.

He hits a button to connect the second call. “Yes, Kyle.”

“I found the kids. They were with Camille. She was leaving the parking garage, but we stopped her.”

Blair pumps his fist in the air. Thank Christ. “Did she say where they were going?”

“No. She clearly doesn’t want to tell me. She was very upset that I stopped her.”

“Okay, but you have them.”

“I just took them to the station. We’re holding them there in protective custody. And nobody’s moving them — including you, Blair — until I know what’s going on.”

He feels relief flood through him. The kids are stashed away. Marcie can’t run now.

“Totally understood, Kyle. I gotta go.” He kills the call, flipping back over to Silas. “Anything?” he asks.

“I’m on her,”Silas whispers.“I fucking see her.”

Blair pounds the steering wheel. They’ve got this back under control.

Feel the walls closing in, Marcie? You’re not going anywhere.

NINETY-SEVEN

WITH MY NEW PASSWORD, I pull up my email and hit Compose. A new email pulls up. I put my own email in the To field. I search through my emails for another address and find it, too.

Then I click on Attachments to append the audio file. But I don’t know where to locate the file. My kids could probably do this in two seconds, but I search directories. There — it’s on a D drive, apparently. I find the audio file and double-click on it. Now it should attach to the email.

But it doesn’t. Instead, a big hourglass appears on the screen.

An hourglass? I don’t need a freakin’ hourglass right now.Let’s go, let’s go!

It spins and twirls, deciding whether it wants to let me attach this audio file to my email.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon …

The front door to the café opens. In walks a man wearingsunglasses, with red hair, a phone to his ear as he looks around —

I flinch. I know that man. That’s … that’s … yes, the creepy redheaded sunglasses guy I met in downtown HG the day my dog, Lulu, went missing.

That must be Silas.

I duck my head low, pretending to be typing while I watch his movements in my peripheral vision. He moves to his left, toward the other side, where patrons are drinking coffee and talking. It won’t take him long to clear that room and come to my side.

I’m out of time.

The hourglass spinning, mocking me.

There. The audio file attaches to the email. I hit Send.

The screen goes blank.

Huh? Did it send? Did it crash? Was there something sophisticated about that audio file that I couldn’t —

Silas is back at the middle of the store, by the coffee. Holding very still. Speaking into the phone. Then switching the phone into his left hand, tucking his right hand into his coat.

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