Page 6 of The Roommate Lie

It takes about seven seconds. Once I start picturing worst-case scenarios on a deserted mountain road, it’s over. If my sister’s ordeal with her fan taught me anything, it’s that people are unpredictable, and there’s only one way to protect myself in Ponderosa Falls.

I have to take a picture. Of a stranger.

Alice:Fine. One picture.

It needs to be covert, too. Partly because taking his picture is next-level paranoid, borderline creepy. But also because flying under the radar as a Kilpatrick always feels right—it’s our specialty. It’s just notmyspecialty.

Exhaling a slow breath, I flip to the camera app on my phone. Then I glance down at the screen like I’m reading something boring—nothing to see here—while I angle my phone for the perfect shot.

My plan is a mess from the start. There’s no good way to point your phone at someone beside you without them noticing, especially while pretending you’re reading something on the screen. I’m basically doing car yoga trying to get this picture, and Charlie quirks a curious brow.

“Just stretching,” I announce, rolling my shoulders and doing a few exaggerated head tilts. “All that time on the bus was killer on my joints and ligaments.”

My joints and ligaments? Nothing about that sounded natural, yet it’s my use of the wordkillerthat really does me in. That slip-up gives me actual chills, and Charlie notices that too.

Luckily, he just thinks I’m cold. Reaching above the radio, he angles the middle air-conditioning vent away from me likea gentleman. Which is a real shame because it’s the beginning of summer, the hottest part of the afternoon, and I’m eight thousand feet above sea level in a box of windows on wheels. It feels like the sun is riding in the car with us, and the faintest prickle of sweat stings the back of my neck.

Even as I start to overheat, giving up on my photoshoot never occurs to me.

“Stupid phone,” I mutter out of nowhere. As stealthy as a Thanksgiving Day parade.

Charlie quirks another curious brow, and I keep going. “Is it a mountain thing? Because my reception is awful. I had half a bar a minute ago, but now I don’t have anything.”

I start angling my phone again before he can answer. Pointing it every which way like I’m on an epic quest for cell service. The second Charlie glances over, I snap his picture.

And my phone emits the loudest shutter click known to man.

It’s deafening. My ringer and text notifications are always on silent, but apparently, my camera volume was set to supersonic.

“Did you take a picture of me?”

Heat floods my face, and I don’t answer his question. I fumble around on my phone, trying to click out of my camera app and hide my treachery…except there is no treachery. When I catch sight of my screen, there’s just a random sideways photo of his steering wheel—and it’s blurry.

I went through all that trouble, and my picture isn’t even helpful. Unless the local police are skilled at tracking down blurry steering wheels.

Charlie pulls over, and my pulse jumps. “What are you doing?”

Now it’s his turn to not answer. He eases his brother’s car on to some kind of scenic overlook on my side of the road. It isn’t very big. There’s only room for a few gravel parking spots, but the view is spectacular—as long as you aren’t afraid of heights.

A lush expanse of evergreens stretches across the valley beneath us, accentuating how high up we are, and my pulse jumps harder. A metal guard rail curves around the edge of the overlook, protecting us from the drop-off below. Though we both know that isn’t going to save me. What’s done is done.

Is he going to rob me first or just shove me off this cliff and steal my luggage?

Or is he going to give me another one of those dangerous smiles?

I can’t tell if Charlie’s about to rob me, murder me, or make a pass at me. It doesn’t help that my mace is in my backpack. In the trunk. Or that I dropped my phone when he pulled over, and I can’t remember how to open car doors or escape.Some Kilpatrick I turned out to be.

At least I won’t have to see whatever happens next. His car is parked at the perfect sinister angle, and afternoon sun pierces my eyes like a dagger.Death by sunshine.

I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut so tight I couldn’t see anything if I tried. Charlie shifts beside me, and my stomach flips. I can feel him leaning closer, reaching toward me. Something creaks nearby, and a shadow falls over my face.

“You’ve got three seconds.”

Three seconds? Do murderers and thieves usually give you a countdown? Or scenic-overlook Lotharios?Do their voices always sound this friendly?

I count down anyway, my brain running on pure adrenaline. When I hit zero, I count down again. Four rounds later, and I’m still here. Waiting.

A soft chuckle echoes beside me. But that sounds pretty friendly too.

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