Page 44 of That's Not My Name

10:25. He makes the call in five minutes.

My hands shake as I pull into one of a dozen empty street spots around the corner from the station and throw the Liberty into park.

Autumn opens her door. “Wait until you see the cars leave and then come to the door. I’ll cross my arms when the path to the office is clear.”

Then she’s gone too.

I pull at the collar of my sweatshirt. It’s all happening so fast. If I fuck this up both Max and Autumn could get caught up in my mess, and it would be one hundred percent my fault.

I close my eyes.

Get a grip, Drew.

I relax my hands and sit back. I can do this. I’m not going to get caught. Neither is Max or Autumn. We’re stealthy, sneaky teenagers. If anyone can get away with this, we can.

Blue and red lights illuminate the intersection ahead of me. A police car jolts out of the station’s parking lot and disappears down the road. I jump out, lock the car, and look at the time on my phone.

10:32.

Cops are gone. Max is on his way back. Autumn is already inside.

Time to go.

My fingers find the USB drive in my pocket and close around it. Hard plastic edges bite into my hand. Without this, I’m toast.

There are a few scattered cars in the lot, Roane’s sheriff cruiser, and the white SUV I saw the pretty receptionist climb out of the last time they brought me in.

Shit. The receptionist. Why is she at the office this late?

I peek through the glass double doors and scan the entryway.

The front desk is a big half circle about fifteen feet from the door. To the left sits the bathrooms and a coffee station in a three-walled alcove. The space behind reception is mostly desks, and special offices line the walls at the back and to the right. Sheriff Roane’s office is the first, almost directly beside the front desk.

Autumn stands near the coffee machines with her father. Roane’s back is to me, his shoulders tense. It’s clear from his posture the last thing he wants is to deal with Autumn’s drama, and oh man, do I understand how he feels. Not that he doesn’t deserve whatever she’s leveling at him. Her arms hang by her sides, and whatever she’s saying is low and angry. I can’t hear it through the glass, but her face is full fury.

I have to wait.

The receptionist sits behind the desk, but she hasn’t seen me yet. She’s from Alabama or something. I can’t remember her name. Maybe I never knew it. I think someone told me she married a guy in college who was from here.

She tucks a piece of her long dark hair behind her ear and squints at the screen in front of her. Something about how she holds herself makes me think she’d tackle me if I caused any trouble. Frilly lace blouse be damned.

She stands and I jump back.

“Sheriff Roane,” she calls, “can I get you another cup of coffee?”

He turns and shakes his head. “No thank you, Savannah. I’m fine. But the boys might want some when they get back from that call.”

“It’s cold out there, for sure. I’ll make a fresh pot,” she says, but rather than heading toward Autumn and the sheriff, she walks toward one of the doors in the back. There’s a separate break room.

More importantly, she’s left her desk.

Roane turns back to Autumn and puts his hands on his hips. She folds her arms. There’s my cue. I slip in the door and their conversation finally reaches my ears.

“What do you mean the internet is broken?” Roane says. “How can it be broken?”

“How the heck am I supposed to know? It…stopped. Which you’d know if you answered any of my calls.”

“Autumn. I told you. I can’t answer a bunch of personal calls. I’m at work.”

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