Page 46 of That's Not My Name

The icon jumps when it’s done. I eject it and log out, pocketing thedrive again. Practically buzzing with anticipation. Something on here might tell me where she is.

The screen goes dark, and I fix the desk chair as Roane throws up his hands in the lobby. “No, Autumn. You have to go home. I’ll take a look at the router in the morning, and I’ll send a pizza to the house, but I can’t do this right now. I have too much on my mind.”

Footsteps stomp toward the office and I dive behind the far end of the desk to hide.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What kind of pizza?” The crack in Autumn’s voice is the first sign that she’s not in control anymore. This is her last-ditch effort. I have to get out of here.

I peek around the back of the desk, weighing my options. Roane’s back is to me, but he’s between me and the exit.

How the hell am I—

Something moves outside the window, and I about pee my damn pants. Max’s panic-stricken face presses against the pane.

I unlock the window and try to yank it open, but it sticks a few inches up. I crouch down. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“Checking on you! What do you think? Plus, you locked my car, and it’s cold as fuck out here. Hurry up, let’s go.”

But I can’t. Roane’s arguing with Autumn about pizza toppings. I can’t go out the way I came in without being seen. And unless I want to make a whole lot of noise, the window isn’t a viable escape option either.

For me anyway.

I take the USB out of my pocket and slip it to him along with his keys. The least I can do is make sure I’m not caught with the evidence. “Go wait in the car. If I’m not out in ten minutes, leave without me.”

“Wha—”

I close the window on his protest and point toward the Liberty. He stands on the other side of the glass for two more seconds, mouths something that looks like “I fucking hate you,” and then stomps away.

I throw the latch back into place, jump away from the glass, and slip into one of the leather chairs facing his desk, slouching like I’ve been waiting here for hours. My pulse pounds in my neck and I tuck my chin to hide it.

“Fine, Autumn, fine. Whatever you want. Vegan pepperoni it is, but I’m not eating the leftovers, so you’re getting a small,” Roane grumbles as he walks back into his office. He spots me and halts in the doorway.

I smile up at him. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, sheriff.”

THIRTEEN

MARY

DAY 3

The double dose of medicine wipes me out even faster this time. I wake up with my forehead pressed against the passenger window and a cloud of steam from my mouth stretching across the glass. The van bumps along a dirt road, and I blink at the trees surrounding us.

We’re back up the mountain already.

I rub the nap from my eyes, scratching at my neck again. The cloud disappears from the window, and I absently wipe at the remaining condensation with the beanie that fell off my head while I was asleep. I tuck it into my jacket pocket.

“How are you feeling?” Wayne asks, watching the road carefully.

“Tired. Itchy. A little better, I think.”

He nods. “I’m so sorry. I can’t say it enough.”

I smile at him but don’t respond because I still don’t understand how this happened. How did he forget what I’m allergic to? How did he look at the strawberries and the eggs, side by side on my breakfast plate, and not immediately know which one was making me sick?

How does a father not remember what could kill his own daughter?

And more than that, if he did mix them up—with the stress of everything that’s happened the last few days, I guess that wouldn’t be a reach—why didn’t any alarm bells ring in his mind when I ordered a strawberry smoothie this afternoon?

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