Page 29 of No Place Left to Hide

I suddenly regret not telling my dad about these calls. I didn’t want to be a nuisance or bring him any more fuckups to fix, but there’s a big difference between newspaper pranks or the occasional flat tire, and a full-on verbal threat of death.

There’s nothing ambiguous abouttruth or die.

I scan the empty gas station and wrap my arms around myself. Again, that prickly feeling of being watched has me on high alert. It crawls up the back of my neck until my entire body is tense.

A loud click slices through the silence and I jump straight out of my skin—but it’s only the gas pump clicking off. I slide the nozzle back into the cradle and climb back into the car as fast as I can, trying to shake the unease crawling up my back.

I reach into the center console for the hand sanitizer. Its apple and alcohol scent replaces the lingering gas smell in my nose and clears my head a bit.

I’m being silly. No Caller ID is just a creepy annoyance; they’re probably far from dangerous. Plus, targeting a Goodwin is an objectively stupid idea. My dad wouldn’t simply go after them in court, he’d also go after everyone they loved too. You don’t mess with a Goodwin.

Besides, Jena is with me and whoever has an issue with me isn’t harassing her.

I won’t giveanyonethe satisfaction of freaking me out.

I turn the car back on and roll up Jena’s window. Not because I’m scared—definitely because it’s cold out. I stab at the buttons to turn on the seat heaters, anxiously tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel.

Finally, Jena emerges from the store, half dancing to a song I can’t hear. She pulls open the passenger door and hands me a water bottle.

“About time,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s not like I have a curfew or anything.”

“Sorry! I couldn’t decide if I wanted something besides water. I debated a vanilla Frappuccino, but don’t want to deal with the caffeine this late.”

I shake my head at her. “Nobody drinks as much coffee as you. Hurry up. We have to go.”

She pats her pockets, then grabs for her upturned purse, pushing the mess back into her bag. “I just need my phone, and we’re good to go.”

My gaze darts around the gas station again, and I catch my fingers tapping faster on the steering wheel. I force myself to stop.

Jena makes a frustrated noise and digs a little more forcefully through her purse. Then, she checks the sides of the seat and underneath it. “It’s not here.”

I frown. “It has to be here. I’m almost positive you had it with you when we got in the car.”

“Thenwhereis it, Brooke?” she snaps.

I glare at her. “How the hell should I know? I’m not the keeper of all your shit. It’s here somewhere. Can we please find it when we get to my house? I don’t want to be late.”

Instead, she upends her purse a second time and scours through everything.

No sign of the phone

“Perfect,” she says, anger radiating off her. “It’s not in the car, Brooke. I’ve looked everywhere. It’s gone.”

“How could it be gone? It didn’t grow legs and walk out of here.”

She paces away from the car, and back again. Before she can speak, she looks at her open door and her face drops. “Wasn’t this window open?”

My steering wheel tempo doubles. “Yeah, why?”

“Someone probably grabbed it! Why did you leave the window open when you got out of the car?”

My teeth clench and I wave a hand at the absolutely empty parking lot. “Yeah, because there are so many thieves around.”

Even as I say the words, another set echoes in my mind:Time’s up, Brooke.

I whip around to check the parking lot again, but we’re still the only ones here. There’s no way. Someone would have had to creep up to the car while my back was turned, grab Jena’s phone, and vanish all before I finished listening to a thirty second voicemail. Without making a single sound.

That’s not possible…right?

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