Page 52 of No Place Left to Hide

Officer Lefebvre squints at us. “Let me get this straight. Some guy named Brandon has been chasing you since you left the coast, and he happened to stop right before I caught you going ninety in a fifty-five. You really expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” I look to Jena for corroboration, but she’s staring straight ahead with her hands in her lap. She won’t be any help. I can’t expect her to be. I turn back to the officer.

“Do you have proof of any of this supposed stalker?” she asks.

“Yes! It’s all right here.” I swipe open my phone to show her my call log but…it’s empty. My finger hovers over the screen as my mind scrambles to explain it. I deleted the calls at the gas station but not the ones that came in while I was driving. There should be a bunch of No Caller ID listings here.

I swipe to my voicemail and my stomach sinks.

There are no voicemails either. Not a single one. Not even the few I had saved from my mom or the message Jena left early this morning, hyping me up for Ivy Day.Allmy voicemails are gone. There’s no proof. It’s like none of it ever happened.

What???

“I don’t… I can’t find them.”

Officer Lefebvre’s mouth forms a thinnot amusedline and she steps back. “Turn off the car and give me your license and registration.”

I cut the engine and gladly hand over the paperwork, my mind still reeling. What the hell is happening here? Why aren’t my missed calls showing up or my voicemails? I definitely didn’t hallucinate that terrifying robot voice telling me to confess or die, but even those two answered calls aren’t in my call log.

How is that even possible?

She shines the flashlight on the documents I’ve handed her. I wait for her to recognize my name and stop this interrogation. I don’t need to be questioned or second-guessed or called out. I need her to call my father and get me the fuck off this highway.

I know the moment she clocks my name. She looks up and locks eyes with me. “You’re Brooke Goodwin? As in, Eric Goodwin’s daughter? The attorney?”

“Yes. And I need you to get on your radio and call him right now, please.”

“Because you’re being chased by someone named Brandon, who left multiple, apparently invisible voicemails, and threatened you with calls that…disappeared.”

Why does she sound so snotty and disbelieving? Sure, something’s clearly wrong with my phone, but she saw my bumper, right? Does she think I rear-ended myself?

“Yes!” I insist.

She rolls her eyes—actually rolls her eyes at me—and steps back. “I’m going to need you girls to step out of the car, please.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so, Miss Goodwin. Leave your keys in the car.”

She opens my door and I step out. It’s strange standing in one place. Part of me feels like I’m still going ninety miles an hour. The wind raises every goose bump on my entire body all at once, even with Dylan’s sweatshirt.

“Around the back of the car, please. Stand against the guardrail.”

“Why?” I ask, meeting Jena, who looks terrified, by the trunk of the Subaru.

“Because I don’t trust you to not drive off the second I step away. People like you think you’re above the law.”

People like you?What the fuck does that mean? “Officer Lefebvre, I think you have the wrong idea. If you’d just call my dad—”

She folds her arms, still holding my license and registration in one hand, and levels me with a stare that says she’s not fucking around. Suddenly, she seems ten feet tall. “Oh, I’ll be calling your father, Miss Goodwin, but it’ll be to inform him that your license will be suspended for thirty days and your car is being towed. I imagine he’ll have opinions on a reckless driving charge, but maybe having that on your record will keep you in check when you’re allowed back behind the wheel. This road is almost constantly wet from the weather and surrounding trees. It’s full of switchbacks, and you’re racing down it like you’re a Formula One driver. It’s not only dangerous to you and your friend in the car, but it’s dangerous to everyone else on the road with you.”

I sit on the edge of the guardrail. “We had no service and couldn’t call for help! He was trying to run us off the road. What else was I supposed to do?”

She shakes her head. “Let me be absolutely clear: I don’t believe this story about a former classmate’s brother having it out for you. I think it’s far more likely that you and some other friends were being reckless in your cars tonight and made up ‘Brandon’ to get out of it onceyou got caught. Unfortunately for you, I don’t care who your father is. You do the crime, you pay the fines.”

My mouth falls open and all I can do is gape at her.

“Now, don’t move,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

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