Page 44 of Good and Gone

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she says, almost like this is a game. “You can ask anything but their names. Like I said, I don't want to die. And that list—you didn't get it from me. Anyone asks, we never met.”

“Right.” My stomach turns somersaults. “But whyme?”

"Are you sure you want to know?"

I nod.

She smiles. "It's because you're beautiful and fit and apparently smart.”

“Apparently?”

“It’s not like anyone can really measure that sort of thing. Everyone is dumb in their own ways.”

“Right.”

“Genetically desirable, that’s what they call it. In other words, worth breeding. They stalk women like you online. Theytargetedyou.”

I think of everything I've ever posted on the internet; how easy I must have made it. Rose looks around nervously and drops her voice to a whisper. “That’s how it works. They learn everything they can. And then if they like what they see, they find you. It's that simple.”

She’s telling me these people stalked me, abducted me, and impregnated me. That doesn’t sound that simple. “Who are these people?” I ask. “The men around me looked and sounded American.”

Rose smiles. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“So they’renotfrom here?”

“They’re from everywhere, Hailey,” she says. “All over. It’s deep. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What does that mean,deep?”

“It means I wouldn’t go digging if I were you. And I sure as hell wouldn’t trust the FBI.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Hailey,” she says. “At the end of the day everyone’s going to save their own ass.”

“I have your emails, Rose. I’m sure there are cameras here. These things can be traced. Why would you take the chance—why would you risk meeting me?”

“It’s stupid, I know. But this isn’t CSI. Nothing moves as fast or as smoothly as you think it will.”

“You know what I think?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I think you want help.”

She scoffs. “As if it were that easy.”

“You could tell me their names. You could just write them here. Like the others. You could get out…you have a child to think about now, Rose.”

"You don't understand," she says. "You can never really get out."

Her eyes dart around the coffee shop. “I’ve got to go,” she tells me suddenly. She stands up too quickly, her chair pitching backward. “Just remember what I said about getting away from here. They’re watching you. And whatever you do—don’t go to the cops. They’ll kill you.”

"Wait," I say, trying to grab her arm before she can leave.

I follow her outside.

“Really, I have to go,” she tells me when I catch up to her.

“Please,” I say. “Give me something more to go on.Whowill kill me? Please. I have children. I have a family.”

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