Page 27 of Lie to Me

I open my locker and quickly change into my street clothes before grabbing my bag. I’m just about to close the door to my locker when something taped to the inside of the door grabs my attention. Tentatively, I pull the paper free from the door.

Fuck. It’s another goddamn note.

Sighing, I open the note and stare at the words written on the page. The same words that were written on the note last night stare back at me.

Is this some sort of fucking joke?

Who the hell is leaving these? And how did they get in here in the first place? My apartment building I can understand because the security—much to my brother’s chagrin—isn’t great, but for them to be able to sneak into the locker room and leave it? It makes no damn sense.

I worry my bottom lip as I stare at the paper. Finn will freak if I tell him what’s going on, but even I know that I need to tell someone about this.

Fuck. Marco already has questions about what he saw last night, and I justknowhe’s not going to leave it alone.

Guess I may as well use that to my advantage.

I fumble for my phone and pull up his contact, taking a deep breath before pressing call. The line only rings once before he answers.

“Sloane?” His voice is full of worry and I close my eyes, tipping my head forward to rest it against the cool metal for the locker.

“I need your help,” I whisper.

“Where are you?”

“The hospital.”

There’s nothing but silence for a moment before he responds.

“As a patient, or have you been working?” The worry in his tone clearly growing.

“Working,” I rush to answer, not wanting to send the man into cardiac arrest.

I hear a whoosh, and I know he’s letting out a breath of relief.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Can you meet me out front, or do you want me to come in and find you?”

“I’ll meet you out front,” I murmur.

“Okay, baby. See you soon.”

“Thank you,” I whisper before hanging up the phone.

I hope I don’t regret this.

Chapter Thirteen

Marco

Present

Ilead Sloane into my apartment, the move reminiscent of the times she was here in the past. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since I picked her up from work and I’m ready to crawl out of my fucking skin.

I watch as she glances around the open plan space.

“You haven’t changed anything?”

I wordlessly shake my head, choosing to remain silent. I have a feeling that if I come clean right now and tell her I couldn’t bear to change anything because of the memories with her attached to it, it might freak her out.

She takes a seat on the sofa and I sit down in the armchair opposite, wanting to give her some space.

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