Page 67 of Even if You Fall

Before I could find a way to answer, a sad laugh of understanding fell from her. “I won’t be soon,” she assumed. “That’s what y’all think.”

“I won’t let that happen,” I told her, then cleared my throat when I realized a second too late the slip in my wording and the depth of my vow. “There’s a reason two of us followed you and sat outside your house from the minute you left the office last night. There’s a reason I won’t leave you at a hotel now.”

She numbly nodded for a while before asking, “Is there any way you’re wrong? About him—aboutme?”

I studied her pleading eyes, then mumbled, “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I deserved to know,” she argued, “and I want the answer you aren’t giving me now.”

Nearly a minute passed as I wavered before finally conceding, “We’re not wrong. What you overheard in the meeting yesterday...that was us thinking you were different for him in a way that would send you back to him. But we had his targets mixed up. When we looked into the women who disappeared, they were all...well, like you.”

At the question in her eyes, I explained, “Not a lot of family, if any. Almost no social life.”

An embarrassed sound left her, but she tried covering it with a laugh. “A loner. Right.”

“The teacher he recently started dating is new to the area, and her only living relative is some deadbeat in Kentucky.”

I waited for the pain or betrayal to cross her expression at the news that Vance was dating someone, all while trying to win Chloe back, but there was nothing other than resigned humiliation and fear.

“What’d he say?” she asked just as I started pushing off the bed. When I hesitated, she clarified, “In the texts.”

“He was trying to get you back,” I said vaguely. At her delayed nod, I told her, “You can’t let him anywhere near you. Do you understand?” Her eyes drifted back to me as I continued. “It probably isn’t Vance who takes the women, but the more he comes around, the more opportunities he has to lure you into whatever trap is set.”

“So, the Wreckers are traffickers,” she said, mostly to herself, when I finally stood.

“From what Briggs says,” I admitted. “But this is different. Wreckers pick people at random in broad daylight—Lainey in a coffee shop, for example.”

Chloe’s head reared back at the information I casually tossed out, her eyelids blinking rapidly. But before she could ask for details that I only knew the bare minimum of, I continued.

“This thing with Owen Vance is a lot more calculated, so we have a feeling this might have to do with his family on the West Coast. We haven’t gotten that far yet. However,” I said with a slant of my head, “the odds of both youandLainey are...slim. Insanely slim. Even though they tracked her in Dallas, and you were working in a Dallas school, it’s a stretch for two friends from the same, tiny town to end up as targets.”

“Then maybe you’re wrong about what they planned,” she said doubtfully.

“Or maybe the Wrecker that Vance had following you noticed a friend of yours fit the description of the girls they normally tag. That’s Briggs’ theory, anyway.”

A stunned sound burst from her. “Lainey isn’t a recluse though. She knows everyone in town, and they all know her.”

“Vancegoes after women who don’t have ties,” I reminded her, gently correcting her. “Wreckersgo after people at random, but they’re always around Lainey’s age and beautiful.” I noted the undertone of sadness in her eyes but forced myself to continue. “Before Lainey moved in with you this summer, would the two of you hang out whenever she came home from school?”

“Are you saying I’m the reason Lainey was targeted?”

“Chloe—”

“So,yes,” she surmised, the words lifeless, even though the corners of her lips were lifting in a dull smile. “We wouldn’thang outbecause, as we’ve established”—she listlessly gestured to herself—“practically a hermit. But whenever I bumped into her, we’d stop and talk. Maybe sit and have coffee until we were all caught up.”

Chloe drew in a shaky breath and seemed to focus on the room and then me. “Not that we were reallyfriendsbefore shemoved in, but I always liked her because—” Her gaze bounced between the comforter and me a few times before settling on the comforter. “Well, because I felt like she was understanding.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t owe you that,” she said on a breath, then hurried to add, “Can we be done with this, please? I’m tired.”

“Yeah,” I said after a delay, but it still took a few more seconds before I started backing away with a nod. “Night, Bubbles.”

She didn’t say anything until after I’d rounded the other side of the bed to grab a pillow. “Are you—this is ridiculous. This is your room,” she said, the words coming out fast and awkward. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. We can?—”

“I’m not sleeping next to you,” I said over her, the dread filling my voice stilled her movements halfway through making an imaginary line down the middle of the bed.

I noticed the hurt and self-consciousness that stole across her expression before a mask ofnothingreplaced them. I heard the way she quickly brushed off the idea of a wall of pillows between us, instead suggesting that I take the entire bed—she’d go out to the couch. But I couldn’t find a way to comfort Chloe, or tell her my reaction had nothing to do withher. I couldn’t make myself explain what this was when only a few people knew. When a fear I couldn’t control was pressing against my chest and plaguing me with flashes of waking up in random places throughout my apartment, mentally back on a mission.

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