Page 42 of The Lair

I unlock my car and search inside, my mind going a million miles per hour. Did I leave the window down? But why would I do that when it’s so cold outside? Maybe I accidentally pushed a button or something?

Heart racing, I inspect every corner until I’ve tripled-checked that nothing has been stolen. Not that I keep anything valuable in here, but I do have a jacket in the back seat with a twenty-dollar bill inside one of the pockets, and the money is still there.

This makes no sense.

The thought of running back to The Lair and asking Travis for help crosses my mind for all of two seconds before I tell myself I’m catastrophizing. The most logical explanation is that I left it down by accident. There are no signs of a forced entry outside or inside the car—I checked compulsively—and there’s nothing missing.

I’m safe. What are the odds of getting kidnapped twice? And what motives could anyone have now?

Taking a deep breath, I start the engine.

I’m not in danger. This incident has nothing to do with kidnappers or George Eden’s interest in interviewing me, and everything to do with the fact that I’ve been distracted this week. Only that.

Just like I’ve been for the past year, I’m still safe in Bannport.

Chapter Thirteen

I spoke too soon.

Red-and-blue lights wake me up at four the following morning.

Confused and groggy, I drag myself out of bed with a blanket around my shoulders and peek outside my window. The sight of two police officers sobers me up like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Maybe it makes me the nosiest neighbor in my building, but not knowing what’s going on will eat at me later. Especially after what happened to my car’s window last night.

What if both are related?

A prickle of anxiety travels the length of my spine when I open the front door and see the old lady who lives in the apartment next to mine.

“They didn’t take anything?” one of the police officers is asking her.

She shakes her head, adjusting her glasses. “I was woken up by a loud sound inside the apartment. I yelled at them, and they ran away. When I checked, they had tripped over one of the chairs in the kitchen.”

Someone had broken into her apartment?

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot other neighbors watching the scene unfold from their doors.

“How many of them were there?” asks the other officer, a woman with a ponytail.

“I don’t know.” My neighbor shakes her head. “Two, I think? Maybe three. What I could tell is that they were men.”

“All right. We’ll open a case file and let you know if there are any advances,” the officer says.

“I just don’t understand,” the lady keeps going. “Why break in if they didn’t steal anything?”

“Maybe you scared them away before they could take anything,” the male officer suggests. “By the sound of it, they don’t seem to be experienced burglars. We’ll keep an eye out, don’t worry.”

She harrumphs, “Not sure about all that.”

I shut the door, having heard enough.

Someone broke into the apartment next to mine just hours after I found my car window rolled down. The two might not be connected at all, but my growing anxiety is telling me to run in the opposite direction of this town.

Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.

But I don’t want to leave Bannport. I don’t want to let fear take control of me now that I’m finally free.

I let out a frustrated groan and rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep now—I’m too paranoid.

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