Page 97 of Girl, Fractured

‘What?Know him personally, do you?’

‘No.But the R.L.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘R.L.His name was Robert Lawrence Stine.’

Ripley’s face fell flat.‘Ohhhh.Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Damn.Should have seen that one a mile off.’

Ella hauled her bag over her shoulder.‘I guess sometimes the answer is right in front of you all along.’

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

The elevator was still out of action, which meant Ella had to deal with four flights of stairs.This happened so often she wondered if the damn thing had ever worked at all.Maybe it was just decorative, like most things in D.C.

5:17 AM according to her watch.She’d been awake for about 24 hours if you didn’t count the fifteen-minute nap on the plane when her chin had drooped to her chest before a flight attendant’s drink cart jolted her awake.When she got in, she was going to collapse and hopefully sleep until Christmas.

Back here, she was reminded of why she’d been quick to flee D.C.in the first place.She’d left the place in chaos.Director Edis had stationed cops outside thirty-six doors throughout the city – thirty-six people with the misfortune of knowing Ella Dark.Two bodies so far.Jenna Bradbury, her roommate of five years.Julianne Cooper, her landlord from the apartment before this one.Both found with their lips stitched shut using strands of Ella’s own hair.

How had this bastard gotten hold of her hair?Ripley thought it was from the hairbrush Ella had lost back at HQ a few months ago, the one she and Luca had torn the place apart looking for.

Luca.Safe in Massachusetts, thank God.Hiding out at his mom’s farmhouse where cell reception came and went like seasonal depression.

She reached her front door, fumbled for her keys.The usual ritual followed, and Ella was safe inside after a little DIY.

Darkness.But not emptiness.

Ella set her bag down silently and rested her right hand on her Glock.The deadbolt appeared intact.The doorframe undamaged.

Yet she knew that someone was here.

Two possibilities presented themselves with equivalent statistical probability: either someone had gained entry using specialized skills, or someone with legitimate access had used a key.The second option narrowed the suspect pool considerably.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she hugged the wall, then she slid toward the living room where a pale blue glow leaked around the corner – the television, volume so low it was almost mute.

Her foot hit something.A shoe.Not hers – too big, too masculine.Her brain cataloged it automatically: men’s size eleven, athletic brand, worn at the heel the way Luca’s always were because he pronated when he walked.

The spike of adrenaline receded, replaced by confusion.He should be in Massachusetts with his mother, four hundred miles from D.C.and this whole mess.

She rounded the corner with her weapon half-drawn.

‘Surprise!’

There he was.Half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa.It was obvious he’d wanted to surprise her when she’d walked in, but he’d fallen asleep, and now he was trying to pretend he hadn’t.

Ella lowered her gun, strode over and locked her arms around him with the desperate strength of someone who’d been drowning and finally found purchase on solid ground

‘Hawkins!You’re supposed to be in Mass.With your mom and no cell reception.’

‘Got sick of both,’ he said.‘How was Florida?’

‘Warm and cold at the same time.I don’t know how to explain it.When’d you get back?’

‘Last night.I wanted to stay up and surprise you at the door, but… you know.’

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