Page 82 of Deadly Force
Oh, give me a break. I’m not going to fall for that again.
I text back.
I’m on my way to the library. Meet me there instead.
A minute passes before she replies.
Please. I’m really scared. There’s no one up here this time of day.
I squint at my phone. Asking what I should have done if I’d slowed down enough to think.
I need proof you knew Eliza.
Nothing.
It’s like talking to a bot. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Ding.
A photo appears on-screen. Eliza and another girl. Blonde, pretty. Smiling for whoever is holding the camera, in a bar, glasses raised as if celebrating something.
My stomach clenches, and my feet start to move before I know what I’m doing. It could be fake. But what else can I do? Ignore her and have to read her obituary?
I turn off the path, heading toward the humanities building, fingers flying over the keyboard as I walk.
Change of plan. Room 3C, Humanities.
I don't wait for what will be a frosty reply.
Whoever she is, she’s right about it being empty. The hallway's quiet—too quiet for mid-morning on campus. My footsteps sound unnaturally loud against the worn linoleum. Room 3C is near the end. The door is closed, but the small window in the top corner shows the lights are on.
I grip the handle, heart already thudding against my ribs as I push it open.
The air is stale, thick with the smell of old books and dust motes dancing in the thin streams of light.
"Hello?" I call, keeping my voice low.
No answer.
I move further in, scanning the room.
No one.
Annoyance fueling me, I pull out my phone and double-check the building.
Once I’m sure it’s the right one, I dial the number of my latest anonymous caller and start pacing the empty classroom.
Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t pick up.
With a growl of frustration—at her wasting my time and at the wrath I know I’ve earned from Caleb—I shove my phone back into my purse.
A faint shuffling sound in the hallway makes me spin. But I’m too slow. The door slams shut behindme, followed by the unmistakable scratch of a lock sliding into place.
I freeze, every muscle in my body going rigid. “Hey!” I call.
Pulse fluttering, and breath coming in faster, I approach the door, hand reaching for the knob, but it won't budge. My fingers are shaking as I try again, rattling the handle.
Nothing.
