Page 83 of Babies for the Big Shot
Gone.
Whoever delivered it is gone.
“Okay,” I whisper, backing into the apartment. I close the door, lock it again, double-check it. “Okay. Okay.”
This is too much.
This isn’t just paranoia anymore. This is real. A journalist. At my door. Uninvited. Unannounced. And no part of me believes this is a coincidence.
This isn’t curiosity.
They know where I live.
My fingers move before my brain does. I call Nick.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Sara?” His voice is alert. Tense.
“I need you to come over,” I say. My voice is shaking, and I don’t try to hide it. “Right now.”
A pause. Then, “Are you okay?”
“No.”
That’s all it takes.
“I’m on my way.”
The line goes dead.
I let the phone fall to the couch cushion beside me and slide down to the floor with Meatball curled tight at my hip.
I press the envelope to my chest, closing my eyes.
Because whoever “Isla Vale” is?
She’s not just chasing a story. She’s sending a message.
And I don’t think I’m going to like it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nick
I don’t botherwith traffic lights or rules. I break every one of them between Midtown and the Upper West Side. Horn blaring, lights flashing, red turning into green, it doesn’t matter.
The second I hear her voice on the phone—tight, shaky in a way Sara Brooks has never been before—it snaps something inside me. It’s not just protective. It’s possessive. Something primal, something raw. My blood boils, and all I can think is that if anyone laid a finger on her, I’ll burn this city down to find out who.
By the time I reach her building, I’m already out of the car before it’s fully parked. The door hasn’t even clicked shut when I’m halfway up the stairs.
She opens the door before I even knock.
She’s trying to hide it, but I see through the act. The smile too even, the hand on her hip appearingfine. But I see the panic in her eyes, just beneath the surface.
“Hey,” she says, her voice a little too controlled. “Thanks for coming.”
I don’t answer immediately. I just walk in and shut the door behind me.
