Page 8 of These Cold Strangers

“Do you know how many people did step over him? Well, around him.”

“How many?”

“I counted fifteen. That doesn’t include the three boys who stole his portfolio. What kind of world are we living in?” I lean forward, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to hear his words of reassurance. “I’m glad you stopped. Not only does it make you a good guy, but it also brought me here.” I gesture toward the woods with my wine glass, and a bit slops out onto the deck. “Oops. Sorry. I’m a little tipsy. I don’t normally drink this much.”

He responds just how I hoped. With a slow, knowing smile.

“You can’t drive.”

“Probably shouldn’t, no. I’ll call a car and pick up mine tomorrow.”

“That’s silly. You should stay.”

“I should?” I lick my lips.

A beat. “I always liked you, Addie. We would have been good together.”

He takes the glass from my hand and sets it gently on the table, and then his mouth is on mine. I fight my mind’s narration—I am kissing Todd Preis. His hands are so soft on my skin.Oh, yes, yes, there.I can’t believe this—Todd Preis likes me!—and try to go with the flow. I never was cool.

“Upstairs,” he says, and it’s as much a command as an invitation.

CHAPTER TEN

Iwake from a nightmare of knives and blood to the deepest darkness I’ve experienced in years, my heart thundering in fear. Where am I? It takes me a moment to remember: Marchburg. Todd’s house. Todd’sbed. The space next to me is empty, the covers on his side pulled up tight and tucked under the fluffed pillows. The bed had been perfectly made when we’d come upstairs too. My dad would have been proud. You could bounce a quarter on that thing, and the hospital corners were so precise, I was envious. Being the daughter of a military man, I can appreciate Todd’s compulsively neat aesthetic. It’s a little odd to make the bed in the middle of the night, yes, but who am I to judge? At least he won’t be a throw-the-socks-on-the-floor kind of boyfriend.

Stow your ovaries, Addison. He’s not your boyfriend yet.

The clock on the night table says 2:13 a.m. My mouth is dry from the wine, and thanks to the adrenaline rush from the awful dream, I am now very awake.

I slip on my clothes, blushing a bit remembering how quickly they’d come off, and start down the stairs, a hand on the railing. The house is very gloomy inside. I’ve forgotten how different the mountains are from the city. That velvety black is impossible anywhere but in a forest.

I’ve only been here twice, but I remember the kitchen is to the left of the stairs. I figure I’ll find Todd there, but theroom is empty. I am about to call his name when I hear a small sound, breathy mews, like a kitten crying. It takes me a moment to orient myself—there, a door is cracked. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. It must be to the basement. Could a cat have gotten in through a window well? If it was trapped ... I hear it again. Damn. I am a sucker for animals in need. No way can I not try to help.

I start down the stairs, realizing as I go this is not an animal, it sounds more like the squeaking of metal. Ah. Todd told me he had a gym in the house, and I didn’t see it upstairs; it must be down here. He probably couldn’t sleep and is trying to tire himself with a workout. I’ve been known to do the same thing.

I also know a great way to help someone get back to sleep.

The moon must have been behind a cloud earlier because there is more illumination in the basement than I expected. It’s a finished space, and yes, the gym is set up here—a Peloton, a treadmill, an all-in-one fitness machine with a million different bars and weights, mats.

There is no Todd. But there is another door, and from inside, light spills into the room. I hear the weird mewing squeak again. I step closer and peer inside.

At first, my mind can’t comprehend what it’s seeing. Then it catches up.

Todd, his back to me, feeding something to a woman. The squeak, the soft cat’s cry, comes again as she moves. There is a chain around her wrist.

I gasp, and Todd whirls, his face arranged in shock, then fury. I’m halfway up the stairs and thinking I might just make it out of the house when a strong hand grabs my ankle and yanks. I go face first against the stairs, taste blood, then he’s pulling. I scrabble as hard as I can, but I am no match for him.

“Stop it. You’re hurting me!”

A brittle laugh. “I’m hurtingyou? You’re the one trying to drag me into the spotlight.”

“What the hell? Get off me!”

“Stupid girl,” he spits, heaving me to my feet. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone. I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with this story. You shouldn’t have come back. You might have lived if you’d stayed away. For a while, at least.”

This is not the Todd I know. This is a terrifying stranger—one who is now shoving me into the room with the girl and the chains.

I scream, full throated, the kind of scream I haven’t let loose since the night my parents died, outside of my nightmares, and he punches my head, catching me above my left ear. I see stars and stumble, falling to my knees, dazed. He grabs me by the hair and drags me to the chilly wall. A metal cuff goes around my wrist. He lingers for a moment; I feel him there, thinking. I don’t have to pretend I am woozy, and a thin trickle of wetness drips off the edge of my chin.

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