Page 112 of Too Late

“What the hell, Luke?” He snaps his fingers. “What’s wrong with you?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, it’s just …” I don’t even want to say it out loud, because I’ll sound like an idiot. The measures Sloan and I have gone to just to feel safe are ridiculous, even by my standards. “It’s five after.”

Ryan leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his drink. We’re at some pizza joint just a few miles from my apartment, discussing what we always discuss when we meet: Asa’s case. He goes to trial in a few short months, and I’ll be damned if we don’t do everything we can to make this as cut-and-dry as possible. The longer he’s sentenced and the more he’s convicted of, the better off Sloan will be.

“It’s five after what?” Ryan asks.

“Twelve o’clock.Sixafter, now.” I look at my phone. It’s 12:06 and Sloan hasn’t taken out the trash yet.

Ryan leans forward. “Please elaborate, because you’re really starting to piss me off with hownot presentyou’ve been in our conversation.”

“That guy who does daytime surveillance … Thomas … he always texts me right at noon to let me know Sloan took the trash out. She puts it outside the door every day at noon so I’ll know everything is okay.”

I pick up the phone and begin texting Thomas.

“Why don’t you just call and check up on her?” Ryan asks, as if that’s the most obvious answer.

“This is extra protection. If something happens and someone is with her, they could force her to answer the phone and pretend everything is okay. We do other things aside from phone calls for added reassurance.”

Ryan stares at me a moment after I hit send on the text. I know he thinks I’m being overly paranoid right now, but surely he can’t blame me. Asa is fucking psychotic and unpredictable. I’m not sure anyone could ever be too safe when it comes to him.

“That’s actually pretty genius,” Ryan says.

“I know,” I say, getting ready to dial Sloan’s number. “It was her idea. And so far, she’s never missed a single day. She sets the trash out like clockwork.” I bring the phone to my ear and wait while it rings. She’s never not answered her phone.

I wait.

She doesn’t answer her phone.Right when it goes to voicemail, I get a text from the surveillance guy.

THOMAS: Still waiting. Trash hasn’t been taken out yet.

My fucking heart falls straight to the floor. Ryan sees it. He stands up at the same time I do. “I’ll call for backup,” he says, tossing money onto the table. I’m out the door before I can respond. I’m in my car. I’m cussing traffic and honking my horn and doing everything I can to get there.

Four minutes.

Four fucking excruciating minutes.

That’s how long it’s going to take me to get there.

I dial a number and hit call on my phone.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Did she put the trash out yet?” I’m trying to remain calm, but I can’t.

“Not yet, man.”

I beat my fist on the steering wheel. “Did anyone go through the front door today?” I’m yelling my words, no matter how hard I try to remain calm.

“No. Not since you left this morning.”

“Go around back!” I yell. “Check the windows!”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Now! Check the windows while I’m on the phone with you!”

He clears his throat. “You hired me for surveillance. I don’t even have a gun, man. No way I’m going back there if it’s got you this worried.”

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