Page 65 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

Reed’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck.”

“What? What is it?”

“Where’s my phone? I need my phone.”

“In your jacket pocket? Reed, what’s wrong?”

His movements were jerky as he tapped away at the screen, and his Facebook page popped up. The last post was from almost a year ago. Guess he wasn’t all that social.

About… Contact and basic info… Date of birth…

Today.

It said his birthday was today.

“I forgot until you mentioned it. Emma made me set up a Facebook account years ago, and I just put some bullshit date of birth in the box. No way would I put my real one online.”

I made a mental note to change mine when he wasn’t looking. “So, what? Emma got a reminder of your birthday on Facebook and sent you a message?”

“No. Whoever’s got her phone did that, pretending to be her. She doesn’t have her fucking phone, Kim. Someone else has had it all along.”

“Wait, didn’t she call you after she left?”

“Yes, but only once.” He tore a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’ve been so blind. My own damn sister’s either dead or being held by a madman, and I didn’t even realise.”

Or maybe he didn’t want to realise. Sometimes, it was harder to see the truth when you were close to somebody. For years, I’d seen the best in my father, but only because accepting the worst would have hurt too much.

Reed continued to pace, muttering. Well, didn’t this little jaunt suck balls? The grocery store from hell, a ghost in the bedroom, and a ghoul with a stolen debit card. Next time, I’d go for a lighter atmosphere and take a minibreak on Alcatraz.

Okay, Kim, you can cope with this.

“What about the message? Didn’t you have somebody at the phone company tracing the origin?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like on TV. Unless it’s a live trace, they can’t pinpoint it with any accuracy. Historical data only tells you which cell tower it got routed through, which gives a radius of a few miles. Usually, I take the tower as a centre point then visit the type of places she might hang out—clubs, bars, fast-food places—and ask around. But I’ve never found any sign of her, and now I know why.”

“Because the ghoul had her.”

“The ghoul? Fuck.”

Well done, Kim.Way to set his mind at ease.

“The, uh, man. But I have a description from Clyde. Dark-blond hair, a square jaw, about six feet tall.” Just like a certain cop I’d met. Officer Leopold had told me Emma Cullen and Wyatt Banks used to date, then Reed confirmed it earlier. “He spoke with a local accent, but it sounded off. Fake. And although he wore jeans and a leather jacket, they looked too expensive for the area, as if he was trying to fit in but hadn’t quite pulled it off.”

Reed headed for the door, but I made it across before he got it open.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Maryland.”

“Why?”

“Wyatt fucking Banks, that’s why. Blond hair? A square jaw? Not from around here? He was the last person to see my sister, and I know he lied about what happened that night.”

Dammit, he’d gone through the same thought process as me.

“And what do you plan to do? Beat a confession out of him?”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

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