Page 69 of Playing By Their Rules

Bradley doesn’t say anything for a long moment—he simply stands in the doorway and stares.

“What?” Ethan says, crowding up to him.

“Ho-ly shit,” Bradley says. “I’ve never been in Mina’s room. I bet Maisie hasn’t, either, or she would’ve been freaked out.”

“It’s a mirror image,” Ethan says. “It’s uncanny.”

“Maybe the bedding and furniture was on sale when they first moved, so they bought two of everything,” Bradley says, but then he shakes his head. “Nah. Maisie would never do that. Or if she had, she would’ve changed it at some point. This is creepy as fuck.”

I stand on my tiptoes to see past their shoulders, curious. They’re right—everything looks identical. Everything. The sliding door of Mina’s closet is open the same amount as Maisie’s, even, revealing two feet of space.

“Hold on,” I say, going across the hall back to Maisie’s room. I look at the clothes visible in the closet, then return to Mina’s room and look at hers.

Same clothes. Hung in the same exact way. The toe of a pair of slippers are peeking out from under the bed, just like they are in Maisie’s room. I go back and forth to compare the two.

The slippers look exactly the same. Not only the placement of how much they’re poking out from the bed, but the angle they’re kept at.

This had to have been purposeful. Every element, copied to an obsessive degree.

Ethan and I exchange looks, our psychology backgrounds already cataloging, interpreting, analyzing. Neither of us is unprofessional enough to start diagnosing Mina or making pronouncements about her mental health. But none of this looks good for Maisie’s safety.

“I’m calling the police.” Ethan strides out of the room, phone to his ear.

I dial Maisie again and say to Bradley, “Can you try Mina?”

“I have already, but I’ll try again.”

I leave a terse message for Maisie, telling her it’s important she gets in touch and that I feel she isn’t safe. Bradley leaves a message for Mina, his words hushed but urgent. I follow my voicemail up with a text, and by the time I’m done, Ethan strides back into Mina’s bedroom.

“The police won’t do anything,” he says, breathing hard. He looks as if he wants to tear apart the room. Normally, I’d be encouraging him to take deep, calming breaths, but right now I’d rather join him in ripping everything apart. “There’s no proof of a kidnapping, no evidence of foul play.”

“This is creepy as shit, though,” Bradley says.

The three of us leave Mina’s room—her fucking altar to Maisie—and stare at each other in the living room, instead.

I can’t fucking stand this. My heart feels too heavy and tight in my chest. “We need to figure out where they would go.”

“There,” Bradley says slowly, like he’s just now realizing it. He points to a framed photo on the table next to the television. “They’d go there.”

“What’s that place?” I ask.

“The woods where they used to live?” He shrugs. “It’s on the outskirts of Clear Springs, I think. They’ve talked about this old cabin near their foster parents’ house. But how would we even find it?”

I look over at Ethan, who nods.

“What?” Bradley says, waving his hands around. “What are you saying? You’re not even talking, but you’re saying something.”

At the same time, Ethan and I say, “Roman.”

“Oh, that makes everything perfectly clear,” Bradley mutters.

I grab my phone and dial.

Roman answers immediately. “Hey, Chance.”

“We have a situation,” I say. “Our girl’s in danger.”

* * *

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