Page 46 of Since She's Been Gone

I stare at him, unsure of how to respond.

“What do you want?” I ask levelly.

“I think you already know,” he says.

We both stay silent. I consider telling him that Cristina texted me that she’s being framed for her mom’s murder. If he’s working for the Cadells, it won’t be anything he doesn’t already know. And if he isn’t, maybe it’ll send him on a path to finding her mother’s real killers, who also may be after Mom.

“Cristina told me she’s innocent,” I finally say.

He looks surprised. I’m unsure if it’s because yesterday morning I refused to speak with him about her, citing patient confidentiality, or if it’s because of what I’ve just told him.

“She says she’s being framed. So if nobody’s bought you out yet, you’re being played,” I tell him.

“Bought me out?” He looks confused. It might be an act, but it seems genuine.

“I think her mother knew something that the Cadells didn’t want to get out, so they made her disappear. If they haven’t gotten to you yet, they’re using you to frame Cristina,” I say.

He bristles. He seems like the kind of guy that doesn’t take well to the idea of being used.

“Careful, doc,” he says. “Stay in your lane.”

“I’m leaving,” I say, tossing my suitcase in the trunk of my car.

“Where to?” he asks.

“If you need to reach me, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to find me again.”

I turn on the engine and drive to the airport.

I’m seated by the window and look out of the airplane window. I pull my phone out of my bag to let Eddie know we’re about to take off—and discover two new texts from a number I don’t recognize:

She isn’t who you think she is.

Get off the plane … or you’ll regret it.

My cheeks flush as adrenaline courses through my veins.

Cristina? Is this you?I quickly text back.

Message undeliverable.

Cristina has never used a threatening tone with me before. Not to mention she’s been telling me to do the opposite—find my mother as quickly as possible—because she’s running out of time. This text doesn’t sound like Cristina.

Did the detective send this? I knew it was a risk disclosing what Cristina told me about her mother, especially if he’s working for the Cadells. But he didn’t seem like he was, which means whoever sent this is someone else. Someone working for the Cadells. Maybe the people who went afterCristina’s mom. Maybe the same people who broke into my car last week when I was with Sarah. They want me to disembark from the plane.

I look around, trying to figure out whether whoever’s following me is a fellow passenger, but I can only see a few rows of seats in front of me and a couple of rows behind me. And no one is looking up. Everyone’s glued to their phones, except for a man that’s already passed out with a dark blue eye mask on, an older woman who appears to be having a panic attack that a flight attendant is trying to talk her through, and a three-year-old boy having a tantrum whose young mom is desperately trying to get him to stay in his seat.

I want to call Eddie and tell him about the text. But I know how worried he was about me leaving for New York, and this will only worry him more. At least I can take some comfort knowing he and Sarah are safe with Paul’s colleague from the Bureau posted at their front door.

I take out my phone, staring at the text again:

She isn’t who you think she is.

Get off the plane … or you’ll regret it.

Someone’s nervous about me going to New York and discovering something—something they don’t want me to know.

“Flight attendants, please prepare for takeoff,” the captain’s voice thunders from the airplane’s speakers as the plane begins to glide. Guess I’m not going anywhere.

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