“Yes.”
“No.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The lake.” Her voice sounds pitiful. “And I saw lights on at your house.” The weak glow provides an outline of a maroon sweatshirt and her hunched-over stature. When the figure straightens, the eyes look upward, and I’m taken aback. They’re bright blue, like perfect azure crystals. Instead of seeing the face of a woman, I glimpse a teenager. The skin is smooth and unlined, the features feminine, although her hair’s hidden by the fabric covering her head.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m stuck out in the rain.” She moves her hands out in front of her as if showing she’s unarmed and, therefore, harmless. “It’s really bad out.”
“Okay . . .” My voice trails off. I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know this girl. I’m not particularly keen on offering my home to interlopers. What if it’s some type of a setup?
But I can see the girl’s drenched. Beads of water run down her face, and traces of mascara smudge her cheeks.
“I go to Pleasanton High,” the girl offers, pointing up the street. “I got caught up in the storm on my walk home.”
Eyeing the weather one more time, sheets of rain causing the driveway to shimmer like a pond, I slowly unlock the screen door and take a giant step back. “Come on in.” I motion, clasping the door tighter than most would, trying to control my labored breathing as my fingers dig like claws into the wood. I won’t be surprised if I find scratches in the varnish later.
Last time I tried to help someone, it didn’t go over so well. I hope I don’t come to regret this decision.
But that was then, and this is now. And I’m not a mean-spirited person, just cautious.
Feeling a tad guilty for leaving her outside when she’s doused and uncontrollably shaking, I offer her a weak smile and a wide berth.
I make contact, blurting out, “Just so you know, I have a panic button.” She looks confused, as if she’s unsure whom the alert would be for—her or me.
Without showing her the knife, I twist the towel tighter around the blade, keeping it at my side, just in case.
CHAPTER 3
Elle
“I’m sorry.” I shiver, tentatively stepping over the threshold. I’m not quite sure what I’m apologizing for, but it seems to break some of the tension in the air. The woman standing to the left of me is clearly wary of my presence. I’m unwanted, which I should be used to by now, but if I’d done what she did and had the kind of past she had, I wouldn’t want unexpected guests either.
It wasn’t hard to find her, even with the different last name she’s acquired. Judging by the pictures on the sideboard, it must be her married name instead of an alias, as I had suspected. I guess she figures no one is looking for her, that her dirty secret is safe now.
Except you always hear that’s how people get caught—by growing too comfortable and letting their guard down. And as frightened as I am to be standing here, I pinch myself as a reminder to be extra nice and soothing and not let my mouth get the best of me. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and I don’t want to ruin the potential we have.
“Silly of me to walk home today. I had no idea it was going to unleash a shitstorm of rain.”
Shit.
Does she hate obscenities? Consider my generation a bunch of degenerates? Her expression is neutral, eyes trained on my face. Something’s pressed against her side, like a baby blanket or swatch of fabric. I didn’t notice any baby pictures, but maybe she has one?
“It’s just I really like walking the trails. It’s super calming after crappy exam days at school. Calculus. Who needs it? It was so nice and sunny, and then boom—the storm came out of nowhere.” Great. Now I’m rambling.
She stands there unmoving for a second, then snaps into action as I stand there dripping on her expensive-looking but hideous rug. Wealth doesn’t equal good taste.
“You’re drenched,” she states.
Duh, Captain Obvious.
When she steps toward me, she’s not at all what I expected from the pictures I’d found in an old photo album. I remember her differently, but when you haven’t seen someone in years, time seems to stop and you capture them in your memory the way you would a snapshot.
She was a hard woman to find images of. There were no recent photos I could dredge up, and she had no presence on any social media platforms I could find. Even her faculty profile at the college was sparse and had a blank space where her headshot should be.
Her caramel-colored hair reflects off the candlelight bouncing across the room. I automatically count four lit tapers as I carefully scan the expansive living room. Her chocolate-brown eyes are glued to my every move. I thought she’d be taller, but she’s only a couple of inches over my smaller-than-average frame.
Really, I expected a monster, but she’s just got a good disguise. And she looks so plain and normal that nothing particular stands out about her. Though they say the same about most sociopaths. Common is the right adjective to describe her.
I swipe my hood off my head and brush damp hair off my cheeks, but I leave my sweatshirt zipped up like it’s a safety blanket that can protect me.
“You walked?” she scoffs. “No bike or scooter you left somewhere?”
“Nope.” I motion to my feet. “Just my legs.” My jeans are also damp, and the rough fabric clings uncomfortably to my skin.
She holds out an arm as if waiting for me to hand her something.
Maybe she wants me to remove my wet clothing? I doubt she’d want to touch my secondhand clothing. It might give her the plague.
Then, as if she’s read my mind, she drops her one empty hand to her side, taking a step back. I wait as she opens her mouth to say something, but she either can’t form the words or can’t decide what to say. So instead she closes it and moves around me in a circle, keeping her face focused in on me like a laser beam.
Weird.
“Would you like me to stay here?” I ask politely.
Ignoring my question, she forces a smile. “Let’s get you near the fire so you can dry off.”
On high alert, I follow her across the hardwood floors, noticing my shoes are tracking wet marks through the living room. “Shit,” I say, flustered. “Sorry. I should’ve taken my sneakers off.”
Visibly cringing at the outline of my footprints, she shrugs. “Not a big deal. It’ll be okay. Floors are easy to clean.”
Still at arm’s length, she points to my hoodie. “I’ll throw that in the dryer, if that’s okay with you?”
I feel my face flush, even with the trickle of water on my cheeks. “Uh, no thanks. I can just sit by the fire, if that’s all right.”
“I’ll go get you a towel.” She seems to notice my chattering teeth. “You must be frozen. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” Considering me for a moment, she adds, “I’ll find something for you to wear that’s dry.”
“Thank you.” I hate to ruin the fabric of her plush overstuffed chair with my wet clothing. Instead, I sink down near the fireplace and reach my hands out, the skin cold and covered with gooseflesh. With one last fleeting gaze, she abruptly turns around, heading down a hallway.