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“You think I’m making this up?” I demanded.

“No one thinks you purposefully made anything up,” the first officer said gently. “I’m sure you heard something that frightened you. But, miss, there’s no one here. Try to relax, get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Thanks for the help.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he said, giving me a quick nod. “You have a good night.”

As I watched the utterly useless police officers depart down Cat’s front steps, my fingers itched to call Max. He would believe me. He would know that I wasn’t just being jumpy. He would whisk me away to safety, put his comforting arms around me, and help me forget all of this mess.

But what the fuck was he doing with those photos?

I had to know more about them, had to figure out where they had come from. I grabbed my laptop from where it sat open on the coffee table and sank onto Cat’s large couch. Max said he stumbled across them while doing a reverse image search, so I tried to re-create his steps using the profile picture from my Instagram account. I didn’t get any immediately obvious results, so I began trying other combinations: my Twitter profile picture, other images I’d uploaded to my various accounts, plus adding in search terms like my name, “summer,” and “candid.” No matter what I tried, Google only returned the expected results in the form of my own social media, the Glamour piece, some other articles that mentioned me. I was still combing through pages of results, looking for anything that might be close to what Max had described, when my computer’s screen suddenly went dark.

Shit.

All at once, I remembered leaving my charger at Max’s apartment when I’d rushed out of there last week. I’d been sharing Cat’s since I’d been at her place, but of course she had taken it with her to New York. Stupid, I chastised myself.

Leaving my brick of a computer and my phone on the couch, I stood and crossed to the corner of the room Cat used as her home office. I turned on her desktop computer, exhaling with relief when I saw it wasn’t password protected. I opened Google and resumed my search. I couldn’t rest until I had some answers.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR





HIM


Where did she go?

She’d been there, on the screen, looking a bit pale and worried. It was an expression I’d seen more of lately, ever since I had left my mark on her apartment. I’d gone too far that night; I understood that now. I’d wanted her to understand how deeply I loved her, how crazy she made me, but that hadn’t been what had happened. I had to do something to atone, something to set things right. Something that would put a smile back on her sweet face.

I looked into her distraught face and saw her aquamarine eyes were brimming with tears. Daggers stabbed through my heart, and I knew I needed to do something right away. I’d jumped up from my couch and rushed out to buy her another impressive bouquet of orange flowers. I would surprise her with them that night. Maybe I would even leave her a little note, a bit of poetry perhaps. I was thinking over my options as I picked up my laptop again, the flowers at my side, only to find that she was gone.

I immediately grabbed my phone to check her Instagram, sure there would be a Story about an exercise class she was taking or a friend she was meeting, but there was nothing. She was uncharacteristically silent. A flicker of disquiet sparked in my stomach.

She must be in the shower, I told myself. She’ll come back soon.

But she didn’t. Hours passed and Audrey didn’t reappear. I remained glued to the couch, staring dumbly at the blank screen while the flicker in my stomach turned into an inferno. Where had Audrey gone? Had she discovered the RAT?

You ruined this, my family’s collective voice said in my head. You drove her away.

Aly appeared in my mind’s eye, her eyes narrowed as she nodded sagely, agreeing with them. You’re not fit to date anyone.

Sabrina, her hair longer and redder than it had ever been in life, appeared beside her, laughing. Pathetic.

“Leave me alone!” I bellowed, upending my coffee table, sending the coffee cups and container of animal crackers atop it flying. The mugs shattered; loose legs and torsos scattered everywhere.

It was physically painful to admit, but my abhorrent family was right. It was my fault. It was always my fault. I drove everyone away: Sabrina, Aly, Audrey, all the minor players who had left me in between. What was the common denominator there? Me. It was fucking me.

I picked up my laptop, where her screen was still black in the RAT desktop, and shook it, screaming, “Where did you go?”





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE





CAT


The man across the aisle from me loudly cracked open another pistachio, his twenty-sixth. I’d been glaring at him since the third, hoping the intensity of my stare would shame him into eating a quieter snack. Instead, he reached for another.

Sitting alone in the Acela’s Quiet Car, scowling at a stranger and counting nuts, was not how I envisioned my return to DC after the Phillips trial. Then again, it wasn’t technically “after” the Phillips trial. The rest of the team remained in New York, preparing for the next day’s work, while only I returned in shame. I blanched as I remembered what had happened in court that morning. It had been time for me to speak, making a jurisdictional argument that was technical and a bit dry, but nonetheless important. As I rose from my chair, nylon-clad legs shaking underneath my skirt suit, I heard Connor whisper, “Go get ’em, Harrell.”