Follow Me(84)

And then what? Even if I were able to leap from the tub and lock the door before the heavy breather in the hallway threw it open, then what? I would be trapped inside Cat’s bathroom with no cell phone and no way out.

The doorknob clicked slightly, a soft but ominous sound, as though someone had gripped the handle on the other side but not yet turned it.

Yet.

Forget thinking three steps ahead. Survival was all that mattered. Mind nearly blank with terror, I flung myself out of the bathtub. Lavender-scented water splashed over the tiles as I lunged for the door, and my feet slipped out from underneath me. My knees smacked the ground hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, and I cried out in pain. My hands flew to my mouth, as though they could shove the noise back in, as though there might remain some mystery about where I was. The doorknob turned, and I squeezed my eyes shut in a panicked, pointless attempt to prevent the inevitable.

“Audrey?”

His voice was so calm, so normal that I almost believed it was an auditory hallucination. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Max was standing in the doorway, wearing his favorite Ted and the Honey T-shirt and an expression of concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, setting down a paper Whole Foods bag and holding out a hand to help me up from the floor.

I scrambled to my feet without assistance and grabbed a thick towel, wrapping it protectively around my body. “Max? What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I knew you were here alone, and you weren’t answering my calls. I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His voice dropped as he looked at me closely. “Are you okay?”

I ached to fling myself into his arms and let his gentle hands soothe my rattled nerves, but I took a step back instead. I still had some serious questions about those photographs, and, besides, I’d told him I needed time to think. He shouldn’t have just come barging into someone else’s home looking for me.

Someone else’s locked home, I remembered with a start.

“How did you get inside?”

He tilted his head slightly. “The door was unlocked.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, it was. When you didn’t answer after I knocked, I got concerned. I tried the knob and it opened.”

He was lying. I had locked that door. Or I thought I had locked that door. But if I had, how had he gotten inside?

“I was right to worry, wasn’t I? You look scared.”

Of course I’m scared! I wanted to scream. Someone has been stalking me and I’m afraid it’s you!

“I heard someone in here,” I finally said.

His eyes widened. “What? Here? Audrey, why are you still here?”

“The police came and said no one was here. They said I was safe.” I cleared my throat and watched him carefully as I spoke. “But now I wonder if maybe they missed something. Maybe there’s another entrance. After all, you got in.”

He blinked. “I told you, the front door was open. You don’t really think . . . Christ, Audrey. I know you’re still mad at me, but there’s no way you think I would break into Cat’s apartment to see you, right?”

I couldn’t answer. I focused instead on the Whole Foods bag at his feet, one of Nick’s bad jokes from my first date with Max coming back to me: Watch out for bags of zip ties and collections of sharp instruments.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Oh,” he said, brightening. “I almost forgot. I brought you something.”

With a flourish, he pulled out a bouquet of fat, orange roses. My blood turned to ice and I stumbled backward.

“Why did you bring me those?”

“I thought you’d like them,” he said, looking hurt. “I made a mistake, and I know it. I want to make it up to you.”

“No,” I said, voice trembling. “Why did you bring me those? Why did you bring me orange flowers?”

“Because orange is your favorite color.”

“But how do you know that? I never told you that.”

“Sure you did.”

“No,” I objected, although suddenly I wasn’t certain. We’d spent so many hours talking about so many things—it was possible I had mentioned my favorite color. But I couldn’t ignore the coincidence between these flowers and the orange bouquet tied to my gate. I’d found that months ago, long before I met Max . . . but around the time the strange photos on his computer must have been taken.

“Baby, come on. This is ridiculous. Here, I’ll go put these flowers in water.”

“You’re lying,” I blurted. “You’re lying about that, and you’re lying about those photos.”

He froze, his face an unreadable mask. “What?”

“I searched online for them. They’re not there, Max. I don’t think they ever were. And you know what? I’ve thought about it, and even if you had come across them on some random website, why would you download them? I could see one or two, maybe, as evidence or something, but all of them? There must have been thousands.”

He swallowed audibly. “I love you.”

“You took them, didn’t you? You took those photos.”

It was no longer a question in my mind, but I was still surprised when he whispered, “Yes.”

“Jesus,” I murmured, staggering. “I don’t understand. How . . . ? Why?”