The Watcher Girl(33)

“I can’t take Gigi away from her father.”

“If he’s abusive, you can. And you should. If he’s capable of hurting you, he’s capable of hurting her. Don’t be so naive.” I regret the name-calling the second it leaves my tongue, but goddamn it. How can she be so selfish? “You have to get out of there.”

“You don’t understand . . . I have nothing.” She dabs a tear on the back of her hand. “He controls everything. I don’t have a dollar to my name. Our bank cards? Joint. My car? It’s in his name. If I left, he could have it tracked and the engine disabled. And what if he reports me for kidnapping?”

“Listen, you’re not the first person to be in a situation like this. There are resources. There are people who can help you. There are ways.” I don’t know the first thing about those ways, but I’m willing to learn if it means getting them away from the monster he’s become. “I’ll help you. Let me help you.”

Our stares catch in the dark and hold for what feels like forever.

“This is going to sound strange . . . I can’t help but feel responsible for this.” My voice is low, broken.

She’s silent.

But it’s time we both came clean.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” I ask. “You knew this whole time.”

Campbell tucks her hands beneath her thighs, eyes locked on the concrete beneath us, and then she nods. “I know exactly who you are.”





CHAPTER 14

Three days.

It’s been three days since I met with Campbell at the park down the street under the eerie glow of a half moon.

Three days since I saw the red-blue bruise forming beneath her left eye.

Three days since she confessed to living under Sutton’s reign.

Three days since she admitted she knew exactly who I was from the start.

I didn’t have a second to process her confession before she flew off the picnic table bench, apologized for roping me into this, and mumbled that she had to head home before he woke up and found her gone. She swore she’d be getting ahold of me, but so far it’s been radio silence.

The visual of her trotting off in the dark, her reflective sneakers disappearing around the next block, was the last I saw of her.

All my calls, all my texts . . . ignored.

When I jog or cruise past the house, the curtains are pulled tight—doesn’t matter the time of day. I’ve yet to see her car in the driveway, though his has been coming and going throughout the week.

There’s no excuse she can offer me to justify why she would lure me out of my house in the middle of the night, drop a couple of bombshells on me, then disappear like . . .

I slam my laptop lid closed.

What if she’s . . . missing?

She has no friends in Monarch Falls.

Her family’s in Connecticut, hours away.

No one would know if Campbell vanished—at least not right away.

Shoving my computer aside, I gather the necessities. Keys. Purse. Phone.

A few minutes later, I’m parked in her driveway, engine idling. Sutton’s Toyota is absent—a hopeful sign. Dashing up the front walk, I pound on her door, intentionally avoiding the doorbell in case he gets a text notification.

“Campbell, are you home?” I call out, knocking twice more. “Please. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

I knock again.

And wait.

Surely if she’d packed up the baby and run home to Connecticut, she’d have told me, right? Especially after the exchange at the park the other night. No one in their right mind would worry someone with something as serious as that and just disappear without a second thought.

The other side of the door is pure silence. Not a footstep. Not a toddler babbling or cartoon playing in the background. Not a whoosh of a dishwasher or rumble of a clothes dryer. The curtains are still drawn, but it doesn’t stop me from peering in, hands cupped around my eyes, as if I’ve magically summoned the ability to see through fabric.

I knock one last time—in vain.

And before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I’m halfway to Sutton’s office building, praying to God he hasn’t left for the day.

Everything I’d originally planned to say to him, everything I came here to say—the apologies, the well-wishes—it all goes out the window as I speed across town.

I’m not sure what I’ll say to him now. I don’t want to scare him away, but I don’t want him to think for two seconds that he can get away with treating the mother of his child like a prisoner.

Because he won’t.

Not with me here.





CHAPTER 15

There are people on the dark web who will do this sort of thing for a price—people who will scare the hell out of a piece-of-shit wifebeater or put the fear of God into a neglectful, drug-addicted mother. But I’ve never been one to leave my dirty work to strangers. Besides, can you really trust someone to accurately convey a message this important? This personal?

“Sutton Whitlock, please,” I say to his receptionist before she has a chance to greet me. My knuckles rap on the tall counter in front of her sunken desk. I recognize her voice from the other week, when she cheerfully provided me with his lunch hour and, later, happily patched me through to his office line.