The Watcher Girl(52)

“I hated being an only child,” she confesses with a breathy smile. “I was so lonely all the time. Dad was always working, and when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. Mom was this social butterfly—always fluttering from book club to bake sale. Not only that, but we lived in the country, so . . . no neighborhood kids to run around with or ride bikes with. Would’ve been nice to have a big sister to bother.”

People have a tendency to idealize the past, what it could have been.

I gave up on that time-wasting practice a lifetime ago.

“What was your childhood like?” she asks. “After . . . everything?”

“Unremarkable.” I know I’m lying the second the words leave my lips. But I’m not lying to her. I’m lying to myself. It’s what I’ve done my entire life. It’s why I loathe coming home. It’s why I’ve avoided getting to know my younger siblings in their adult years. All of it represents a past that is anything but unremarkable. “After my mom went to prison, I went to live with my grandma in Florida. Graduated from high school. Went to college. Got a job. Here I am.”

Campbell sniffs. “Something tells me you’re skipping over all the good parts.”

Good . . . or unpleasant?

“My grandma lived in this retirement village,” I say. “Fifty-five and older. She took a lot of heat for taking me in, but I laid low, stayed quiet and out of the way, and eventually her neighbors got used to me. I got pretty good at being invisible. Mostly hung out by the pool, rode my bike around the parking lot. Sometimes I’d walk dogs for a few of the neighbors or weed flower beds to make some cash, but other than that, I was a loner,” I say. “Trust me when I tell you, you didn’t miss out on some profound experience of having me as a big sister.”

Campbell laughs. “I’m sure I’m glamorizing it. I probably would’ve been the worst kid sister anyway. I was terribly shy—to the point of having an invisible friend until I was eight or nine. When my cousins would come for a week in the summer, I was so starved for attention I’d follow them around until they’d get sick of me. Clinging to them, copying them, never letting them out of my sight.”

I snort. We were both a couple of weirdos. True misfits. Whether we are or we aren’t sisters, we’ve got that in common.

Her GPS tells me to take the next exit, and I glance down at her coffee for a split second. She hasn’t taken but maybe one or two sips for the past half hour. I imagine she’s had a long day, nerves spiking and adrenaline dropping and sinking her into exhaustion.

“So what’s your—” I begin to ask her where she’s going from here, what her next move is . . . when I discover her eyes are closed and her head is pressed against the passenger window. Slow, quiet breaths escape her half-open mouth.

My questions can wait.

I take comfort knowing she feels safe with me.

I slide the satellite phone from her lap and check the ETA.

We’ll be there soon enough.





CHAPTER 31

We pass a sign for 145th Avenue, and the GPS tells me to turn right in two hundred yards. I press the brake, coasting slower and watching for a turnoff. Aside from the glow of the moon, it’s darker than midnight out here—and almost two AM.

Gravel pings the underbelly of my rental, and Campbell stirs awake, sitting straighter, rubbing her eyes.

“You have arrived at your destination,” her phone announces when I stop outside a log cabin so quaint and dark, a person could easily mistake it for part of the surrounding forest.

“Wait here.” Campbell climbs out and shuts the door with a quiet click, phone in hand, and she makes her way to the front of the structure, punching a code into a lockbox. A second later, the front door swings open, and she disappears into the darkness.

A small light by the porch blinks on.

Campbell returns, moving to grab Gigi from the back seat. I climb out and get her bag, following them in.

A thick flood of musty air invades my lungs the instant I step inside. I say nothing as I close the door behind me. Sweat collects along the nape of my neck. It’s at least eighty degrees in here, if not more. I reach for a hair tie from my wrist before remembering I didn’t bring one.

Gigi stirs, eyes half-open, and Campbell cradles the back of her head, shushing her as she rocks her in place.

“I’m going to lay her down,” she whispers. “I’ll be right back.”

I anchor myself in the middle of a cozy living room, one barely big enough for a sofa and overstuffed armchair. A bookshelf rests against the wall where a TV could go, filled with aging board games. Monopoly. Aggravation. Life.

Campbell makes a beeline for the kitchen when she returns, flicking on a dim light over the stove and peeking inside the refrigerator.

“I’m starving,” she says. “You hungry?”

I shake my head and don’t mention the bag of cheese crackers I ate while she slept. The coffee was wearing off, and I needed something to do to keep from falling asleep behind the wheel.

I check the time on my phone. By the time I get home, it’ll be close to four AM. I’ll be lucky to get a few hours of sleep before I have to meet Rose for brunch.

“What’s your plan?” I ask. “From here?”

She swipes a bottle of water from the fridge. A bag of groceries rests on a Formica table shoved up against the windowed wall in the kitchen. There must be someone else involved in this.