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Chapter One

Elle

I shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of prosecco on the plane, because now I’m seeing things. Not weird things like ghosts or dead celebrities. More like my best friend looking oddly masculine, at least from where I’m standing.

I know it’s been a good year since I’ve seen Maggie, but just how much can someone change in that time? And when did she stop shaving her legs? I can’t see the rest of her body as the cardboard sign she’s holding is blocking her from the knees up. The big, manly-looking knees. Huh.

I’m not the kind of girl who’d body shame her best friend for letting her leg hair grow wild, but I’ve never once seen Maggie in all of her untrimmed glory.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and I pause for a moment as other arriving passengers walk past me. Maybe the sign isn’t for me and that’s not Maggie at all. It would certainly explain the muscular, hairy calves and ditto the knees. Then again, who else would it be for? It’s got “Welcome home, Elle,” written on it in bright pink letters and the sign is doused in glitter, complete with unicorn stickers and colorful doodles. If that doesn’t scream Maggie, I don’t know what does.

“Maggie?” I ask cautiously when I’m a couple of feet away from her.

My best friend slowly lowers the sign, but instead of Maggie’s cheerful face, I’m met with blue eyes and knee-buckling dimples.

There’s no doubt about it now. I absolutely shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of prosecco on the plane. Maggie doesn’t have dimples and she certainly doesn’t have a squared jaw. I tricked myself into believing it was her.

“Maggie couldn’t make it,” Dimple-Face says, “But don’t worry, I’m here and I can’t wait to drive you home.”

“I’m sorry, this is… No,” I mumble and walk away at a pace that would make a professional speed walker jealous.

I frantically look around for the real Maggie, while trying to wrap my head around the fact that some handsome stranger is holding up a sign with my name on it, in my best friend’s handwriting no less.

“Hey, wait up,” I hear a deep voice calling after me. “Stop running.”

I quicken my pace. All I can think about are the words stranger danger flashing in front of my eyes. I don’t normally get spooked this easily, but the prosecco is making me paranoid, something that often happens when I have a drink. One time, I ducked under the table of a restaurant when I heard what I assumed were gunshots. Turned out it was nothing but some good old thunder. My friends had tears streaming down their faces from laughter.

“Hey, stop! Seriously, you can’t escape me, Eloise.”

Eloise? No one ever calls me that. I go by Elle, not by the name on my passport.

As I turn around, I see the mysterious sign-holder running after me. It’s only then that I put two and two together.

Oh. My. God.

He’s going to kill me. He probably locked Maggie up in the trunk of his car, stole her sign, and is out to get me next.

I run toward an older couple studying an old-school map. “Please, you must help me get out of here ASAP. I’m being chased. If anyone asks, I’m your daughter, okay?”

The gray-haired man frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t let him catch me,” I plead. “Just play along.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” his wife asks. “Should I use my whistle? I’m not afraid to use my whistle, you know!”

To show me she’s not bluffing, she grabs the red whistle dangling from her neck and wraps her hand around it so tight, her knuckles turn white.

I bite my lip and look over my shoulder. I have to get out of here. Now.

Before I can convince the old couple to not use their whistle, but instead sneak me out of the airport, someone’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I stiffen.

It’s him. The stranger putting me in danger. The stranger… smelling like testosterone on a stick. I take a deep breath before reprimanding myself. I can’t let his man musk fool me. Serial killers can be both deadly and good-looking.

“Eloise, please turn around and come with me so we can get this over with.”

What does he mean, get this over with? My murder? He’s probably got a fresh roll of duct tape ready to be put to good use.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Who, me? I’m with them,” I say, pointing at the couple. “My sweet parents. Right, Mom? Dad?”