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Now what?

She stared at the screen, and two minutes later a new bubble appeared:

215-555-3452

BITCH . . . MY PHONE DID NOT RING. AND YOU DIDN’T LEAVE MESSAGE.

BUT NOW WE TALK.

I SEND A COURIER FOR MY BOOKS AND MONEY.

He did not deny being Ricky, she thought, then sent:

HOW CAN I TRUST YOU, RICKY?

I AM NOT GIVING THEM TO ANYONE BUT YOU.

He took a long moment before replying:

215-555-3452

OK. THEN WHERE?

Now what?

I have to stall him.

I NEED A DAY.

And tomorrow I will need another day.

I have what he wants. He can wait.

Then her stomach really knotted up as she read:

215-555-3452

NO! NOW. OR BLOOD OF ANOTHER GIRL IS YOUR FAULT.

You bastard! Enough with the threats!

She exhaled audibly.

But they’re not idle threats . . .

I need time to figure this out.

He’s got to learn not to fuck with a McCain.

LISTEN, RICKY. STOP WITH THE DAMN THREATS.

YOU CREATED THIS MESS. I AM TRYING TO FIX IT.

TRUST ME, YOU MORE THAN HAVE MY ATTENTION.

YOU WILL GET THE BOOKS. BUT I DECIDE HOW — NOT YOU!

She sent it. Five minutes passed before he replied: