Page 84 of Bound to a Killer

I cross my arms over my chest and face him one last time. Bet he regrets following me through the rain now that he has to walk all the way back to his car. His smile is annoyingly contagious, and despite my best efforts, I can’t stop the small tug at the corner of my own lips.

“See you again tomorrow for our walk?” he asks, brushing the damp hair from his eyes—a rich, deep shade of molasses that I’ve never paid attention to up close before. They’re warm. Kind.

But they don’t spike my veins the way a glance from a distinctive pair of icy gray eyes once did. Jayce’s are softer, more open, the kind that invite instead of consuming me whole.

Still, I shake my head, unable to lose my smile. “Seriously?”

He laughs, and the sound warms something inside me, thawing my soul in a way that feels oddly healing. I realize now just how starved of friendly connections I am.

Maybe Clara was right and all I had to do was open up a little more. I climb the front steps and tuck myself beneath the overhang to get out of the rain.

Tonight is the first time in a while I haven’t glanced over my shoulder at every car that passes along the road. It feels good for a change. To just walk.

He’s nothing like them. Just give him a chance.

Without saying anything, I shrug, but my lingering grin gives me away. That’s enough for him. He walks backward, still smiling broadly at me as the rain picks up. “I'll take my coffee black next time!” he calls out, his voice raised over the growing downpour.

My hands fly up to cover my mouth, stifling a gasp as the rain turns heavy. He pulls his varsity jacket over his head and jogs off, swaying as he disappears downhill.

I hurry inside, slamming the door shut behind me, and race upstairs with a jolt of energy that I don’t usually get after work. My phone dings from my back pocket as I reach the top step. I pull it out, hoping it’s my mom instead of Clara for once.

It’s neither. Unknown number.

I skim the message, then read it once. Twice. My stomach curdling each time.

Stay away from him.

I delete it fast and shove my phone deep into my pocket, pretending I never saw anything. My fingers go numb as I push into my room. What was that about? Maybe a prank?

My spine tingles. Suddenly, I’m overtaken with the irrational feeling that someone’s watching me.

Don’t be silly, I tell myself.It’s just a prank.

I unbutton my damp shirt, shivering as I strip off the rest of my clothes and toss them into the laundry basket near the light switch. My eyes drift past the bed, but then snap back with a sharp spike of panic. The burst of energy I felt moments ago evaporates into something ominous.

Something feels off.

I step closer to the bed and pause at the foot, scanning the mauve quilted duvet. The oddly dented pillows. The subtle dip in the center. It almost looks like someone was sitting there.

No, that’s insane. Why would everything else look untouched except for the bed?

I’m being ridiculous. Still on edge from that text.

Fatigue crashes into me all at once. My shoulders sag as I peel the cover back and sink into bed, my mind still racing.

I tell myself the message means nothing. That it’s harmless. But that doesn’t stop me from replaying it over and over in my head until morning.

24

ARIA

Iwring my hands after finishing the inventory checklist, snap the binder shut and drag my gaze to Oliver, whose head is hung low by the register, furiously tapping away on his phone.

I’ve been thinking about asking him if I can leave a little early today since we’re both closing and the pace has slowed down significantly. I scan the floor, void of customers, already swept and mopped. The radio hums at a lower volume as we wind down to the evening. Only an hour left to the shift.

Pushing the binder aside, I edge over to him, his chin still tucked to his chest, greasy, overgrown hair glinting beneath the soft overhead light. He doesn’t look up once I’m beside him, fingers still tapping away.

“Hey, Oliver,” I say slowly, rubbing a hand over my shoulder. “I got most of the closing done. All that’s left is to stack the chairs and turn off the machines.”