Page 105 of Our Little Secret

“No—yes. Well, I mean LinkedIn was the biggie. I had a presence on other platforms—we were encouraged—but I’m not on the job any longer, so . . .” She shrugged. Why was she bothering to explain all this to Leah right now when she had so much to do and her life was falling apart?

“Well, you should get online more. You won’t believe what you can find there.” Her grin faded and she added bitterly, “Even your husband’s girlfriend if you want, apparently.”

“You’re getting over him,” Brooke reminded her sister as she found her keys. “Remember? You’re divorcing the guy who robbed you of your inheritance and cheated on you. The one who is trying to kick you out of the house? That guy.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ Leah. It’s over. You said so yourself. Don’t let that con man sweet talk you. And don’t,” she pointed a finger at her sister, keys jangling on the ring as she did, “don’t let him know you borrowed from us. Okay? If he thinks you’ve got a dime, he’s gonna want it.”

Leah sucked in her breath. “Ooh, harsh, Brookie.”

“I’m just reminding you. I’ll be back soon.”

Leah’s eyes darkened and her eyes narrowed. “You might want to check your messages. I heard your phone . . . well, someone’s phone was buzzing,” she said, seeing that Brooke’s cell was poking out of the back pocket of her jeans.

The burner! She’d forgotten about it. Again.

“Yeah, it’s going nuts,” she said, holding up her iPhone, which she’d put on silent; the parent text chains about Allison Carelli’s return had been on overload. But what about her burner phone? In all the mayhem she’d let it slip her mind. With all the chaos she’d been careless, leaving it in the niche in the laundry room. She closed the door at the top of the stairs and, on her way to the garage, retrieved it from its hiding spot behind the dusty containers of bleach and spray starch. Then she hurried down to the garage, her ankle twinging in protest.

Leah was right, Brooke realized as she slid behind the wheel and hazarded a look at the screen.

There were several messages, two from Gideon.

Call me.

As if.

Obviously he hadn’t gotten the message.

And later, when she hadn’t responded, in the hours before Shep went missing:

If I don’t hear from you, you’ll be sorry.

What? Seriously? An out-and-out threat?

And then Shep disappeared. And he’d left the dead rat in the birdhouse. Enraged, she fought the urge to phone him and call him out, tell him what a lowlife son of a bitch he was. But she didn’t. Because that was exactly what he wanted: a reaction. He was taunting her, daring her to call him back, and it was all she could do not to take the bait.

The last message, sent from an anonymous number only minutes before, was much more disturbing:

He’s not who you think he is.

She swallowed hard at that.

The anonymous caller was now texting.

She didn’t have time for this, not for Gideon and his threats nor these dark, vague warnings from an unknown person.

A person who knew she had this phone number, thisprivatenumber, but wanted anonymity.

A mixture of anger and fear swept through her blood, but she fought the anxiety and set her jaw. She’d figure out who was behind the eerie warning and when she did there would be hell to pay. Right now Brooke had to keep moving. Who knew when Gideon would strike again?

She didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Leah’s screwed-up marriage. Brooke had her own relationships to deal with, along with a shitload of other problems.

Disturbed, she hit the interior remote for the garage door opener and, as the door rolled up, texted Neal to let him know that she was running to the store for a few things and would be on the lookout for the dog.

As she pulled out of the garage, she thought of Leah’s advice about social media and mentally kicked herself for not being able to use the different platforms to check on her daughter or search out more information on Gideon. After her initial fascination with him and a shallow Internet search, she’d told herself it didn’t matter; it was a fling that would die a quick death and the less she knew about him the better.

But that had been a lie. The truth was she didn’t want to know too much about him, didn’t want to delve too deep in case she discovered something that would end the affair. Or something worse. Something she didn’t want to know.