Page 29 of Ruthless Creatures

“Are we good to hang up now?”

“Yes,” I say, sniffling. “We’re good.”

“And are you going to march next door and get your freak on with that fine piece of manhood?”

“No, but my vagina thanks you for your concern.”

“Okay, but don’t complain to me when the next guy who asks you out has genital warts and killer halitosis.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yep. Talk then.”

“But call me before then if you accidentally slip and fall on Kage’s enormous pe—”

“Goodbye!”

I hang up on her, smiling. It’s only with Sloane that I can go from sobs to laughter within the space of one minute.

I’m lucky to have her. I have a sneaking suspicion that all these years she’s been more for me than just a best friend and a shoulder to cry on.

I think she’s been saving my life.

The doorbell rings, distracting me from my thoughts. I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table, blow my nose, run a hand over my hair, and try to pretend like I’m a functioning adult.

When I get to the front door and look through the peephole,there’s a young guy I don’t recognize standing there with a white envelope in his hand.

When I open up, he says, “Natalie Peterson?”

“That’s me.”

“Hi. I’m Josh Harris. My dad owns the Thornwood Apartments over on Lakeshore.”

I freeze. I stop breathing. My blood turns to ice.

David was living at the Thornwood when he disappeared.

I manage to rasp, “Yes?”

“We did some big renovations recently—the roof, lots of interior work, last winter was brutal—”

“And?” I interrupt, my voice climbing.

“And we found this.” Josh holds up the envelope.

Wild-eyed and terrified, I stare at it like it contains a bomb.

He looks sheepish. “Uh, my dad told me what happened. To you. I wasn’t living here then, I was with my mom in Denver. My parents are divorced, but, uh…”

Obviously uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “Anyway, this envelope was caught between the wall and the back of the mailboxes in the lobby. They’re the kind that open from the front, you know?”

He’s waiting for me to say something, but I’ve lost the power of speech.

I see my name and address on the front of the envelope.

It’s David’s handwriting.