Page 64 of The Locked Ward

Ever since our date last night, Colby has rung me incessantly. My phone shows eight missed calls and texts.

When my phone shrills yet again, distracting me and nearly causing me to run a red light, I snatch it up, ready to blast him.

But it’s Georgia. “Where are you?” she asks.

“Heading to work.”

“No!” she whispers. “Don’t go to work.”

Am I supposed to take orders from a woman who threatened to kill Annabelle when she was a little girl? I want to crack my phone down on the dashboard, but something in her tone stills my hand.

“A former patient came to visit me today. She works for the senator.” Georgia’s thready whisper raises goose bumps on my arms. She sounds almost like a ghost.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you see her when you were here? Middle-aged, dark hair. She had gauze on her wrists.”

The image comes to me. “Yeah, I saw her once when I was leaving.”

I can practically hear Georgia’s mind whirring. “That means she saw you. She could’ve made a phone call while you were here. Told them you were at the hospital visiting me and to track you. Have you had any indication someone is watching you?”

The late-night jingle of the bell on my bar’s door. The computer warning. Those refrigerator beeps. Maybe someone didn’t break into my apartment to take something. Maybe they left something behind—like a tiny camera.

I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t even know what’s real. I choke out the word: “Maybe.”

“Don’t go home, either. I think they know about you, Mandy. Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in?”

The vision of Tony Wagner’s body flashes before my eyes. “Where the hell am I supposed to go then?”

“A hotel—but use cash and a fake name. Or if you know anyone who has a house where you can crash, but not a close friend. You can’t imagine how much information they’ll be able to pull up on you.

They’ll know when you lost your first tooth, your social security number, whether you have a drinking problem or an STD. These people are ruthless.”

My mind spins through possibilities. Then it comes to me: I can stay in Georgia’s apartment. I haven’t been there since the possible break-in at my apartment, and the only time I drove there in my car, I parked a couple of blocks away in an aboveground lot.

“Hang on a sec,” I tell Georgia. I yank my wheel to the right, pulling into a parking lot for a strip mall with a twenty-four-hour grocery store. I find a spot and jump out, locking my car. I dart into the grocery story, then slip out a side entrance and speed-walk toward the other end of the mall.

“What’s happening?” she whispers.

“I ditched my car.”

“Good.”

“Where are you going to stay tonight?”

“A hotel,” I lie. I still don’t trust Georgia completely.

“Now all we need is a plan.” She’s still talking, but my attention is commanded by the storefront window I pass. I step into the electronics store and tell Georgia to hold on. It only takes a minute to buy a burner phone. Something tells me I might need one.

“Once they’ve done away with me, you’ll be the only one left who knows about the affair,” Georgia says in the same eerie whisper. “Do you really think they’re going to let you just walk away?”

“What if I call a reporter? I have that video downloaded on my phone.”

“No reputable reporter would run that story. And if a tabloid did, the senator’s office could claim the video was digitally altered and no one would take it seriously. They’re going to be ten steps ahead of us.”

“So where does that leave us?” I ask.

“We’ve got two days,” Georgia says.

“Until?”

“Until you’re the only one left.”

Two days. And my mind is blank. “What are we going to do?”

She hesitates. “You’re not going to like it.”

My spine stiffens. “ What , Georgia?”

“You need to get to Senator Dawson. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get him to admit he was sleeping with Annabelle.”