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God, I watched way too much Investigation Discovery channel.
Then, before I could make up my mind to do anything, the passenger door creaked open and a male
stepped out. My heart plummeted. He didn t look like he belonged stepping out of a work van. No
way, no how. I wasn t trying to be judgie-mc-judgers, but his dark trousers, tucked in dark blue shirt,
and polished dress shoes did not fit the rusted, broken-down creeper van.
Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes, but I had the distinct impression he was staring at me. Probably
because I was standing there like an idiot, but then again, at this time of day, I couldn t figure out
why he needed sunglasses. Ignoring the shiver slithering down my spine and the numbness in my
fingers, I started walking again, fully prepared to turn the bag of groceries into a deadly weapon.
It s a nice night, isn t it? the man called out.
My aching fingers tightened around the strap of the plastic bag. I didn t smile. I didn t reply. The
creep factor was off the charts, and as I neared the back of the van, I gave it a wide berth, ready for a
posse of insane clowns to jump out and try to kidnap me.
Of course, the doors didn t open. I was going to walk to the passenger side and try to see if there was
anyone else in the van before I went to the driver s door. Sounded legit.
Your name is Abby, right? the man said.
The air froze in my lungs, like I d walked into subzero temperatures. Tiny hairs all along my body rose
as if an army of cockroaches was running loose on my skin. I looked over my shoulder at him.
He stood by the back of his van with a close-lipped smile. A cold one. Predatory. The Abby Ramsey,
born and raised in Plymouth Meeting? Married her high school sweetheart who tragically passed
away in a car accident about four years ago? The same Abby Ramsey who works from home as a
freelance editor?
Holy shit.
Holy shit balls on Sunday.
Yeah, that s you, he continued. You saw something last night that we need to chat about.
Talking was the last thing we needed to do. My heart pounded in my chest as I faced him. Why did
the parking lot seem so empty now? It wasn t. People were milling around, but no one was paying
attention to us. My gaze darted to the entry of the grocery store, trying to determine the distance if I
had to make a run for it.
I wasn t much of a runner.
He took a step forward, and I blanched, lifting the heavy bag, prepared to swing if he got any closer.
He raised his hands. I m not going to hurt you.
Famous last words. Don t come any closer to me.
I m not. We can have our little conversation from a distance if that makes you happy. He smiled
again, but it was chilling. All I need you to understand, and I need you to really get this, is that
you re not going to be able to identify anyone from last night.
An icy knot balled in my stomach.
That s all, and that s not a big deal, is it? Just keep your mouth shut from here on out and nothing
bad will happen. And you don t want anything bad to happen, do you?
I was beyond responding, my heart thumping heavily in my chest. That was a threat, a very thinly
veiled threat. Part of me couldn t believe this was happening.
We want to make sure you keep your mouth shut, he said in the same friendly, conversational
tone. And I think you ll understand fairly quickly how serious we are.
Just then, the passenger window rolled down and all I saw was an arm extend out. A hand popped
the side of the van, causing my heart to jump. The man backed up then, clapping his hands together
as he said, Now you have a nice evening.
I didn t move as he walked back to the van and climbed in. I didn t move when the old thing
hunkered to life or when it pulled straight through the empty spot in front of it, turning left to head
out of the parking lot.
Oh my God, I whispered.
In a daze, I shoved my groceries into the trunk of my car with jerky, quick motions, and then I
climbed in behind the wheel. I didn t even think for one second about what to do next. There was no
way I was not going to call the police. Forget that. Before I left for dinner, I had shoved Colton s card
in my purse. My mind raced. It made sense to call him because he knew what was going on. Calling
911 meant I d have to tell them everything all over again.
As I pulled my cellphone out of my purse with a shaky hand, its unexpected shrill ring startled a tiny
shriek out of me. Jesus. I looked down at the screen. It was a local number I didn t recognize.
Normally I wouldn t answer, but for some unknown reason, this time I did.
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