“By the way,” Curt went on after a couple more minutes of silence between them, “you know she played you, right?”
“What?”
“Cat’s gone.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know the look. She’s out of here. Colleen, too. I could see they were planning something. No boys allowed.”
“Shit.”
Brayden felt a wave of icy panic in his veins. He scrambled off the rocks and swore in frustration when he saw that Curt had pegged the girl perfectly. He’d been outsmarted, fooled, hung out to dry.
Colleen’s Rav4 had disappeared from the parking lot. Neither girl was anywhere to be found.
“I know we talked about seeing a movie,” Colleen said, as they drove out of the beachfront park in her SUV. “But actually, I was wondering if you were up for something a little more criminal.”
“Criminal? What do you mean?”
A smirk crossed Colleen’s face. “I have a key.”
“A key to what?” Cat asked.
“Wyatt’s place.”
Cat froze, and her eyes widened. She stared across the front seat at Colleen. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. He had a bunch of duplicates made when he moved in, and he gave me one so I could wait in his place while he was at work. He had a couple deliveries that needed a signature. He never asked for it back, and I forgot all about it. So I was thinking, if you want to search his place, well, the cops can’t do it, but what’s stopping us?”
Cat pursed her lips. “Well, holy shit. Now that’s an idea.”
“I know, right? What do you think? At least then you’d know if it was him.”
“Is Wyatt home? What if he comes home?”
“No, I’m pretty sure he should be at work.”
Cat reached across the car and shoved the other girl playfully. “You think like me. I like that.”
“Ditto.”
“Okay, I’m in,” Cat said. “You be Thelma, I be Louise. Where do you live?”
“It’s a four-story building on Third. Kinda sleazy, but I can’t afford much. I’m on the ground floor. Wyatt’s on the top floor.”
Cat felt a flush of satisfaction, combined with a little wave of guilt at what she was doing. Guilt at the idea of running away from Brayden. Guilt at the idea of rushing into something that Stride would hate. But she was frustrated and had to know the truth. Wyatt could hide from the police, but not from her.
“By the way, I know what you’re going through,” Colleen commented, as she headed into the city. The lakeshore followed them on the left side of the street.
“What do you mean?”
“I was stalked in high school, too.”
“It’s horrible, isn’t it? Did they get the guy?”
Colleen shook her head. “The cops couldn’t do a thing.”
“Yeah, they protect the creeps, not us.”
“Are you done with school?” Colleen asked.
“No, I have one more year in the fall. I lost a lot of time because of my, well, my past. I’m still catching up.”
“We were actually in one class together,” Colleen said. “I was a junior then, and I think you were a sophomore. Math. Not that you’d remember, but I remember you. Man, you were smart.”
Cat rolled her eyes. “That must been one of the few times I showed up. But yeah, math is my thing. My brain works that way.”
“Art is my thing, math not so much,” Colleen said. She eyed Cat across the seat. “So what’s the deal with you and Brayden?”
“There’s no deal.” Cat grinned. “I mean, I’d like there to be. Wow, he’s cute. But it probably won’t happen.”
“Don’t be so sure. I see how he looks at you.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
“What about you and Curt?” Cat asked.
Colleen shrugged. “Oh, you know how Curt is. It’s cool that he’s a bad boy.”
“He really likes you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She said it in a way that made Cat think Colleen didn’t feel the same way.
“I thought it was serious with you two,” she said.
“No, not really. We have fun, but it’s not serious.”
Cat frowned, because she was pretty sure Curt would have given her a very different answer. “Well, if you dump him, let him down easy, okay? Curt acts tough, but he’s pretty sensitive, actually.”
“I hear you.” Colleen swung the Rav to the curb. “Here we go. Home sweet home. You ready?”
Cat craned her neck to stare up at the austere, red brick building on the corner. Rows of individual windows faced the street, all the same, and she could see bent miniblinds and a few house plants on the ledges. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but a few lights were on inside. The entrance had a faux glamour from the building’s old days, decorated with stone columns and urns.
“Ready,” Cat said.
The two of them got out of the Rav, and Colleen let them inside the building. The hallway carpet was worn. A wide set of wooden stairs, with carved bannisters in need of new varnish, led to the upper floors. Colleen led the way, and Cat followed, and when they got to the top floor, she stopped at the first door.
“This is Wyatt’s place,” she whispered.
“You have the key?”
Colleen dug in her pocket for her key ring, and she isolated a shiny silver key from the others. “Still got it. I’ll knock. Stay on the other side in case he’s home. I don’t want him to see you.”
Cat waited out of sight, and Colleen knocked sharply on the door. There was no answer, and she put her ear to the door and knocked again. Then, with a nervous grimace, she slid the key into the lock.
“Here we go,” she said. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
She opened the door to Wyatt’s apartment, and they both crept inside. Colleen shut the door behind them.
Cat wasn’t sure what she expected. Part of her thought that his obsession would be obvious as soon as she walked inside. That he would have pictures of her taped to all his walls. That half-written threats and green markers would be spread over his kitchen table. But there was nothing. It was an ordinary, uninteresting apartment, obviously belonging to a single man. Cookie-cutter laminate furniture and garage sale sofas and chairs. A flat screen television and a couple dozen warfare video games stacked next to it. Bose speakers. The floor was made up of checkerboard linoleum squares, and the kitchen cabinets and appliances were all white and dirty. The smell of old fast food and boy sweat made Cat wrinkle her nose.
“What do we look for?” Colleen asked.
“I don’t know. Open some drawers. There has to be something.”
They checked the kitchen and found nothing, and the living room had no places in which to hide anything. The two of them went into Wyatt’s small bedroom, where a single window faced the street. He had a twin bed and a closet with bi-fold plywood doors. Cat opened every drawer in his oak dresser and found only clothes. She checked his nightstand and found a strip of condoms, a half empty bottle of hand lotion, pens, scissors, and some old electronics equipment. It was the usual junk.
“There’s nothing in the bathroom,” Colleen reported.
Cat opened the closet doors. Wyatt had a couple of dress shirts and a winter coat hung on hangers. Several pairs of hiking shoes sat on the shelf.
“I must be wrong,” Cat murmured.
“Or he’s careful.”
“No, there would have to be something. Wouldn’t there?”
She stood in the bedroom and bit her lip as she studied the room. There were simply no hiding places, and being here was beginning to make her nervous. “We better go,” she added.
“Okay.”
Then Cat thought of one more thing. She got down on her hands and knees and pushed up the blanket to look under Wyatt’s twin bed. There, she saw an Amazon parcel box squeezed underneath, smiling at her. It was medium-size, about a foot high and a couple of feet long. She dragged it out and put it atop the bed. The box was light and taped shut, but the tape was loose, as if it had been done and undone many times.