“I’m just leaving,” Madison said. She started for the kitchen door.
“What’s going on? Why are you here?”
Dave was confused, but so was Gabrielle. Clearly Madison had not been a topic of their conversations. “Dave …?” Gabrielle said, the way only a confused child could. Okay, she was about twenty-one, but to Madison and everything she’d been through, twenty-one was a child.
“Right. Introductions. This is Madison. Madison, this is—”
“Gabrielle. Right. I know.” Madison was standing in the kitchen doorway, wanting to flee.
“You know? How do you know?”
“Why wouldn’t she know?” Gabrielle had found her voice.
“I’m leaving.” Madison hated girl/boy drama. Hated it. Especially when she cared this much. She wanted to cry, and that made her want to kill them all in a fiery explosion.
Madison walked into the kitchen and out the kitchen door. It was dark out. She thought it might be about nine PM, based on the barest glow coming from the western sky, a leftover summery sunset that she had missed because she’d fallen asleep on her non-boyfriend’s couch while running from one of her many stalkers. How did I get here?
Dave had never promised her he’d be exclusive. Madison hadn’t expected him to: he was the elusive, handsome surfer who would never be tied down. But the farce she had just been a party to had Gabrielle cast as the girlfriend and Madison as the other woman; she did not want to be in that play. But what part did she see herself in? She didn’t think she wanted to be the girlfriend or wife, the traditional “I belong to you and you’re mine” trope, especially when it came time for a guy to tell her what to do; no thank you. At least, she hadn’t wanted that—until she saw someone else in her part. Now she didn’t know how she felt. She was in the middle of something important and didn’t have time for this. Her life was more than a dime-store romance novel. It had to be.
Dave ran out of the kitchen after her. He needn’t have run so fast; she was just standing in the driveway, not sure where to go.
“What is going on? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. That guy Ryan that lives below me? He’s been keeping track of my movements and taking photos of me, God knows why, and then I come here because I’m afraid and you’re not here, and then … well, this.” She glanced down the alley as a car drove by on Genter. She was cold.
“He’s been doing what? Okay, let’s go.” Dave started walking down the alley toward Madison’s apartment.
“What? You’re going to go punch him? That doesn’t work for every problem, Dave. This guy might be an actual murderer or something. I haven’t figured it out, I’m so confused. And this didn’t fucking help matters.”
Dave walked back toward her. “What do you mean by ‘this’? Gabrielle? Are you seriously going to have a problem with this?”
She stared at him. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. She didn’t know what she was feeling. But she thought it had been awkward for him too. “Well why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t want me, Madison. You’ve made that clear in your actions. You have guys hanging around you all the time. You like me sometimes, and then you want me to go home so you can have the bed to yourself. You don’t need me to help you. You don’t need me to give you advice. You. Don’t. Need. Me. You’ve made that crystal clear. So you’re upset when I find someone who does?”
Madison was stunned. She hadn’t known he felt that way. And the last line was like he’d stabbed her in the heart: he’d “found someone.” She knew she didn’t want that.
“I have a murderer to catch.” She turned and walked down the alley. She didn’t want to turn around to see if he was watching her. Then she heard his kitchen door bang, and she knew that he was gone.
She hadn’t even made it to the mouth of the alley when her phone rang with Tom calling her back. She answered and explained everything that had happened with Ryan.
“I will handle this. Don’t go home. Where will you be?”
“I have to get my car, Tom.”
“No. He doesn’t know where you are right now, right? So don’t go home.”
Madison thought for a minute. “I’ll figure it out, Tom. Will you call me when you know something?”
“Yes. Be safe.” And he disconnected. It was not lost on her that she hadn’t mentioned the tailing he’d asked Ken to do. Any port in a storm, and Tom was a port right now. He could at least figure out Ryan while she figured out the rest.
She’d almost gotten to Genter when she saw Ryan coming down the alley. She turned and started to run back to Dave’s.
“Jesus, Madison! I’m not a stalker! Someone paid me!”
The familiarity of that phrase stopped her in her tracks. Twice in one day? In a world of cause and effect, all coincidences are suspect. She turned around. “Who paid you?”
He kept walking toward her. “A cop. You know, he’s been at your place before.”
Madison had read in books where someone’s blood turned cold. She’d never known what that meant until this moment. Her arms broke out in goose bumps and she started to shiver.
“What did he pay you to do?”
“He said you were working on something important for him and he just had to make sure you stayed safe. He kept saying he wanted to make sure you were safe, and also that you were reporting everything to him that happened on the case.”
This was mind-blowing. Tom had gone to such lengths. She should’ve reported him to his superiors long ago, after the first stalking incident. She was the stupidest smartest person she’d ever met. It was guys. She was smart except when it came to guys.
“That’s why I left those notes on your door.”
Madison knew. But she had to ask. “What notes?”
“The one about ‘Stop investigating me,’ and also the one that was ‘What did I tell you?’ He said it was all part of the case or something. He paid me a hundred dollars every week. I needed the money. I’m a grad student.”
This last sentence was said with a whine that was almost as unattractive as the information he was giving her. It was safe to say that her crush on Ryan was over.
Tom had Ryan leave the notes. To scare her? Yes. So she would call him for help. Tom had her followed so he’d know where she was. Tom was doing all of this. But why? Just obsession? Or did it have something to do with Samantha?
She picked up her phone and texted Tom: You’ve been stalking me. You left the notes. Did you kill Samantha too?
Madison put the phone back in her pocket. That oughta do it, she thought. She would come to regret this rash move, she figured, but it was satisfying at that moment. She’d been played. Played so, so hard.
She turned her attention back to Ryan. “Well, that cop just told me he was going to ‘handle you,’ so I suggest you go stay with a friend for a few nights.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. I’ve got to go.” Madison ran past him and down Genter toward La Jolla Boulevard. She needed her car. She wouldn’t just report Tom; she would report him to the chief of police. And she would do it in person.
Madison made it home and went upstairs for less than a minute, just enough time to grab her purse and a sweatshirt and a protein bar. She jumped into her car and raced for the freeway, ignoring the texts and phone calls from Tom that were blowing up her phone. Apparently her text to him had touched a nerve.
The San Diego Police Department headquarters was on Broadway and 14th in downtown. She could be there in no time at this time of night. Her mind was racing, and she thought it might explode: could Tom be a kidnapper or a murderer? Or was he just an obsessed wannabe lover who had concocted a plan to get Madison to need him? It was Madison who had jumped to the conclusion that the notes left on her door were connected to her tweets about the Gaslamp disappearances. When she’d gotten the second note, she’d assumed it was because she’d been investigating that mystery and the person responsible didn’t like it. But it ha
d just been Tom all along. He knew what she was doing because Ken was following her and Ryan was reporting to him her every move. At least Elissa had been found as a result of Madison falling for this ruse. And what about the phone call Felicity had received? Was that the one coincidence in all of this? Stop investigating me or I will hunt you down and kill you, the same wording as the note on her door. Or was Tom connected to Samantha’s disappearance, and he had made the phone call to Felicity too? She had to admit that while Samantha would’ve trusted a bouncer to help her to her car or to take her home, she really would’ve trusted a cop. It made Madison sick to her stomach.
Her phone rang again. She’d been lost in thought and had taken the wrong freeway. No matter, all the freeways in San Diego connected, and she could just get on the 805 South to the 163 South and she’d be in downtown. The ringing on her Sync system was driving her insane.
She pushed the button on her steering wheel to answer. “What?”
“Madison. I don’t know what you think you’ve discovered, but you need to talk to me.”
“No, actually, I don’t. I don’t need to talk to you, Tom.”
“If I heard something about you, I would ask you about it first.”
“I’m done asking. I’m done listening to excuses.”
“You’re in the car? Where are you going? Stop being brave and trying to do everything yourself. Let me help you. Talk to me.”
Madison felt herself getting hysterical. Her life was falling around her ears and she didn’t know up from down; people she’d trusted were betraying her while pointing out her character flaws. “I don’t know how else to be and I don’t trust you anymore. I don’t know if I trust anyone.”
There was a message on the electronic freeway sign up ahead. The cars in front of her were slowing to read the sign, which Madison always found ironic: sometimes the sign just said Drive Safely, but it caused people to take their eyes off the road in order to read it. This time the sign had a license plate and a message. As she got closer, she could see that it said: Call 911 if seen. Presumed Armed. That was a new one to Madison. She stared at the message for ten seconds before it finally sunk in: it was her own license plate. Black Ford Explorer, license 74BMC239. All over California motorists were being told that Madison was armed and to call 911 if her car was seen. She was being hunted. She was prey.
Her words came out in a whisper. “My God, Tom, what have you done?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Madison pressed the button on her steering wheel to disconnect the call. Her hysteria of a moment ago had been replaced by an eerie calm; she was in survival mode. She didn’t need to go into downtown and get near police headquarters while there was some kind of warrant out for her arrest. She had no idea how Tom had managed this, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. She needed to get off the road, she needed to get rid of her phone which could easily trace her location, and she needed to find a quiet place where she could think. She couldn’t go to the police station now; it would be her word against Tom’s. He had made the perfect move: no one would believe a word she said now.
She couldn’t call Dave, not after that blowup. She didn’t have anyone else she could call who would drop everything and help her while she was being hunted by the police. It took a special kind of person for that. Then she realized that wasn’t exactly true: Haley would help her.
She’d met Haley when she handled her last case. Madison had underestimated Haley because she looked like Marilyn Monroe and sounded like her too. Madison could be critical of women who seemed to exploit their own sexuality. While working with her, Madison had discovered that Haley wasn’t just smart—she was smarter than Madison. And she wasn’t exploiting anything; she was just being herself. Now Haley was an attorney for a high-priced law firm in downtown San Diego. Haley would be able to help her figure out what to do.
Madison was well aware that someone on that freeway could be calling 911 right then to turn her in. She had to act fast. She had to get rid of the car somehow. Her mind was racing as she scanned the vehicles near her to see if anyone noticed her car or her license plate. The drivers near her seemed to be oblivious.
She didn’t want to call Haley from her cell phone in case her cell phone records were obtained, and the police would then know who had helped her. She jumped off the freeway at Balboa. She needed to get a disposable phone that couldn’t be traced to her. Her best bet was to put her car in a parking lot with a lot of other cars so that it wasn’t as noticeable. She pulled into the lot for the Target shopping center. The parking lot served the Target store as well as tons of stores and restaurants. It was crammed morning till night, and fortunately Target was open until midnight; Madison would just make it before closing. She found a parking space up against some shrubs and backed her car in. She crawled into the back and pulled open her tool kit, grabbed a screwdriver, and got out of the car.
She glanced around. Nobody was paying attention to her; they were hurrying into Target or trying to find parking places or trying to get booze for the party that was lasting longer than they’d thought. She knelt down and quickly unscrewed the license plate on the front of her car. She grabbed the plate and threw it underneath the back seat. Tom was continuing to blow up her phone. She would only have it for a short time longer, but she needed to get phone numbers out of it before she tossed it, and the ringing and beeping were driving her insane. She opened his contact and blocked his number. She got her purse and a hat and walked into Target.
She had no idea if Tom had given a description of her as part of the BOLO, but she had to figure he had. She didn’t know what he’d told them she’d done. How had he gotten a judge to sign off on a warrant when she hadn’t done anything? If she tried to figure that out now, she would be paralyzed. She had to keep moving.
She put her hair up in the hat. She had sunglasses on. But nothing could disguise her height or her frame. There would be cameras everywhere in Target, but they didn’t feed directly into the police station. Someone would have to know she’d been there, get a warrant to pull the tape, and look at it; and what would they see? Madison shopping. And by then she’d be long gone.
She pulled a shopping cart out and put her purse in it. She found the section with electronics and selected two prepaid phones. They would work out of the box without Madison having to give any identifying information. She didn’t want to look quite so obvious at checkout—“Hi, I’m in your store because I need to make phone calls that can’t be traced”—so she collected a few other things in her cart that she would need anyway: a duffle bag, some snacks, a pack of Hanes men’s V-neck T-shirts, underwear, another pair of yoga pants, a black hoodie, and Lee Child’s latest book—because she saw it sitting there, and it comforted her to have a new book.
She quickly checked out at the register. Fortunately, she always had a hundred-dollar bill folded up and tucked into her wallet for emergencies. She didn’t want the police to know which phones she’d bought so they could get a report of the phone calls she’d made, which they would do if they traced her credit card to this store and saw her purchases. The girl at the register had hair with a pink wash in it and huge plastic baubles hanging from her ears.
“Can you activate these phones for me?”
The girl kept scanning the rest of Madison’s items. “You can go to the website to do that.”
Madison didn’t want to go to a website, and she didn’t have her laptop with her anyway. “I know, but I need to use them now, and I don’t have my laptop. My sister is at Sharp Memorial in the ER, and she’s going into surgery. I don’t have anything with me, and I left my cell phone at home in Vista. I have to call all our relatives and make sure someone picks up her little girl from the dad’s house. He’s not supposed to even have the little girl without supervision, but my sister had a stroke and someone had to pick up my niece from school—”
“Okay, okay,” the girl said. “Go over to the customer service counter, and they can help you.”
This was way too many people that were getting a good look at Madison and hearing her voice. But she had to get the phones activated. She went over to the customer service desk. A nice guy with a tie said he’d be happy to help. He looked like he was dressing for the job he wanted, not the job he had; Madison always thought that was a good idea. He got on the store phone and plugged in numbers and pushed buttons, and the phones were activated in no time. Madison thanked him and quickly exited the store.
As long as her car was backed up against the shrubs, no one could see her license plate and she was fairly safe. She got in the car and opened her own cell phone and wrote down Haley’s phone numbers. She didn’t know anyone’s phone number by heart. It said something about her life that there was really no one else she could call. She glanced through her recent calls list and saw names connected with this investigation, but no one who could help her in her present predicament. Well, Arlo the computer guy, who was finding out where the Twitter account originated from; it was probably Tom’s Twitter account but she might need Arlo for something else, so she wrote down his number. Then she came to Ken. Could he help her? Might as well write down his number. She could figure that out later. She paused to stare at her phone. No one else to call. She turned her phone off.
She wasn’t sure if her phone could be traced even if it was off, so she opened her car door and threw it in the bushes. If the phone somehow still tracked while off, they would be directed to a Target parking lot and she would be long gone.
Nothing to make you feel untethered like throwing your phone away. No one could reach her. It gave her a weird sense of freedom. She didn’t want to even be parked near her turned-off, discarded phone, so she moved her car to the other side of the parking lot and backed into a space to cover her license plate. She would’ve removed the back plate, but that alone could get her pulled over, so she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t; and having no front plate in California could get her pulled over as well. Law enforcement wanted to be able to identify people at all times. Madison had never thought about the ramifications and the “Big Brother” Orwellian aspect of that, at least not until it was she who was being sought. Again, no time for pondering.
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