“Claire,” she said. “I see a tow truck dropping a sedan in my driveway. What do you want? Is this some kind of dramatic statement?”
“Do not let Logan near that car,” I said. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
Silence on the line. Then, suspicious: “Why would Logan care about your car? And why is it here?”
“I heard him admit he tampered with my brakes,” I said, saying the words clearly. “The police are on their way to you, Carolyn. The car is evidence.”
Carolyn inhaled sharply. It was the first crack in her composed, country-club tone. “That’s ridiculous. Logan would never hurt you. He loves you. You’re having one of your episodes.”
“I’m not having an episode,” I replied, my voice turning to steel. “I am trying to stay alive. If you touch that car, or if you let him touch it to ‘fix’ what he did, you will be an accessory to attempted murder. Do you understand?”
A beat. A long, stretching silence where I could hear her breathing.
Then she said something that surprised me. “He called me ten minutes ago. He asked if I’d seen you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him no,” Carolyn said. “But he sounded… different.”
“Different how?”
“Manic,” she whispered. “Fine. I’ll stand outside. I’ll wait for the police.”
When I hung up, Megan gripped my hand. Her palms were cold. “He’s going to come here,” she said. “If he can’t find the car, he’s coming for you.”
“I know,” I said.
