There was a man outside. He was around her mother’s age, with sandy hair and a wide freckled face. There was something about him—something in the set of his eyes, the shape of his nose, something that reminded her of someone she knew.
“Alexa Thornhill?” said the man.
“Maybe,” said Alexa. Her fear was so strong and all-consuming that it felt like an out-of-body experience.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you! You are one hard person to find. I went to your place of employment earlier, looking for you.”
The man held out his hand to shake hers and Alexa thought, Are these the manners of a murderer? She found herself shaking back—really, it was the only way to keep her hand from quaking right off her wrist, and also, for good or for ill, she had been brought up to respond in kind when presented with an outstretched hand. She peered around the man to see where the other men were. The accomplices. But there was nobody else there. Maybe they were still in the SUV. Readying the weapon, preparing for a clear shot.
“And I was told that the specialty of the house is something called the Ring? Which involves a doughnut along with the ice cream?”
“The Ringer,” whispered Alexa.
“Ah! Of course. The Ringer. Right.” He chuckled and rubbed his belly. He was awfully friendly for someone who was about to kill her. But then again, so was the psychopath in Killing Eve. Right before she killed her victims, she was utterly charming—seductive, even. “I have something to show you, if you don’t mind.”
The man furrowed his brow. Again there was something familiar about him, a flash in his expression. He reached into his back pocket and Alexa’s knees came close to giving out. She thought, Here we go. He was going for his gun, and she had nothing to protect herself with. She squeezed her eyes shut. Would Morgan know to call 911, once she heard the shot? Would Katie?
She waited for what seemed like hours but was probably an eighth of a second, and when no shot came she opened her eyes. The man was holding a small bronze coin.
“This is my five-year sobriety coin,” he said. “I bought it on Amazon, and it cost less than six dollars, but it’s incredibly meaningful to me. I told myself that when I earned this coin I would allow myself to come and find you.”
“What?” Her veins were still flushed with adrenaline; she couldn’t quiet her breathing into any normal pattern. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” said the man. “I should have led with an introduction. My name is Jacob.” He paused. “Jacob Thornhill.”
“Thornhill?” she said. “But that’s my—”
“That’s right,” said the man. He waited, as though giving her a chance to figure something out. “Go ahead,” he said finally, encouragingly.
“Wait. Are you my—?” No, this couldn’t be right. This was insane. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word out loud, and then she could. “You’re my father?”
He nodded. “And I don’t mean to intrude on your life, really and truly I don’t. I only want to see that you’re okay. I just want to know that you survived what I put you and your mother through. I can disappear as quickly as you want me to. We can have zero contact after this. I just needed to—” He took a deep breath and looked almost teary. “I just needed to see. With my own eyes. And look at you! You’ve survived and thrived. You’re just as lovely as you are online, on your channel . . .”
“My channel?”
“And that’s why I started leaving those comments.”
“Comments?”
Alexa’s brain couldn’t catch up.
“Yes, as JT76—”
“JT76?”
“My initials. Plus my birth year. I tried to be kind. It’s just, Alexa, I really needed to know I didn’t destroy your life by giving things such a bad start. I don’t expect to be involved in any way, but I needed to lay eyes on you and know I didn’t ruin everything forever. That’s why I got in touch with your mom, last year. Though I don’t blame her for not answering, really I don’t.”
“Got in touch with my mom?” repeated Alexa. “Last year?”
“And I know I’m supposed to wait until your eighteenth birthday. But since you’re leaving soon . . . I didn’t wait. And I really do know a good Realtor in L.A. I really can help you get set up.”
“Wait a minute,” said Alexa. “I’m still catching up.” Her phone, which she’d been gripping in her hand, started to ring. Her mom. She declined the call: she’d call her back.
Then it started ringing again.
“Seems like I caught you at a busy time,” said Jacob Thornhill. “But I’m on the East Coast for a week or so. I’d love to talk more, if you’re willing. I understand you may need some time to think about it.” He pressed a business card into her hand. “There’s no rush. Here’s my number. When you’re ready. If you’re ready.” He turned and walked back to his car.
Again Alexa’s phone rang, stopped, started again. Her mother must have noticed that the Acura was gone from Brooke’s driveway, and now, of course, there would be hell to pay.