Alexandra needed to pee. She also suffered from an intense, churning pressure in her abdomen, making her feel as though she needed to vomit. With Joss gone, she located a restroom adjacent to the children’s book section of the store and entered the second of three bathroom stalls. In addition to the nausea, the numbness in her face had spread, and her heart was racing.
A minute later, the bathroom door opened and closed.
And then ... silence.
No one entered the stall on either side of her.
No one turned the faucet on.
But a woman was there.
Lurking.
Alexandra could hear her breathing.
Slow. Heavy. Impatient breaths.
Alexandra heard a distinct click, like the door to the bathroom had been bolted. She flushed the toilet, flipped the latch on the metal stall door, and pushed it open, shocked to find the other occupant in the room wasn’t a woman like she’d assumed—it was a man. At least she thought it was a man. He wore baggy clothes, leather gloves, and a plain, dingy, gray beanie on his head. His face was masked with a full beard, and he wore a pair of dark, round, mirrored glasses.
His gloved hands were shaking.
Her bare hands were too.
Thinking of the ordeal she’d just had with Lester, a single thought crossed her mind: not this shit again.
“I believe you have the wrong restroom,” she said. “This is the ladies’.”
He grunted a laugh, took a step forward.
She took two steps back.
He stepped forward again. The two continued the dance until Alexandra’s back was against the wall. There was no place left to go.
“I’m going to have to ask you to back away,” she said. “Right now. Or—”
Her mouth snapped shut when the silver tip of a knife’s blade was pressed to the center of her neck.
Stay calm. Stay strong. No need to panic. He’s a crazed fan. You’ve dealt with them before. You’ll deal with them again. Give him what he wants, and he’ll leave.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Her attacker didn’t move, remained silent.
“Why are you doing this?” she continued. “What do you want? Money? I never carry cash with me at these things. If you think you can—”
“Do you regret it?”
His voice was monotone.
Robotic.
It didn’t sound real.
“Do I regret what?” Alexandra asked. “How could I possibly answer that when I have no idea who you are or what I’m supposed to be regretting.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Apologize for all the lives you’ve ruined. Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Is this a joke? Is it funny to you?!”
She gnawed on her lower lip, blinked the tears away, composed herself, tried again. “I’m ... I’m ... sorry. Truly, I am. I never meant to offend you. Please, you must believe me. I didn’t mean to offend you ... or anyone.”
“And your regrets? What about your regrets?”
“Of course. I have many regrets. A lifetime of them. Who doesn’t?”
“A lifetime of lies is what you have. Lies and secrets.”
The tip of the blade poked at her throat, piercing the skin. It wasn’t much. No more than a sixteenth of an inch. Just enough for a single line of blood to trail down her neck, staining her shirt.
“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” she pleaded.
The man leaned forward, his steamy breath pulsing a wave of goose bumps along Alexandra’s milky skin. The closeness between them sparked an air of familiarity.
“You think I’m stupid?” he said. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”
She didn’t. And it wasn’t like she could cater an apology specifically for him. How could she without knowing what she’d done to offend him in the first place?
Unless ...
No.
It couldn’t be.
Hardly anyone knew about the book.
And yet ...
“Put the knife down,” she said. “I’m sure we can work something out. Let’s talk about this. Please. I’ll do anything. I have a family.”
Why did I just mention my family?
“I know.”
“Don’t you touch them! Don’t you dare touch them! You hear me?”
The nausea pulsed through her in a quick, unstoppable wave, followed by a complete loss of control. The man jerked the knife away from her neck, and she slumped to the floor, unscathed. He wasn’t going to stab her.
Everything made sense now.
The nausea.
The shaking.
Her attacker’s fake voice.
She hadn’t been stabbed. She’d been poisoned.
Lying on the filthy bathroom floor, feeling the last few moments of her life ebbing away, she stole one last glance at her attacker.
He wasn’t just vaguely familiar.
She knew him.