One of Us Is Next

by McManus, Karen M.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think much of it at the time,” Knox says, looking apologetic. “I thought it was just some jerk, but he came back a couple nights ago. Here, I mean. Ordered a coffee, sat around, then left without drinking it. I started wondering if it was maybe Derek, trying to find you because you’re ignoring his messages.”

  I glare at him, hands on my hips. “Why are you just telling me this now?”

  “I haven’t been thinking straight,” Knox says defensively. “I have a concussion.”

  “You had a concussion. Two weeks ago.”

  “The effects can linger for years,” Knox informs me. He drums his fingers on the table. “Besides, I wasn’t sure it meant anything. But do you think it might be him? Is Derek a tall, pale, brown-haired guy?”

  “Yeah, he is.” I say. “I personally wouldn’t describe him as intense-looking, but to each their own, I guess.” Maeve hands the note back to me, and I stuff it into my pocket, my mind spinning. Would Derek really do this—show up at my job and leave a threatening note just because I’ve been ignoring his Instagram messages? He never acted aggressive or possessive around Emma. As far as I know, anyway.

  “Who’s Derek?” Luis asks.

  All I can think is thank God he’s out of the gossip loop. It gives me hope that there’s life after Bayview High that doesn’t include ongoing, detailed analysis of everybody’s worst mistakes. “Long story,” I say, “but he’s someone I’ve been blowing off lately.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” Luis asks. “We all saw the guy. We could tell you whether it’s him or not.”

  “Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” Maeve asks. Luis smiles, and she gives him another lingering look that, in my opinion, answers the question.

  “No,” I say. “I mean, I can look him up right now but he never posts pictures of himself…” I take out my phone, open Instagram, and pull up Derek’s profile to see if he’s updated it recently. His entire feed is still nothing but animals, food, and artsy pictures of tree branches. I show it to Knox, who makes a face.

  “No selfies? What kind of weirdo is he?” Then he glances at the clock on the wall, which Mr. Santos finally fixed. “Callahan Park is in Eastland, right? We could make it there before five thirty if we leave now.”

  “I’m not meeting him!” I protest, but Knox holds up a placating hand.

  “I don’t mean that. But maybe we can, like, spy on him. See if it’s Derek. Then you can report him for harassment or something.” He pulls out his wallet and removes a few bills, putting them on top of the twenty that’s already on the table. “We could go to my house first and grab my binoculars so we don’t have to get close.”

  “Binoculars?” I’m almost distracted for a second. “What do you have those for?”

  Knox looks mildly baffled. “Doesn’t everybody have binoculars?”

  “No,” Maeve and I say at the same time.

  Luis’s brow furrows. “You think that’s a good idea? This guy is practically stalking you, Phoebe. Maybe you should tell the police, let them handle it.”

  “But I don’t know for sure if Derek wrote the note,” I say. “His Instagram messages were a lot more polite.” I turn to Maeve. “Can you drive us?”

  She twists her dark hair over one shoulder and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Luis says instantly. “It’s quiet here, I can leave.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying not to sound as relieved as I feel. I love Knox and Maeve, but they’re not exactly my first picks as backup if anything goes wrong. Whoever this guy is, Luis scared him off once, and I’m pretty sure he can do it again. “It’s a plan, then. Let’s do a little stalking of our own.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Maeve

  Thursday, March 26

  “This is pointless,” Phoebe grumbles. “I can’t see anything.”

  We were over half an hour late to Callahan Park, thanks to rush hour traffic, but as soon as we pulled into a metered spot in front of the fence we spotted a lone figure sitting on the gazebo steps. It’s directly within our line of sight, but too far away to see anything clearly, even with Knox’s binoculars at full strength. Phoebe’s been fiddling with them for almost five minutes, but she still can’t make out who it is.

  I turn to face her in the backseat. “Do you want to leave?”

  She shakes her head vehemently. “No way. We’ve come this far, and he’s right there. I just need to get a little closer.” She peers through the window. “Hmm. Check out the climbing structure on the playground. There’s a little house on top that would be perfect. If I go in there, I could see a lot better.”

  Luis frowns. “We said you’d stay in the car.”

  “Look at the path to the playground, though. It has those tall bushes. He’ll never see me coming,” Phoebe insists. “Plus the play area is nice and crowded. I can get up there all stealthy-like.” She pokes Knox in the arm. “Can I have your sweatshirt?”

  “Um, okay.” He removes it with a bemused expression and hands it over. Phoebe pulls the faded gray hoodie over her pink shirt and zips it up.

  “This smells nice,” she says. “Did you just wash it?”

  “No.” Knox looks guilty. “Not for a while, actually. Sorry.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe shrugs. “Well, you smell nice, then.” She lifts the hood over her head and stuffs her bright curls beneath it. “There. Incognito. And I’m short, so I can pass for a kid.”

  Luis is still frowning. “I’ll go with you,” he says, but Phoebe shakes her head.

  “He’s seen you before, and you stick out too much. I’ll take Knox.”

  “Sure, why not,” Knox mutters. “I am utterly unobtrusive, after all.”

  I bite my lip and glance at the gazebo. The boy is pacing now, circling the small structure. “I don’t know, Phoebe. Whoever this guy is, he’s starting to freak me out. Maybe we should just leave.”

  “Not without getting a look at him,” she says doggedly. “I need to know if it’s Derek.” She pops the door open and tugs at Knox’s sleeve. “Are you coming or what?”

  “Obviously I am.” Knox sighs and turns to me. “Text us if he makes a move, okay?”

  “He won’t. He’ll never see us coming,” Phoebe says confidently. I think she’s probably right, but my stomach still twists as she and Knox get out of the car. I lose sight of them almost immediately on the woodsy path, then catch a glimpse of them weaving through the playground.

  “This is fucked up,” Luis mutters in the passenger seat beside me. “Is this what it was like last year when you and Bronwyn were following Simon’s trail?”

  “Not really,” I say. “I only ever did online stuff. Bronwyn staked out a guy once, but he was harmless. He ended up helping us out, actually.” I jump at my phone vibrating with a text and look down at it. It’s from Knox. We’re here. “They made it,” I report, and text back, Is it Derek?

  She hasn’t looked yet. A lens popped out of my binoculars so we’re putting it back.

  “They’re having technical difficulties with the binoculars,” I tell Luis.

  He flashes a smile. “Equipment failure. Always happens at the worst possible time.”

  I nod and think about making a joke back, except I’m suddenly hyperaware of the fact that I’m alone with Luis for the first time since I yelled at him at Cooper’s game. We’ve texted back and forth since then, and he accepted my apology. But I haven’t said any of the things that I really want to say. Just like always.

  “So,” I blurt out, right as he says, “Listen,” and then we both pause. “You first,” we say at the same time. Luis laughs a little, and I smile awkwardly. Then I gather up my courage and say, “No, you know what? Me first. If that’s okay.” Because if he says something I don’t want to hear, then I won’t tell him my thing. And even though my heart is prac
tically pounding out of my chest at the thought of being fully honest with him, I still want him to know.

  His eyes lock on mine, his expression unreadable. “Okay.”

  Deep breath. “I wanted to talk about what I said at Cooper’s game…” I trail off and swallow, trying to loosen my throat so I can get the rest of the words out. But I’ve already started wrong, because Luis shakes his head.

  “I told you, forget about that.” He brushes my arm with his hand, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of a fading bruise. “I get it. You were in a bad place.”

  “It’s not that. I mean yes, I was, but that’s not the only reason I was rude.” His hand stills but stays where it is. The heat from his skin radiating into mine is making it hard to think, but I don’t want to pull away. I just need to get a couple more sentences out. “I was, um, jealous.” I can’t look at him right now, so I stare straight ahead at my car’s control panel. “I saw you with Monica, and I got jealous because it looked like you were on a date and I—I wanted that to be me. Because I like you, Luis. I have for a while.”

  There. I said it.

  I inhale quickly, still not looking at him, and add in a rush, “It’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same way, because we can still be friends and I won’t be weird about it—”

  “Whoa, hold up,” Luis interrupts. “Can I answer before you answer for me?”

  “Oh.” My face flames, and I stare so hard at the dash that I’m surprised the numbers on my odometer don’t move. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

  Luis’s hand moves down my arm until his fingers lace with mine, and he tugs lightly at my hand. “Look at me, okay?” he says quietly. I turn my head, and there’s such a soft, open expression on his face that I feel a spark of hope. “I like you too, Maeve,” he says, his dark eyes steady on mine. “I have for a while.”

  My heart skips and then soars. “Oh,” I say again. I’ve forgotten all the other words.

  His lips quirk. “So, should we do something about this? Or would you rather keep torturing me from a distance?”

  My smile back feels big enough to take over my entire face. “We should,” I manage. “Do something.”

  “Good,” Luis says. He touches my face and leans in close. My eyes flutter shut and warmth floods my veins as I wait for his lips to meet mine—until my lap buzzes loudly. We both startle and pull back. “Damn it all to hell,” I mutter in frustration, snatching up my phone. “I forgot we were on a stakeout.”

  Luis laughs. “Never a dull moment with you. What’s up?”

  I read Knox’s text, blink a few times, and read it again. “Phoebe says it’s not Derek.”

  “Really?” Luis sounds as surprised as I feel. “Then who is it?”

  “She doesn’t know. She says she’s never seen him before.”

  Luis frowns. “That’s weird.”

  My phone buzzes with another text from Knox. He’s leaving.

  “Oh!” I grab Luis’s arm. The figure we’d been watching at the gazebo is suddenly a lot closer. “That’s him.” Intense Guy is cutting across the grass and through the edge of the playground, but he doesn’t spare a glance for the climbing structure where Phoebe is. He pushes past a group of kids and heads for the park exit. At this distance, there’s no mistaking the same person who confronted Mr. Santos a few weeks back. There are two paths he could take out of the park, and he chooses the one leading almost straight to my car.

  “Shit. He’s coming right this way,” I say, looking down to shield my face. The guy barely flicked his eyes over me at Café Contigo, but better safe than sorry. “Duck, Luis.” Instead, Luis does exactly what he shouldn’t do, which is lean forward for a better view. “Stop!” I hiss. “Don’t let him see you, he’ll recognize you!”

  “So?” Luis says. Honest to God, he might be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but he’s useless in a stakeout situation. I try to push him back, but he’s still craning his neck and Intense Guy is right there, about to cross in front of the car, so I have no choice except to grab hold of Luis’s face and kiss him.

  I mean, I probably have other choices. But this is the best one.

  I’m twisted awkwardly, held back by my seat belt until Luis reaches around me and unbuckles it. I break our kiss to slide out from behind the wheel. He pulls me closer, lifting me into his lap, and I return my hands to either side of his face. His arms feel warm and solid around me, holding me in place as we stare into each other’s eyes for a beat. “Beautiful,” he breathes, and I melt. Then his lips crash against mine, and it’s happening again—the heat, the dizziness, and the desperate need to be as close to him as possible. His thumbs sweep over my cheeks, my fingers are twisted in his hair, and the kiss goes on and on until I’ve completely forgotten where we are and what we’re supposed to be doing.

  Right up until the loud rap on the window.

  Oh God. It all comes rushing back as I look up, expecting to see Intense Guy glowering down at us. Instead, Phoebe cocks her head and waves, smiling brightly. Knox is still a few yards behind her, head down as he stuffs his binoculars into their case. She turns and positions herself in front of the window, her back to us.

  I have no memory of this happening, but at some point either Luis or I reclined the seat so that we’re practically flat. “Um. So.” I reach across Luis’s lap for the button, and can’t keep from laughing as the seat starts slowly rising while we’re still tangled up together. “This is the recline function,” I say, smoothing my hair.

  “Good to know.” Luis kisses my neck, his palm warm against my waist. “Thanks for the demonstration.”

  “No problem. I do this for everybody. It’s important to know how a vehicle operates.” Reluctantly, I slide off Luis’s lap and behind the wheel. Then I squeeze his hand, feeling giddy that apparently I can do that now. “To be continued?”

  He smiles and squeezes back. “Definitely.”

  “Well!” Phoebe opens the rear door and crawls across the seat. The hood of Knox’s sweatshirt is still up, the laces pulled tight around her face. Knox follows and closes the door behind him. He seems preoccupied with his binoculars. I’m pretty sure Phoebe ran interference quickly enough that he didn’t see anything with Luis and me. “I have officially never seen that guy before in my life. I have absolutely no idea who he is.”

  “So now what?” I ask. “Should we—”

  “Shit, here he comes!” Knox pulls Phoebe toward him, pressing her into his shoulder as she lets out a strangled yelp. I duck down automatically in my seat, but Luis—of course—stays where he is. He really is terrible at this. “Sorry,” Knox says in a calmer voice as he releases Phoebe. “But he just drove past us. Don’t worry, he didn’t look our way.”

  Phoebe leans forward and peers between the front seats. “The blue car?” she asks. When Knox grunts in agreement, she taps my shoulder. “Follow him. Let’s see what this weirdo does when he isn’t stalking girls he’s never met.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Knox

  Thursday, March 26

  A couple of hours after we leave the park, we have a license plate number, an address, and a name. Sort of.

  “The car is registered to David Jackson,” Maeve reports, her eyes on her laptop screen. “So maybe David Jackson is Intense Guy?” We’re sitting at my kitchen table after dropping off Luis and Phoebe. My parents are out to dinner with the neighbors, so we’re eating buttered noodles and carrot sticks because that’s the extent of my culinary repertoire. Luis, I am not. In more ways than one.

  Yeah, I saw. I’m trying to be happy for them. It’s not like I’m jealous. It’s just—for once in my life, I’d like somebody to have that kind of reaction to me. Maybe that only happens to guys like Luis, though. “Great,” I say, unlocking my phone to open Instagram. “That’s a super uncommon name. If I search it I get…too many to count.”

  Ma
eve frowns. “I’m Googling his name and the town and—hmm. Nothing interesting.” We tailed the blue car to a tiny ranch home in a rundown section of Rolando Village, which the city’s assessor database tells us belongs to a couple named Paul and Lisa Curtin. Maeve thinks it must be a rental. “There’s a local dentist with the name David Jackson. He has terrible Yelp reviews.”

  “Well, Intense Guy does seem like he’d have a bad bedside manner. Or chairside, I guess,” I say. “But he’s a little young to have made it through dental school.”

  Maeve bites into a carrot stick and Fritz, who’s sitting between us, snaps his head toward her with a hopeful look. “You wouldn’t like carrots,” she assures him, petting the graying patch of fur between his ears. Fritz looks unconvinced. I lean across him so I can see Maeve’s screen better, and she angles it toward me. “This David Jackson is in his fifties,” she says. “This one just retired from a gas company…” Maeve clicks to the second page of results, then sighs and leans back in her chair. “They’re all old.”

  “Maybe David Jackson is Intense Guy’s father,” I say. “Dad owns the car, and his kid is driving it?”

  “Could be. That doesn’t help us much, though.” Maeve catches her lower lip between her teeth, looking pensive. “I wish Phoebe would talk to her mom about what’s going on.”

  On the ride home from Rolando Village, all of us tried to convince Phoebe to tell Mrs. Lawton about Intense Guy and the note. But Phoebe wouldn’t go for it. “My mom has enough to worry about,” she insisted. “Plus, this is obviously a case of mistaken identity. He’s looking for a different Phoebe.”

  I can understand wanting to think that. And I hope it’s true. Although I feel sorry for Different Phoebe if it is.

  An alert flashes across Maeve’s laptop screen. The website you are monitoring has been updated. God, she has PingMe synced to everything. I swallow a groan as Maeve opens a new browser tab and brings up the Vengeance Is Mine forum. I’d rather plug David Jackson’s name into social media platforms for the next hour than wander down this weird rabbit hole again.