Page 81 of Wicked Promises

“Detective Masters, this is Lenora Bryan…” Her voice fades as she goes down the stairs.

“Is this related to who took you?” Robert asks.

That would make sense. We’ve been digging into my stalker.

Is this a warning?

Unknown calling me out for…

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” he suggests, guiding me away.

I stop short at one of the framed photos. There’s a faint spot of red on the glass, like whoever painted the message in my room came out here and took their sweet time leaving.

Robert doesn’t notice my distraction.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” I quickly withdraw. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He nods. “Take your time.”

I duck into the bathroom until I hear him talking to Lenora. Then I back into the hallway and lift the photo from the wall.

Isabella hid a note behind one of these. It could be irrelevant, but…

This particular photo is one of the new ones. It’s Caleb, Eli, Riley, and me from the masquerade ball. One of the few where we weren’t wearing our masks.

The red spot—a fingerprint, I realize upon closer inspection—is right over my face.

Erasing me completely.

Pretty bird, broken wings. Oh, what a glorious fall.

I tighten my grip on it.

How dare they come in here and threaten me? After everything?—

I shake my head, knowing that line of thinking is foolish. They won’t juststop. Unknown won’t stop until they get what they want.

And… what is it that they want, exactly? To run me out of town. To stay away. And more specifically, to stay away from Caleb.

Why?

Because I might ruin his focus at hockey or turn him on a different path for his future? Because I might capture his attention, unlike Unknown?

“Margo?” Lenora calls. “The detective is here.”

I race into the hall and rehang the picture. If he notices, he notices. If he doesn’t, well…

“Ms. Wolfe,” Detective Masters greets me.

I shake his hand. He makes me nervous, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. Maybe it’s the fact that he arrested Caleb without any real cause, then seemed to forget about any other leads. No more follow up.

“Did you find anything from the car that hit Robert and me?” I ask.

His stare is criticizing. “No.”

“Have you even been trying to find it?”