Or maybe it was because I needed to warn him that he might also be in danger. Surely, if they want me, they want him too.
Either way, he shut me down before I could get a word out. And maybe that was my answer.
Penn wasn’t going to help me.
That left me with only one real option because I needed to protect myself. Threatening text messages and emails weren’t enough for the police to help me. I know this, because I tried.
I swipe to my contacts, my thumb hesitating for half a second before I press the name.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
A female answers. “Jillian Towne.”
I stare at the floor, my pulse thudding in my ears. I can still back out. I can still pretend none of this is happening.
But then I think about the messages. The threats. The fear that’s been trailing me like a shadow for months. Penn’s refusal to talk to me.
And I know what I have to do.
I pause for courage. And then I speak. “It’s Mila Brennan. I’m ready to go forward.”
There’s a pause before she replies, “Are you sure? Because things could get worse for you once I publish.”
It would be stupid not to put some brainpower on that. She’s not wrong. I told most everything to this reporter, figuring it would be the last-ditch effort to keep myself safe. If I go public, my stalker can’t afford to make a move. But when I open this can of worms, it’s going to be like a bomb going off. The people it will impact—my mother, my father, my brother.
Maybe Penn.
“I got another text tonight,” I murmur into the phone.
“What did it say?”
I can hear her genuine concern. I’ve sat down with Jillian once in person and we’ve talked many times on the phone. She was intrigued by my story but she had no clue it existed. I reached out to her when the threats started a few weeks ago. She’s been sitting on its publication, worried if this would protect me or put me in further harm’s way. She’s merely been waiting for me to give her the go-ahead.
“It said,It’s almost time,” I reply, a frisson of fear running through me.
She digests that and comes to the same conclusion I came to already. “He gets out of prison next week.”
“I know.” I pause, not for dramatic effect, but because my mouth is dry. “It’s almost time.”
“Mila… I don’t know if I can get it published before then. I still have a few more things I need to go over with you, then I have to do a whole lot of polishing before I can run it by my editor. I don’t know if we have enough time to get it out there so that there’s a sufficient spotlight on you for protection.”
That is not good news. I thought she had enough. I thought she was ready, because now that Penn won’t talk to me, I have no choice but to do this. “Just do the best you can to push it.”
“And you won’t go back to the police?” she asks hesitantly. I don’t know if she wants that tidbit for the sake of journalism or if she’s worried about me.
“They can’t help. Or at least that’s what they’ve said on more than one occasion.” I think about Penn and I’m not ready to give up on him yet. I’ll go to his house and force him to talk to me, but I can’t count on it. “I think the article coming out is my best chance to stay safe.”
“Okay, I’ll push my editor hard on it. You got some time now to talk? I have a few more questions.”
“I’ve got all night,” I tell her and settle back onto the bed to get comfortable.
We talk for almost forty-five minutes and when we’re done, she promises to work on it more tonight. I thank her for her help and disconnect. It’s past midnight and I consider calling Penn. I have not only his address but his phone number, thanks to his teammate. Maybe if he hears my voice…
No. He’ll just hang up on me.
I have to go see him. If I show up on his doorstep, he’ll be forced to talk to me. I know they’ve got a home game tomorrow night and an away game Sunday. So Saturday night it is.
