And then he’ll kill me.
For some reason, this result hasn’t yet occurred to me. I’ve been so absorbed in what Josh has already done, that I haven’t considered what he’s prepared to do.
I watch as the cashier opens his mouth and I level all my panic towards him in one look, a last-ditch effort to get him to help me. To do something.
Something resembling surprise washes over the cashier’s face, and his mouth flops closed, before he hands me back the drinks. “G’day,” he mumbles as we turn to leave, no longer willing—or daring—to make eye contact.
I eye the car as we approach, the keys already in the engine, ready to take me somewhere no one will ever find me. And then I scan mysurroundings. But everywhere is the same. Red dirt, spotted with the odd bush and eucalyptus tree. Empty flatness for as far as the eye can see.
I won’t get far, that’s for certain. If I try to run, Josh will be on me in a minute. And even if I do manage to get away, where would I go? There’s no one for miles and miles. Hell, we didn’t even pass a single car in all the time we’ve been driving this morning.
I have no choice but to get in the car with him. To play along with this façade he’s created.
And hope that I’ll somehow be able to escape.
47
Claire
Now
The vents whir as air pulses into the car, but it makes no difference. Sweat pools beneath my legs, clings to my underarms.
Josh hums nonchalantly as he drives. I consider the phone in my pocket, not Phoebe’s, but my own. I turned it off when I first left the Raven Inn, concerned that the AFP may have some way to trace it. It seemed like a clever idea at the time, but now I’m kicking myself for not seeing this little jaunt with Josh for what it is—an abduction.
And as I think through it, the signswerethere. The way he never wanted to talk about our time in Australia—an aversion that I embraced as a welcome relief. The way he changed his mind so abruptly about coming back here without giving me any warning. And how could I be so blind not to recognize the alarm bells blaring when he arrived at the Inn this morning?
I’m disgusted at how wrong I was about everything, how eagerI was to blame Phoebe’s murder on the others. First Kyan and Adrien, then Ellery, and then… I can’t bear to even think his name.
I still don’t understand why Declan had Phoebe’s phone, but he clearly didn’t kill her.
It was Josh.
I steal a glance over at him, his fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his jaw set. He must feel my gaze on him because he turns, his face contorting into a smile.
He extends one hand, places it on my leg. I try to leave it there, but his touch burns, and I can’t help but recoil.
And that’s when everything changes.
His smile slips, disappears, and a coldness filters into his face like a brisk wind.
“You know.” He returns his gaze to the road. His voice is matter of fact, as if he’s recognizing something incontrovertible. Which somehow makes everything all that much worse. “How did you find out?”
I consider bluffing, claiming I have no idea what he’s talking about. But I know there’s no use.
“Phoebe’s phone. She left me a video. She said it was you.”
One side of his lip turns upward in something that falls between a smirk and a snarl. “That damn phone. Where was it?”
I sit quietly, unable to speak.
“I can’t tell you how long I looked for it that night. It was the one loose end I could never tie up. It’s the reason I came back after all.”
His admission hits me harder than I would expect. Despite thesweat that’s suctioned my T-shirt to my skin, my arms break out in goose bumps, a feverish chill invading the car.
“But why?” I manage. The two words carry so many questions I want to ask but can’t seem to formulate.
He barks out a laugh that sends my spine rigid.
