Page 107

Though my mind tells me to resist for a foolish second, I let Tucker push me forward with that warm hand still on my back.

I’m struck speechless at the freaking bat cave we step into. It’s dark, yeah, except for yellow lights illuminating the back of three massive monitors on a dark wooden desk. I bet there’s a lot of machines under or behind that setup, and only one of the monitors is actually turned on right now showing the feed of some social media.

My teacher’s brain turns on and I have to press my lips hard to stop myself from telling Eli that he needs better lighting in here to make sure he doesn’t damage his eyes.

It’s not my place, and also, this all looks very professional, so I’m hoping he already knows.

Facing the desk, I can only make out an unruly mop of platinum-blond hair until his hand extends to a square with a few buttons off to his left. He presses one, and the door behind us clicks shut softly, then a second click, this one harder, tells me we’re well and truly locked in here.

Not creepy at all.

He spins his chair around, and there’s that cherubic face I met—shit, was it only like a month ago? Time has been moving weirdly for me since I flew out of Miami. In any case, his face looks too innocent for the circumstances, especially as he smiles apologetically at me.

“Sorry about . . .” He waves a hand at the door. “It’s all necessary, but if you want to step out, you can. Just let me know and I’ll open the door for you.”

So the lock is to keep people out, right.

They both look at me like they’re actually going to just let me walk out, and what? Wait out in the dark hallway? No way.

“It’s okay,” I say meekly.

“Okay.” Eli nods, accepting my words. “What’s up?” he asks Tucker.

“Show him,” Tucker tells me, so I pass my phone to Eli showing him the same thing Tucker saw last night.

“Do you know who this could be?” he asks only ten seconds after, but I can tell he’s still going through them and he hasn’t seen the picture.

“My ex,” I whisper. And Eli’s thoughtful hum gets cut off when—I’m guessing—he gets to the picture sent on Wednesday.

“Motherfucker,” he spits, and spins his chair around to wake up his computer. “First and last name, please,” he asks, and I can tell he’s really trying to keep his voice even, but the outburst already ruined that.

“Henry Becker. He’s thirty⁠—”

“Thirty-one, a fucking pediatric surgeon, of fucking course,” Eli finishes, giving up on his even tone.

“Yeah, everybody loves him,” I whisper. Because this is reason number one why I knew I couldn’t do anything but run away. No one was ever going to believe me over a guy who saves children. No one’s ever going to understand that he’s a narcissistic bastard who went through more than a decade of training just to be revered and not to actually help the kids he’s helping.

And the thing is, he is helping them. He’s a damn good doctor and comes from a line of very good, respected doctors.

“His parents have a foundation,” Eli says, more thoughtful this time. “I can think of something to do there. Do you know which bank he uses?”

“Uh . . .” I stall and look at Tucker. I’m pretty sure my brain doesn’t want to reach the conclusion of what exactly Eli is about to do. But Tucker doesn’t tell me to keep talking or nod for me to keep going. He just stares, steady, safe, warm. “Yeah.” I tell Eli the name of the bank and keep my eyes locked on Tucker until the brightness of the room explodes.

Eli turned on the two other screens and they dim from all white to all-black backgrounds, letters appearing so fast they blur on the screen.

“Let’s see if he’s here, or if he paid someone to be here. Do you know if he has a gun?”

I gulp.

“I never saw one,” I answer truthfully.

“Well, that’s something,” Eli mumbles. He keeps typing for a minute or so, then jumps a little on his chair. “Here we go. Okay, this looks iffy.” I’m pretty sure he’s talking to himself. “No flights to New York, connecting or direct. No trains, no tolls, no rentals.”

“He has his own car,” I add for whatever reason.

“Well, yeah, but I’m guessing he’s not stupid,” Eli says offhandedly.

“No. He’s not,” I confirm and start to let the resignation in.