Page 10 of Protecting Paige

A flurry of ideas spin through my mind. Lie to Derrick. Promise him something, anything, if he’ll just let me go. Convince him to give me some time alone to concentrate on his future, giving me time to find a way to break through my rope bindings.

But instead, my brain stalls on something else. “How did you find me?” I blurt.

He’s not supposed to know where I live, after all. I use a special number the company gives me, so it isn’t tied to my identity at all. None of my callers should be able to find my full name, my real phone number, or my address.

Well, Cillian knows my number. But that’s because I gave it to him.

Derrick’s eyes narrow at me again. My heart thuds hard. Is he angry I asked?

But a beat later, he smiles. “Actually, it’s a funny story. You mentioned you walk dogs for a day job, and last month, I sawthis woman walking four dogs through my neighborhood. She was wearing this bright pink shirt that said Prancing Pups, and I thought… Hmm. I wonder if that could be Paige.”

Ice seeps through my veins.

“I couldn’t have known for sure just by seeing you,” Derrick continues, “but I was out in my yard, and when I waved, you said hi to me. Your voice… it’s so distinctive.”

I’m trying to picture him standing in a yard as I pass by, but I can’t. I probably wave to a dozen people or more every day, but I’m always paying more attention to the dogs. The people are just momentary blips—quickly forgotten.

“But,” I croak, “how could you know just from me saying hi?”

“I didn’t know the first time. But then I saw you again. And you told me to have a nice day. I was almost positive, then. So I called the hotline that night. I recorded your voice so I could listen to it over and over.”

I stare at him in horror. “Did you follow me home?”

He shrugs. “How else could I find out where you lived?”

“But… why didn’t you just call to ask for help? Why did you?—”

“Because the phone isn’t good enough!” His features twist with anger. “My life is fucked. Some thirty-minute Tarot card reading isn’t going to fix it. Everything I’ve read about psychics says they’re much more effective in person. So here I am. Ready for you to fix things.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

What-ifs spin in my head.

What if I’d picked a fake name to answer my calls instead of using my real one?

What if I’d installed security cameras here? Motion sensors?

What if I’d never taken this phone psychic job to begin with and just waited tables like normal people do?

But then I wouldn’t have met Cillian.

And more than ever, I want to meet him for real.

I just have to get out of here, first.

Somehow.

“Okay,” I say somewhat desperately, “Okay. Let me think. I need some quiet?—”

A loud thud upstairs cuts me off.

Then another.

And another.

Hope floods through me so quickly I’m dizzy with it.

Could it be someone here to help?