Page 88 of Filthy Little Lies

Are you safe?

Why aren’t you answering me?

I quickly type back a response.

Sorry. At work. I’m fine.

Three dots dance then⁠—

Still no sign of your mobster?

I roll my eyes.

He’s not my anything. And no.

She’s quick with her response.

I think he has someone watching my apartment.

The man has no boundaries. He doesn’t want me, he’s made that clear, but he can’t stand to lose. The only reason he’d keep looking for me is to prove he can find me anywhere. It’s an ego thing.

No one’s watching your apartment. He’ll give up soon.

Babe, he’s not going to give up. When he called, he wasn’t mad; he was panicked.

Yeah, worried he’d look bad to his goons.

Even as I type it, my chest tightens. It didn’t feel that way. Not the last night we were together, not at the dinner. Not for a while. He’d been softer, kinder. Safer.

I’d felt safe.

And that’s what messed me up. That’s how I missed the signs. I’d let myself believe there was a chance—small, but still a shot that I could actually make a life with him. I fell for the fantasy.

I’d been an absolute idiot.

Call me when you get home from work.

Cassie’s last text comes through, and as I read it, my stomach pitches, and my head spins. I have to lean against the bookshelves to keep from falling onto my ass.

“Sarah, you good?” Billy asks from his spot behind the cash register.

I touch my forehead. “Yeah. Too much sugar, I think.” Maybe the extra-large latte was the wrong way to go this morning.

The nausea rolls away as quickly as it came on, and I get back to work, finishing up the stock and taking over for Billy while he goes to lunch.

“You want me to grab something for you while I’m out? I’m hitting up the new burger joint across the street.”

“Do they have chicken sandwiches? I could go for a grilled chicken.”

He makes a face. “I’m sure they do, but they’re supposed to have killer burgers.”

“I’m really not in the mood for a burger.” My stomach hasn’t rebelled since earlier today, but there’s still a lingering queasiness that threatens to go full-blown war at the slightest wrong decision.

I dig into my purse for my wallet but can’t find it. Panicked, I start pulling everything out.

“What’s wrong?” He leans over the counter.

“My wallet. I can’t find it.”