“You okay? You seem a little on edge.”
Tommy gazed out the windshield. Edgy wasn’t the half of it. He felt tense, confused, and rocked with uncertainty. Miles of freeway had whizzed by in a blur, and while Dahlia had asked what seemed to be a legit list of questions, something about the whole scenario was starting to feel really wrong.
“How much farther?” he asked, wondering, not for the first time, just where the heck she was leading him.
Tommy had read plenty of interviews where a bit of a drive was involved, but he’d never read one that dragged on for so long. It was starting to seem kind of creepy.
“Not much longer.”
Tommy gripped the wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror, wishing he could rewind all that asphalt until they were back at the record store. It was weird to think how a piece in Rolling Stone had always been the ultimate dream, but now that it was happening, he just wanted it to be over.
“Am I boring you?” Dahlia gave him a playful nudge, revealing hands that were surprisingly calloused and rough. Her nails were torn below the quick, and one of her pinkie fingers was wrapped with blue tape. What the hell had happened to her? “Do you want me to take over?”
“Thought you said it wasn’t long.” He shot her a sideways glance.
“It’s not.” She sank lower onto the seat and propped her injured ankle onto the dashboard, allowing Tommy a glimpse of white thigh that had him quickly turning away. “Sorry,” she said, in a voice that seemed far more amused than conciliatory. “Not trying to make you uncomfortable. It helps with the swelling to keep it elevated.”
“And yet, you just offered to drive.” He sounded agitated but also saw no point in taking it back. After a few silent beats, he said, “Balance beam accident, huh?”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Skydiving.” She wagged a messed-up finger at him. “Just like I told you. But I guess you weren’t listening.”
She was playing him. It was obvious she was having fun at his expense. Though he wasn’t quite ready to call her on it, that laugh of hers was hauntingly familiar.
He stopped at a light and took advantage of the moment to study her. She reminded him of a handful of girls he knew from working at the Vesper. That was probably all it was.
The car behind him honked, Dahlia idly brushed her hand against the inside of her thigh, and Tommy shook free of his daze and shot through the intersection like he was being pursued by something he couldn’t quite name.
“Easy, cowboy.” Again, she laughed, causing a chill to crawl across Tommy’s skin. “Make a left up here. Followed by a sharp right. By the way, you hungry?”
He was, but for some reason he found himself shaking his head.
“Good. Because it’s been months since I last went grocery shopping.”
Grocery shopping? He looked at her. “Can I ask where we’re going?”
“Sure.” She inspected the ends of her hair. “You can always ask.”
“But you’re not going to answer?”
“And ruin the suspense?”
He focused on driving, turning, slowing, stopping, following all her instructions. The farther they wandered from the freeway, the creepier the whole scenario became. Sure it was still daylight, and Dahlia was skinny and injured and didn’t seem to pose too much of a threat. But they were headed into an area Tommy wouldn’t even call rural. Desolate was the word that best described it.
“Tell me, Tommy, does this remind you of home?” Dahlia made a sweeping gesture toward the windshield, indicating the countrified scene just beyond.
Tommy glanced between the dirt road and her, and in that instant, something clicked. Something so improbable, his first instinct was to deny it.
And yet . . .
He cleared his throat. “Not really,” he said. “How about you? Does it remind you of home?”
She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and arranged her features into an exaggerated frown. “Already told you, I grew up in LA. You really are a bad listener, aren’t you?”
She scratched at the inside of her wrist, and Tommy caught himself sneaking a peek. If she’d just push her sleeve a bit higher, he’d know for sure if the unthinkable was happening.
A second later, she dragged the cuff down until it covered her knuckles and reached past her thumb. Tommy looked away, tapped his own thumbs against the steering wheel, and tried to decide how to proceed.
It wouldn’t do any good to let on. It was better to see where they ended up and then maybe try to confront her with the startling truth he was growing more and more convinced of.
He snuck another look at her profile. Despite the wig, dark glasses, and heavy makeup—despite her California no-accent accent—he was left with no doubt that Madison Brooks was now sitting beside him.
“Hope your girlfriend’s not the jealous type,” she said, seemingly plucking the words out of nowhere.
Tommy thought briefly of Layla and said, “There’s no girlfriend.”
“Well, that’s good. Then she won’t get upset when you get home late.” She grinned flirtatiously, just the barest curve of lip and a slight tilt of chin.
What the hell kind of game was she playing?
“That is,” she added, “if you get home at all.”
The way she said it, Tommy had no way of knowing if she meant ever—like if he ever got home at all—or for just that night.
Before he had a chance to respond, she said, “Make a tight right up ahead. Then follow the long dirt road all the way down. I’m taking you the back way.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Tommy murmured, committed to playing along.