“You said I should. I did what you wanted.”

“I said you should talk to her.” I hear the crack in my voice. Nate must too because he steps closer to me and starts to wrap an arm around my waist.

“Stop,” Reid snaps. “If he touches you, I stop talking.”

“I have a gun, Reid.”

“And I have Yeung.” He smiles self-assuredly, reminding me that he has the control; even now with a gun aimed at him, he has power over me. “Call the cops, and I won’t tell you. Cuddle up with him, and I won’t tell you. Shoot me, and you’ll never know where to find her.”

Maybe he’s lying. Maybe the police can get an answer out of him, but I can’t be sure.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“You.”

This time Nate and I both answer, “No.”

“I’ll take you to her. You can keep your gun, and even your cell phone and his. He”—Reid motions to Nate—“can follow us in his truck.”

“Eva, don—”

“What’s the catch?” I cut off Nate.

“I just want you to hear me. I want you to understand.” Reid stares at me with such a hopeful expression that it makes me feel like running. He’s obsessed and a killer—and he thinks he loves me. The last place I want to be is alone with him.

“I did all of this for you, so we could be together,” he adds.

I swallow to ease my suddenly dry mouth before I ask, “If I ride in your car, you’ll drive me to where Grace is? You promise?”

“Eva, you can’t trust him,” Nate starts.

Reid’s attention snaps to Nate. “I’ve never lied to Eva. Not even once. Can you say that? Can Robert? Amy? Micki? Madison? No.” He looks back at me. “Never once, Eva. I’m not lying now either.”

Maybe I’m the world’s biggest idiot, but I believe him. More importantly, I don’t see any other choice. If Nate wasn’t here, I would’ve already traded myself for Grace. She’s my best friend, the closest thing I have to a sister; I have to try. “Nate will give me his phone, and he’ll follow us, and you’ll drive me to Grace.”

“And not wreck the car,” Nate adds.

Reid doesn’t reply, so I repeat, “And you won’t wreck. Those are my terms.”

“Deal.” Reid stands and brushes off his trousers despite the fact that they’re filthy, ripped, and stained with both blood and dirt. “And you’ll listen to me. I’ll tell you everything, and then you’ll see why you should stay with me. You just have to listen, and you’ll understand.”

“I’ll listen,” I agree. It makes me sick to think about the things he might say. It’s been hard enough hearing the news and seeing the photographs, but I’ll listen. I’ll listen to anything he says if it means he’ll take me to Grace.

Reid walks over to his car as if I’m not pointing a gun at him. I lower it briefly, making due with one crutch, as I follow Reid to his car. It’s awkward and slow, but I don’t want to hand the gun to Nate. I don’t want his prints on it. If I shoot Reid, there will be no confusion as to who’s responsible.

“You brought a gun, Eva?” Nate asks as we walk. “You should’ve told me.”

“I said he wasn’t going to kill you. I said that I’d be here, and that would change everything. It did.” I try to sound like I have a valid argument, but I know I really don’t and truthfully, this isn’t the time to play word games. I think I’m going to survive this, but I can’t swear it. I whisper, “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you. I saw how he dies though, Nate. Remember? Someone shoots him.”

Nate stops mid-step. “Eva . . .”

“It’s fine.” I keep my voice low as I try to explain, “You’re alive, and Reid is taking me to Grace.”

“You’re getting into a car with a crazy killer. That wasn’t part of the plan . . . as far as I knew.” He stares at me intently.

“I’m improvising a little,” I murmur. “But it’ll be okay. He’s taking me to Grace. You’re following us. It’ll be okay.”

Nate opens the back door of the car, and I slide inside.

“Don’t try to run,” Nate orders. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Reid scoffs, “Eva is getting into my car, leaving you to come with me, why would I run?” He flashes a smile at us and opens the door. “Give her your phone, Bouchet. I trust her not to call the cops, but I don’t trust you.”

Nate opens his mouth to retort, but I stop him. “Please, Nate?”

“I don’t like this,” he mutters, but he still pulls his phone out of his pocket and drops it into my lap. He puts my crutches at my feet, too.

When Reid opens the driver’s door, Nate leans into the car and whispers in my ear, “I love you.”

“Me too,” I mouth.

Then Nate straightens and closes the door, and I’m alone in the car with the boy who almost killed me—who did kill my friends. I stare at the back of his head for a moment, the gun aimed at him, and wonder how many ways this could go wrong. Would he kill us both? What if Nate can’t keep up or runs out of gas or . . . something happens that means we’re separated? What if the police come and think I’m an accomplice? I shove the thoughts away and say, as steadily as I can, “I don’t want to have to shoot you, but I will.”