Death Answers to Jamie

I stared at the message, and my mind went blank.

The fortune-teller's deeply lined face surfaced in my memory again. "Young lady, death is written in your stars. One day, you'll die at the hands of a man named Jamie Bloom. Be very, very careful."

Ever since then, that name had haunted me like a curse, and I'd done everything I could to stay clear of it.

Jameson Cole and I had been dating online for six months, and things between us had always been steady.

Today was our first time meeting in person. He'd booked this mountaintop resort especially for the occasion, saying he wanted to give me the most romantic night of my life.

Back when we'd first started talking, I'd even made him send me a photo of his ID.

Right—his ID!

I dug his wallet out of his bag and went through it piece by piece: his ID, his driver's license.

The photo was him. And in the name field, in plain bold letters: Jameson Cole.

I swallowed hard. What was going on?

Then a thought stabbed through me. The fortune-teller had said the man would be named Jamie Bloom, but he'd never said whether that was his real name or a nickname!

The shower was still running.

I froze where I stood, my back pressed against the wall, my palms slick with sweat.

The last shuttle had stopped running hours ago.

There wasn't another soul for miles around this mountaintop resort.

Only me and the man in the shower.

The water kept running.

I steeled myself and tiptoed toward the bathroom.

Behind the frosted glass, a tall silhouette stood facing me, the steam blurring its outline.

I reached out and rested my hand on the cold door handle.

I shoved it down—and at that exact moment, the water stopped.

The bathroom door flew open.

A wave of hot, damp steam hit me in the face, carrying the scent of body wash.

Jameson stood under the showerhead clutching a towel, rooted to the spot.

He gaped at me for a second, then quickly covered himself.

"Wh-what are you doing?!"

My eyes swept over his face. I snatched his robe off the rack and darted back to the doorway.

He was completely stunned, staring at me like I'd lost my mind.

I clutched the robe, nails digging into my palms, and forced the words out. "Is your name Jamie Bloom?"

He blinked, then burst out laughing.

"Sure. And I'm also your favorite midnight snack."

I nearly choked.

My life was hanging by a thread, and he thought I was flirting?!

Anger flared up inside me. "Your real name's Jameson, but your nickname is Jamie Bloom, isn't it?! I know everything, so don't even think about lying to me!"

His smile faltered for a second, then gave way to even deeper confusion.

"Avery, did you eat something weird at dinner? What guy has a nickname like Jamie Bloom? Just give me my robe already!"

I took a tactical step back, my eyes locked on him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bathroom light stretch his shadow long across the floor, all the way to my feet.

"Then why did your mom text you and call you Jamie?"

"My mom?"

He stared at me for several seconds, and then his voice softened.

"My nickname is Jamie, but my last name isn't Bloom. What's wrong with you? You were fine a minute ago..."

As he spoke, he started to step out of the shower.

I hugged the robe tighter and backed up another step.

What he said did make sense.

A name as sweet as Jamie Bloom didn't exactly fit a guy built like him.

But I still couldn't bring myself to let my guard down.

"See for yourself."

Jameson sighed, picked up his phone, opened a few chats, and held it up in front of my face.

He scrolled through them one by one.

It turned out his buddies all called him Jamie too.

He looked at me, half exasperated, half amused.

"Okay, my turn to ask. Who's Jamie Bloom? Am I some kind of stand-in for an old flame?"

The weight on my chest finally lifted.

Then embarrassment came rushing in. I let go of the robe, not knowing what to do with my hands.

While he got dressed, I happened to glance at the bag I'd just rummaged through.

From the inner pocket of the backpack, something peeked out, gleaming with a cold light.

My heart leaped straight back into my throat. Why would he bring a knife to meet me for the first time?