The Tracker

“Jer! I know you’re home, open up!”

Ryan’s fist hammers against the door and the sound tears through the apartment, sharp and demanding.

He’s here.

Actually here, on the other side of that door, and I don’t understand how this is possible.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to Jeremy’s—not my parents, not even Reina. The only person who knew I was going to the clinic was Reina, and I never mentioned Jeremy’s name.

So how does he know?

Jeremy’s already moving toward the door and panic floods through me so fast I don’t think, just react, grabbing his arm and digging my fingers into his sleeve hard enough that he stops.

“Wait.” I say, pulling him back. “Please, wait.”

He turns to look at me and I can see the confusion spreading across his face, his eyebrows pulling together.

“What’s wrong?”

“He can’t know I’m here,” I say, keeping my voice low even though Ryan’s still pounding on the door. “Please, Jeremy. Don’t tell him I’m here.”

“Cam, I don’t understand, why would—”

“Please.” My voice cracks and I hate how desperate I sound but I can’t stop myself. “I’m begging you. Just—don’t tell him. Don’t let him know I’m here.”

“JER!” More pounding, violent enough that I’m surprised the door doesn’t splinter. “Come on, man, I know you’re in there!”

Jeremy’s looking at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, his eyes searching my face, and I can see the war happening behind them—loyalty to his best friend versus whatever he’s reading in my expression right now.

“Jeremy, please,” I whisper, and my fingers are still gripping his arm so tight I’m probably leaving marks. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. Not my parents, not Reina, nobody. So if he knows I’m here, if he somehow knows—”

I watch it click into place.

His eyes widen slightly and his whole face changes, jaw tightening, and suddenly he’s not looking confused anymore.

He’s looking angry.

“Turn off your phone,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Right now.”

“What? Why would I need to—”

“Cam, just trust me on this. Turn it completely off. Not silent, off.”

My hands shake as I pull my phone from my pocket and hold down the power button, watching the screen go dark.

“Good. Now come with me.”

He grabs my duffel bag with one hand and my wrist with the other, pulling me down the hallway so fast I almost trip, shoving open his bedroom door and pointing toward the closet.

“Get in there. Don’t make a sound no matter what you hear, understand? I’ll handle this.”

“Jeremy—”

“Please, Cam. Just trust me.”

I slip into the closet and he closes the door, leaving just enough of a gap that I can breathe, and through the crack I watch him take a breath, roll his shoulders back like he’s preparing for something, then walk back toward the front door.

I hear it open.

“Took you long enough,” Ryan’s voice says, and it’s so close now, inside the apartment. “Where is she?”

“Good to see you too, man,” Jeremy says, and he sounds so calm, so normal, like Ryan didn’t just pound on his door hard enough to wake the entire building.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Jer. Camille. I know she’s here.”

My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs I’m convinced they can hear it from the other room, convinced every beat is giving me away.

“She was here,” Jeremy says after a pause that lasts just long enough to sound believable. “Stopped by maybe five, ten minutes ago. But she didn’t stay.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Didn’t say. Seemed upset about something, wouldn’t really talk to me. Just grabbed some stuff she’d left here a while back and took off again.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not. You want to search the place? Be my guest.”

I hear footsteps-heavy boots on hardwood, the kind of deliberate stride that says Ryan’s looking for something and I press myself back against the wall of the closet, trying to make myself smaller, trying not to breathe too loud.

The footsteps get closer and stop right outside the bedroom.

“The tracker said she was here,” Ryan says, and his voice is coming from maybe ten feet away now, just on the other side of the closet door. “Her phone pinged at this exact address fifteen minutes ago.”

Tracker.

The word hits harder than it should.

He’s been tracking my phone.

How long has he been tracking my phone?

“Well maybe her phone’s not far from here then,” Jeremy offers, and I can hear him moving closer too, probably following Ryan into the bedroom. “She could’ve dropped it somewhere by accident.”

I hold my breath as footsteps move around the room—I can see shadows shifting through the crack in the closet door, can see Ryan’s silhouette as he walks past.

He stops.

Right in front of the closet.

I watch his hand reach toward the closet door handle and my entire body goes rigid, every muscle locking up because this is it, he’s going to open it, he’s going to find me, and I don’t know what happens after that but I know it won’t be good.

His fingers wrap around the handle.

“Ryan,” Jeremy’s voice cuts in sharp, and I hear him move closer. “Man, I already told you she’s not here. You really think I’d lie to you?”

Ryan’s hand pauses on the handle but doesn’t let go. “Then you won’t mind if I look.”

“Actually, I do mind. This is my bedroom and my closet and I’m telling you there’s nothing in there except my clothes and some shit I need to donate. You want to search the place? Fine. Search the living room, search the kitchen, hell, check under the couch if it makes you feel better. But I’m not letting you tear through my personal stuff like I’m some kind of suspect.”

The silence stretches so long I think I might pass out from holding my breath.

Then Ryan’s hand drops from the handle.

“If she comes back here,” Ryan says, hand dropping back to his side as he turns away, “you call me immediately. You understand?”

Relief crashes through me so violently I nearly gasp.

“What’s going on, Ryan?” Jeremy asks, and there’s an edge to his voice now. “You disappear for three months without a word to anyone, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the day looking for your fiancée like you’re hunting her down. What happened?”

Silence stretches between them and I can feel the tension even from inside the closet.

“That’s none of your concern,” Ryan finally says, voice flat and cold. “Just call me if you see her.”

“Sure, man. Whatever you need.”

More footsteps, moving toward the front door this time.

The door opens.

Closes.

I count to ten, then twenty, barely breathing, waiting to make sure he’s actually gone.

“He’s gone,” Jeremy calls out, voice carrying down the hall.

I shove the closet door open and stumble out, my legs shaking so badly I have to grab onto the doorframe to keep from falling.