City of the Lost by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

stronger, but I’m just so tired of this. The police won’t believe me, and I can’t keep defending myself. Nothing good comes of it.”
    “Whatever your attacker said, don’t listen. It’s not about Graham this time. It’s my problem. I’ll fix it.”
    Her face screws up. “You?”
    “Leo Saratori found me,” I said. “It was that therapist. That goddamn therapist.”
    Diana continues to stare in confusion. “Therapist?”
    “She must have looked up my story and told someone and somehow it got back to Saratori. But it’s definitely him, so no matter what your attacker said—”
    “Casey, it was Graham.”
    “He said it was Graham?”
    “No, this.” She waved at herself. “It was Graham. He did this.”
    Is it possible to screw up more than I have in the last few days? First I tell a stranger my deepest secret and expect client–therapist privilege to cover it. Next I’m stalked in the parking garage and dismiss it. Then I go to my lover’s and lead my stalker to him. And, finally, I believe my best friend is safe because her psycho ex checked out of his hotel.
    I screwed up. People suffered. People I care about.
    Diana tells me that Graham came by around midnight. He must have figured out she was there and, not seeing my car in the garage, hoped I wasn’t.
    “I did open the door,” she says. “But I was holding it. I only wanted to get rid of him. I had my phone out to call you if he wouldn’t leave, and the next thing I knew, he was inside and he had my phone.”
    “We’re calling the police. There’s video this time. The lobby has surveillance. It’ll show Graham coming and going, and there’s going to be blood on him when he leaves. We’ve got him, Di. We’ve finally got him.”
    The superintendent knows I’m a cop, which is damned inconvenient most times—I’m the tenant she calls when she has a question about anything from eviction to parking enforcement. But I’ve been patient and polite, and it pays off now.
    The security tapes show Graham arriving at 11:48 p.m. Twenty minutes later, he’s walking out. Both times, he’s wearing a jacket.
    “He took it off,” Diana says. “When I answered the door, he had it over his arm.”
    Of course he did. Easier to punch without a jacket restricting your swing. Also easy to put it on afterward and hide the blood.
    Graham looks at the camera. He smiles. He mouths, “Hi, Casey,” winks, and continues on.
    “He said something,” Diana whispers. “Right to the camera. Did you see that?”
    I nod.
    “Can you make out what he said?”
    I shake my head. What would I say?
I did this. I’m sorry, Di. I was trying to fix the problem. Desperately trying to fix it, and I made a mistake. All he had to do was switch hotels and lie low for a day, and I sauntered off to spend the night with Kurt, convinced I’d scared Graham away.
    I hadn’t spooked him. I’d only pissed him off.
    I watch the video three more times, searching for even a smear of blood, but the quality is too poor, and he’s too careful. He’s done it again, and I’ve failed her. Again.
    It’s dawn when Diana begs me to let her look into her impossible town.
For both of us. Just let me ask my contact. You don’t have to do a thing. I won’t tell anyone your real story. We’ll make something up. I’d never put you in danger, Casey. Never. I know it’s a risk, but … Graham. And now Leo Saratori. I need to be safe, Casey. I need you to be safe, too.
    I know this town isn’t real. But the only way she’ll accept that is to find out for herself.
    I say yes.

NINE
    By the next day, Diana has found a phone number to contact these people. That seems too easy—shouldn’t we need to provide details, prove ourselves first?—so I insist on being the one to make contact, and she doesn’t argue.
    I find a pay phone and place the call. A woman picks up with “J & L Moving Services, how may I help you?” and I almost hang up. Then I process the business name.
Moving