Violet frowned, turning her glare on Gemma once more. “You’ve got to be kidding. She’s not really telling his fortune, is she?”

“What an amateur,” Krystal tried to whisper, sneaking up on the two of them from behind and draping her arms around their necks.

But Jay and Gemma had heard Krystal too, and they looked up to find the three of them standing there, watching as they huddled over the top of the table. Jay jerked his hand away from Gemma’s, hiding it in his lap while his cheeks burned red.

Gemma just smirked at Violet, cocking her head. “Look who was sitting out in his car . . . all by himself.” Her voice was pouty, as if she were talking about a lost puppy.

Violet narrowed her eyes at the other girl as she swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of her throat.

Rafe sauntered over to the table and flipped one of the chairs around so he was straddling it. “Did you see anything interesting?” he queried, propping his chin against the back of the chair as he glanced from Gemma to Jay.

Gemma’s perfectly painted lips upturned in a slow, evocative smile. “Sure, a lot of stuff. I’m sure you’d be very interested,” she finished, letting the words hang between them, her brown eyes locked with his blue ones.

Krystal’s arm was still wrapped around Violet’s neck and she tugged her closer, so that her mouth was right at Violet’s ear. “That one’s like a snake. She’ll strike if you don’t watch your back,” she managed in the first quiet voice Violet had ever heard her use.

But Jay was already jumping up, rubbing his palm nervously on his jeans. “You all done?” he asked, his eyes widening in a silent plea. “We should probably get going—it’s getting late.”

Violet decided to let him off the hook; it wasn’t his fault Gemma had it out for her. Besides, she didn’t want Sara to see him and think she was the one who’d invited him inside. “He’s right,” she agreed. “We’ve got school.”

Violet grabbed Jay’s hand and dragged him through the Center, watching his reaction and remembering how she’d felt the first time she’d been there. High-tech didn’t begin to describe the wide-open interior with its oversized plasma displays mounted on the walls, state-of-the-art computer workstations, and security cameras that tracked movement throughout the Center.

“Surveillance, huh?” Jay breathed, his eyebrows inching up a notch. “Pretty high-tech.” This time, unlike when he’d first seen the outside of the building, he actually sounded a little awed.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

Jay leaned down. “I forgive you.” He grinned enthusiastically.

“For what?” The rest of her team was just steps away, and Violet’s stomach knotted angrily.

His voice dropped. “For ditching me all the time. This is way cooler than hanging at the Java Hut.”

Anger

THE SCREAMING HAD STARTED EARLY, AND EVEN though he couldn’t hear her from upstairs—not with all of the precautions he’d taken in preparing her room—the speakers on the monitor he looked at still blared with her staticky cries. He covered his ears as he rocked himself . . . forward and backward . . . forward and backward. He watched as she pounded on the doors, the walls, and even precariously balanced on her bed as she strained to reach the ceiling overhead, beating her fists against it. She had no way of knowing that no one could hear her, that her every effort was in vain.

Maybe it had been too soon. Maybe she hadn’t been ready for the freedom he’d offered when he’d released her from her restraints.

But he’d hoped . . .

He uncovered his ears, once again letting her hoarse shrieks find their way into his head, letting the sounds echo inside the walls of his skull, reverberate through his skin. Making his hair stand on end.

The screaming was more than he could bear. It always was.

He reached out and turned the volume all the way down as he paced toward the kitchen. He reached into the sink, pulling out a dirty bowl, and rinsed it hastily beneath the faucet. Without even bothering to dry it, he filled the sticky bowl with soup—the same special soup he’d made for her the night before—and he shoved it into the microwave.

He waited only seconds before pressing the cancel button and jerking the bowl out again. Soup sloshed over the sides of the bowl. He didn’t care if her food was warm. He didn’t care if it was good or that the bowl was still dirty. She would eat it, whether she wanted to or not. She had to. He had to stop her from screaming.

And then he’d get out of the house for a bit. Get some fresh air so he could think again . . . and he had a lot to think about right now.

Maybe she wasn’t the right girl for him after all.

Chapter 10

VIOLET HAD KNOWN BEFORE SHE WAS FULLY awake the next morning that she’d overslept, and she vaguely wondered why her parents hadn’t come in to wake her. She’d heard a faraway buzzing sound—something that sounded strangely like her cell phone—but even in the fuzzy depths of sleep she knew that couldn’t be it. It wouldn’t have mattered, though; she’d been unable to rouse herself.

It was the dream again. The one from the night before, with the dark, faceless man. Only this time she wasn’t drowning. This time he was coming after her, his fingers reaching for her . . . and she knew what he wanted. She knew he meant to choke her, in the same way he’d strangled all those other girls.

She awoke drenched in sweat, and released a shuddering sigh into her pillow as she clutched it in her hands. Blinking hard, she lifted her head and glanced down at the fabric she held. But it wasn’t her pillow at all. It was soft fleece she gripped until her knuckles were white and her fingers ached.