Free A Perfect Darkness by Jaime Rush Page B

out and had even flirted with the idea of putting up a profile.
    Petra said, “When you click on the links, the pages will look sort of like that. A picture, basic information like addresses, and then more links.”
    Eric said, “Write down as many names and addresses as you can.”
    â€œIs this how you found me? And Bill?”
    Instead of answering, Eric said, “I’ll be in touch afterward.”
    â€œYou know, I’ve answered every question you’ve asked, but you’ve answered exactly none of mine.”
    â€œGive me your cell number,” he said, not even bothering to respond. He glanced around, something he’d done every few seconds.
    With an aggravated sigh, she wrote it down on the paper Petra gave her. As distrustful as she considered herself, it was oddly refreshing—as well as annoying—to meet someone even more so.
    Eric leaned down into her face, wearing a pleasant expression. “Don’t screw with us.”
    She knew it was more than just a warning.
    The song the band had been playing ended, and the crowd exploded in applause. “Time to go,” he said, then he and Petra split up and merged into the flow of people.
    Amy slipped out of the wig and robe and stuffed them behind the fabric sheets. She walked around the bandstand and mingled with the crowd. A man on stage talked about the joy of living in the freedom of being who they wanted to be, and everyone cheered. She clapped as she scanned the crowd for anyone who looked out of place. For Cyrus. She thought she’d recognize him anywhere, but remembered the guy who’d been driving that white car. Maybe not.
    With a false smile on her face, she wound her way around the edge of the crowd. Her heart tripped when she saw the man wearing dress pants and a white work shirt. He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons and rolled up the sleeves, but he was way out of his element. For one thing, he screamed heterosexual, his distaste at being there etched on his face. For another, he was looking at her when she’d swung her gaze in his direction, then quickly looked away.
    Though she wanted to march up and question him, she knew the response she’d get—much like the locksmith. So she meandered to the car, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being followed. From the corner of her eye she saw him trailing off to the side.
    A shot rang out then, and she slapped her hand to her chest. The crowd behind her gasped. He’d shot her! Her knees wobbled. More shots cracked. She was going to die!
    But wait. Shouldn’t a bullet hurt? She felt no pain. She jerked around to see the sky lit up with fireworks.
    â€œI’m not cut out for this,” she muttered to herself, regaining her breath. The man surreptitiously watching had paused, too, as though enjoying the display in the sky.
    Jerk! Anger at him dogging her engulfed Amy. Without letting herself think about it, she stalked over. He didn’t see her until she was a few feet away. To his credit, he gave her an innocuous smile.
    She returned the smile. “How about I follow you for a while?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    He was good, just good enough to make her doubt herself. Still, she said, “It’s only fair.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    She kept up her smile. Waited. With a get-me-away-from-this-weirdo look on his face, he walked away. She followed him to his bland car, catching his eye whenever he glanced back at her. He maintained a convincing worried-curious expression.
    She waited until he pulled away, and for the first time felt as though she’d gained some of her power back.
    Enjoy it, she told herself. It might be the last time you feel this way for a while.

CHAPTER 7
    J ust as Amy reached the base of the stairs leading to her apartment, she stopped cold. Cyrus sat at the top.
    â€œIt’s not a good time,” she said, dragging herself up the