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What kind of chump tries to jump out the window when he’s got an office like this? What an idiot.
He couldn’t handle the pressure. I can.
As I turn away from the window and follow Stacie out of the office, it doesn’t even occur to me that in the next five minutes, my whole life will come crashing down.
And for the first time, I understand my predecessor. Because I wouldn’t mind if this glass broke and sent me plummeting to my death 350 feet below.
“He’s going to kill you,” the older woman blurts out. “Blake is going to kill you, Krista. You have to get away from here.”
“I’ve never done anything to make you distrust me,” I point out. And that’s true. Well, as far as she knows.
Except… Why does this voice in the back of my head keep telling me to get rid of her right now, while I still can?
What is going on here? Does Becky really think I’m capable of killing my fiancée? That’s ridiculous. I love Krista. I would never do anything to hurt her. Never.
I love my home, and Whitney has turned it into a living hell. I’ve just dished a little back to her. Except I’m pretty sure Whitney won’t see it that way. As good as it felt getting a little bit of revenge, I have a feeling that I have just made a fatal error.
But just as they are disappearing into the house, Whitney turns to look at me, and the smile on her face makes me want to do to her what she did to my fish. I wish I could bury her in the ground.
“I’m beginning to think that psychic woman was right,” she says. “If I stay long enough, God knows what you’ll do.”
“If Whitney is applying to work for you, I would highly recommend you pick another candidate.” I grip the phone tighter. “Why?” Her voice drops several notches. “Whitney Cross—she’s extremely dangerous. If I were you, I would stay far away.”
No, I am not all right. I am so far from all right, it’s not even funny. Because the teenage girl in that photo is not the woman who has been living in our guest bedroom, the one who’s been tormenting me. The one who calls herself Whitney Cross. No, the teenage girl in the photograph is somebody entirely different. It’s Krista.
