Deceived by Julie Anne Lindsey Page A

so I suppose I’ll fail the assignment. I did learn D.C. had a serial killer while I lived there.” I liked saying I had lived in D.C.
    A long pause stretched between us. I wondered what he thought about us sharing a hometown.
    “Well, I’m pretty sure you exist.” He looked deep in thought and then refocused. “You aren’t supposed to be alone. You promised.”
    “I wasn’t alone when I got here.”
    “Well, how long have you been here? Do you know it’s after eleven?”
    “A while, and no. I was absorbed.”
    “Right. Good thing you don’t need sleep, I suppose.”
    He remembered. My heart rate jumped and my mind glazed over.
    “How’s that coming?”
    I sipped at the last cold drops of coffee, trying not to frown, thinking of the best reply. “Same.” I shrugged, hoping to make the topic less interesting. He didn’t need to know why.
    “They never found the serial killer, you know?” I wasn’t going to discuss my inability to sleep with him or delve into any personal discussion without preparation.
    “Yeah, I heard that.” His eyes were gentle, and they bounced around, always scanning the perimeter. He did the same thing everywhere he went, except in our classroom when the door was closed, but then again, he never had his back to it.
    “How?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, how old are you? You never answered me, and I’m guessing you were a little young to be following that story.”
    “I’m seventeen, like you.” He searched my face. “I’m from a family of law-enforcement officers. They still talk about it sometimes. They say he’s still out there.”
    So, he wanted to play the partial-honesty card with me. I appreciated that. “How do you know I’m seventeen?”
    “I assumed.”
    “You don’t look seventeen. Not even close.”
    “Younger?”
    I snorted and tipped my head.
    “How old do I look?”
    “Twenty. You know there’s a rumor about a serial killer here?”
    He straightened up in his chair. His mouth opened and closed without a sound. Had he heard? His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, only looking at it for a half second before walking into a long, high aisle of reference books. Like a true stalker, I slipped from my seat and tiptoed into the aisle next to his. He grunted and spoke in clipped words I didn’t understand. Thousands of pages muffled the already quiet conversation.
    “Nicholas.” I caught one low word, a full octave lower than he spoke.
    Nicholas. I turned back toward our table to find the man from my last library trip standing in the aisle ten feet away. The breath whooshed out of me. My eyes were glued to him. Terror gripped me. Tears welled and embarrassment pinked my cheeks. Silence stretched and I started toward the ladies’ room at the opposite end of the aisle. Every sound was amplified in the silent, empty room. I dashed into the ladies’ room. If there was an echo in the library, the acoustics in the ladies’ room could’ve rivaled an amphitheater.
    The white-tiled room was nondescript. I washed my hands. It would seem more authentic if I came out smelling like soap. My heart pounded against my rib cage. A torrent of emotions whirled in my chest. Fear. Mostly fear. My dream pushed in, too. Why was that man staring at me from close enough to drag me off? He looked familiar in a way that enhanced my fear. Also, he’d caught me eavesdropping on Brian through the bookshelves. There were a lot of things I didn’t know, but I knew I didn’t want to be alone. Exhaling until my lungs went flat, I pulled the door open and screeched.
    Brian leaned on the aisle of books less than five feet away, rubbing his face with both palms. “You want to get out of here?”
    I nodded and looked around. The man was nowhere in sight. Only us. He led the way to my table. I packed my bag. The moment I finished, he reached out and tossed it over one of his shoulders. Brian moved toward the door without another word. I had to move double time to