Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Emily Kazmierski (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

I glance around the library again to double check Justin isn’t anywhere within earshot. When I can’t spot him, a cold sweat breaks out over my skin.

“Megan?”

I give myself a mental shake. “What about location? Maybe they’re all close to the same freeway?”

“No, that’s not it. I’ve got a map at home that shows all of the spots where he’s struck, and they appear to be random. I don’t think it has anything to do with geographical location.”

We talk for over an hour, tossing possibilities back and forth. Noah makes some notes in a spreadsheet on his phone, even though we don’t come up with anything new. I’m a potent cocktail of relief at being back on speaking terms with Noah, and anxious energy surrounding our subject matter. I’m surprised when my stomach growls.

“You hungry?”

“I’m starving. I didn’t realize how late it is.”

Noah licks his lips nervously. “We could go to the diner and grab some dinner. I can pay if you want.”

My eyes fly to his warm brown ones, surprise lining my face. Is he asking me out on a date? Something that feels surprisingly like anticipation rises in my chest at the thought of a date with Noah. I try to talk myself out of it. I’ve only known him for three weeks, and beyond the fact that he’s a true crime fan, likes anime, and babysits his siblings, there’s so much I don’t know about him.

There’s so much he doesn’t know about me. So much I can never tell him.

The elation turns to dread as I realize what I have to do.

Noah’s smile curves downward as if he already knows.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

This boy who’s becoming one of my friends shakes his head, looking away. “It’s no big deal. I should probably get home and help my mom with dinner anyway. Thanks for your help today. You gave me some new ideas to look into.”

“Glad I could help.”

We gather our stuff into our backpacks in awkward silence and walk to the front door.

“You need a ride?” he asks.

“No thanks. Aunt Karen’s coming to get me.”

“Sure.” After saying goodbye, Noah crosses the parking lot to his car with his shoulders hunched.

I stand just inside the library, wondering if I’ve just torpedoed our friendship.

When Aunt Karen pulls up, I climb into her car and strap on my seatbelt. “I think the janitor, Justin, was following me the other day. And he showed up at the library a little while ago.”

My guardian’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Why do you think he was following you?”

“I could hear footsteps, so I ran. Then there he was in front of me. There wasn’t anyone else around. And today, he was pretty much the only other person in the library the whole time we were working in there.”

She’s quiet for a minute, thinking. I can’t read the expression on her face. Don’t know what she’ll do with this information.

At the next stoplight, she shifts to look at me. “I know you’re scared. Believe me when I say that I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. The authorities are throwing everything they’ve got into finding the Mayday Killer. He’s not going to lay a hand on you. Wait, I’m not finished. Justin is not the Mayday Killer. He is not after you. You have to trust me.”

Frustration hits me. She’s not taking my suspicions seriously. Not at all. Just like my parents, and they were made to regret it.

“Aunt Karen, please just have them look into him, okay?”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” she says, emphatic. End of conversation.

If she won’t believe me, I have to do something. I have to find proof.

Chapter 13

Day 118, Saturday

This is the first time I’ve been to Noah’s house since the discovery of the murder board, and it feels a little awkward. Even though I’m pretty sure Noah was being honest about being a true crime fan, it feels strange knowing there’s a detailed map of the Mayday Killer’s movements tacked to the back of the boy’s door. The grizzly images and meticulously clipped newspaper articles don’t mesh with Noah’s wholesome appearance somehow. I can’t make the two ideas fit together in any real way.

I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something Noah isn’t telling me about his interest in the serial killer. Who’s still at large, by the way. I clench my fists, willing the anger that threatens to spark into flame in my chest to cool.

Esperanza and Matteo zoom past, the little boy knocking into me as they skid giggling over the worn wooden floor of the dining room. Noah offered to set them up with a movie in the living room so we could work on our project in his room with minimal interruptions, but I told him it would be easier to spread out on the dining table. Thankfully, he bought it.

“You got any other homework you want to get out of the way before we dive in?” Noah plunks his backpack down on the long wooden table and starts pulling out books. “I’ve got some I need to finish up.”

“Same.” I sit across from him and unzip my own backpack, only I don’t see my history book. I flip through the textbooks shoved into the small bag once, twice. It’s not there. Crap. We’ve got a quiz in class tomorrow that I really need to study for, and I can’t do that without my textbook.

I shoot a glance at Noah, who’s already deep into his own work. I could walk to the school and back, but it’s a couple miles each way. Plus, it’s super hot out there right now. I’d be a flushed, sweaty mess by the time I got back. Noah can’t drive me because we’re supposed to be babysitting the kiddos.

Slipping my phone out of my bag, I text my aunt asking her to stop by the school and get my book. She should be done with her shift at the grocery store by