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

A beat-up old truck is parked there, running with its headlights off. Aunt Karen is leaning against the driver side door with her head nearly in the window. Her face is twisted into a snarl. Her phone flashlight in her hand casts swaths of light against the truck’s side as she makes an angry gesture.

Dizziness makes me sway. My roots, which so recently have begun to cling to the safety of Aunt Karen’s solidness, pull completely away from their foundation.

The man in the driver seat pulls her face downward and silences her with a kiss. She fights it for a second before giving in.

My brain doesn’t compute what my eyes are seeing. My guardian is kissing Justin back.

When they part, he hands her a large, stuffed manila envelope. Just like the one I found in the garage. But why would Justin be giving her that?

If Justin is helping the Mayday Killer keep an eye on me, why would he show Aunt Karen more evidence of his nefarious hobby?

My joints lock up as an evil epiphany lights up my brain: she’s in league with them. Somehow, she has to be. It’s the only explanation that makes sense given her nonchalance when confronted with the evidence that Justin is not one of the good guys. Despite the fact that she’s been tasked with protecting me.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. That day, the day I found the murder board. Aunt Karen must have lied about finding it to keep herself and Justin out of hot water with Sheriff Lamb. She covered for them. I’m certain of it.

Chapter 28

Hours Later

The old house falls quiet on a sigh as, down the hall, Aunt Karen closes the door to her bedroom. The low glow of the light from the hallway disappears, leaving the slim track under my door dark.

My guardian knocked before she retired for the night, feigning concern. Are you all right, considering everything? She’d asked through my closed door. Considering that the Mayday Killer is slithering ever closer even now, waiting for his chance to end my life in a cruel finale to the game he began in the spring? Considering that my protector is somehow involved with his little helper? That I can’t trust her at all. Not after tonight.

I’m fine, thanks, I’d said, sure that she would hear the tremor in my voice and push the door open to look me over. But either she’d missed my fear or ignored it. I don’t know which is worse. Do I want my guardian to be oblivious to the terror ripping through my body, or to be indifferent? It’s an impossible choice.

I hold my breath the entire time I’m on the stairs, afraid with every step that the ancient planks will groan their protest and wake Aunt Karen. If she catches me trying to sneak out, I have no doubt she’ll go through with her threat to slap an ankle monitor on me.

When I reach the first floor, I sag against the wall with relief. The hardest part is over. But still I linger there, indecision making it impossible to move. If Justin is watching the house, no longer safe in his nest across the street, would he be watching the front door or the back door? Which should I take?

Minutes tick by as I stand frozen against the wall, my eyes moving between the street lights glowing beyond the living room window and the pitch dark square of glass in the kitchen door. Digging up my courage and pulling it up into the gloom, I move to the back door. Slipping my feet into my worn Converse, I turn the knob so painstakingly slowly it takes me an aeon to get it open. Mercifully, it closes on a silent axis.

A twig snaps in the eucalyptus grove, making my heart skip a beat. There’s a low shuffling sound in the dark.

I’m off like a shot, barreling around the house toward the street. I run like a spooked horse, my arms flailing at my sides. Down the street. Out of the neighborhood. Toward the small main drag of town.

I don’t dare look behind.

Noah’s house sits nestled between the trees, my only safe haven in the dark. The building lies asleep and unlit since it’s so late. Gravel crunches under my feet as I finally slow my pace. My lungs heave in my chest, feeling like they’re about to pop.

The low growl of a car approaching makes me squeak and jump behind one of the trees even though it’s not nearly wide enough to hide me from view.

This was incredibly stupid. Justin followed me here.

He’s going to nab me and bring me to the Mayday Killer. Right now.

Just like the brainless victims in a horror movie, I left the relative safety of the old house and delivered myself straight to him.

Fear fogs my brain as the car approaches, its headlights bright.

I blink as they wash over me, clamping my eyes shut as I wait for the inevitable. What will he do with me once he gets me in his grip?

A shudder runs through me as the car, a white delivery van with the company’s logo emblazoned on the side, passes my hiding place without slowing.

My breaths come in shallow pants as I round the house to stand under Noah’s window. Inside, it’s dark and quiet. He’s likely asleep. I feel bad waking him up, but I need to see a friendly face. The ghost of a smile parts my lips at the thought of a groggy Noah adjusting his glasses over his nose.

I tap on the glass twice and wait. Twice more. Brace myself against the house with one hand.

The curtain whooshes to one side and a blinking Noah appears, shirtless. He’s wiry and toned like a dancer. I pull my attention back to his face, my cheeks reddening.

“Megan?” Noah mouths. He wipes at his eyes sleepily, swiping his glasses off his desk and putting them on. Only then