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

does he seem to realize that he isn’t wearing a shirt, because he slowly pulls the curtain in front of his chest.

I point to the front door, and he nods before disappearing.

Rounding to the porch, I sink down on the top step. Despite the clamminess of my skin, goosebumps break out along my arms at the damp, night air. I wish I’d thought to bring a jacket.

“Here,” Noah says at my back, dropping a fuzzy cojiba blanket onto my shoulders. “You’ve gotta be cold out here.”

“I’m freezing,” I admit, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

Noah sinks down on the step beside me, pulling a blanket patterned with wild horses around himself. Taking in a long breath, he stares out at the yard. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. I know you’re not this anxious about our art project.” His sleep-tousled curls fall over his forehead as he turns his eyes on me.

I try to smile but find I can’t. “I… didn’t want to be home.”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

I hesitate, torn between wanting to tell him everything and wanting to keep him out of it. Noah doesn’t deserve to have all of this dumped in his lap. I don’t know what kind of trouble he’d be in if anyone found out I’d told him the truth. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“And you came all the way out here?” Even in the dark I can see the sheen of longing in his eyes. It twists in my chest like a knife.

“It’s not like that, okay? It’s just… Can I tell you something? You promise not to tell anyone?”

Noah’s jaw twitches as he considers this for a long moment. Finally, he inclines his head.

“I just saw Aunt Karen kissing Justin.”

Noah’s expression widens in surprise. “You saw your aunt kissing the guy who was stalking you? Just now?”

“A couple of hours ago. Yeah.”

“Even after everything?”

I bob my head.

“I know I promised not to tell, but Megan, you have to tell the sheriff.” He readies himself to stand.

“He won’t listen to me. And even if he does, he won’t do anything about it.”

“You don’t know that. You have to try.”

When I shake my head wildly, he stands. “Then I will.”

“You promised,” I cry, standing too. His blanket billows around him like a superhero’s cape.

Carefully, Noah steps closer, curling one hand around the edge of my blanket. “You have to tell someone. If your aunt is still with Justin, after knowing what he is, you’re not safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

My grip loosens on the blanket and one corner falls off my shoulder. Noah’s fingers graze my skin as he lifts it back into place.

“You’re a good friend,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Noah whispers, looking out into the yard again. “Let me get some shoes on and I’ll walk you to the station.” He flicks on the porch light, digging around in the pile by the door.

My mouth hangs open as I stare at the door behind him. Horror pools in my gut, its level rising until I feel like I’m drowning in it, unable to breathe or speak. My ears pop as if they’re underwater, failing to adjust to the pressure pulsing through my head.

Terra-cotta pots filled with succulents line the porch, flanking an old door with chipping blue paint.

Chapter 29

Even Later

Sheriff Lamb hates me. That much is obvious.

From the moment I told the deputy on duty about the photo I’d received. My suspicion that it meant the Mayday Killer was in Hacienda. He’d insisted on calling the sheriff, and that’s when I’d known I was screwed.

Noah waited with me in the chairs by the door while the deputy dialed the sheriff’s number, woke him up, and asked him to come down to the station. I stared at the floor, my fingers gripping the armrests so tight my palms hurt.

After what seemed like an hour, Sheriff Lamb walked into the building. He looked washed out and tired. His graying hair haphazardly combed to one side. His tan uniform shirt half-buttoned over a white undershirt and hanging untucked over his broken-in jeans.

Without a word, he’d pointed to his office.

I’d stood shakily, making to follow, but when Noah stood too, I’d gestured with one hand for him to stay. He didn’t need to witness the humiliation of having the sheriff accuse me of trumping up lies for attention a second time.

Sheriff Lamb’s weathered hands are splayed on top of the large wooden desk that sits like a canyon between us. The tab of one thumb taps the scratched and gouged surface in a rhythm as he stares at me.

“Let’s go through this one more time,” He says. “You received a photo that appears to be of the front door of the Lopez residence—”

“It is their residence.”

“Don’t interrupt me. You received this photo from an account on your social media that appears to be run by a teenage girl named Ashlee, who you think is actually the Mayday Killer toying with you.” Cynicism drips from every word.

“I know it’s the… him. All of the quotes he’s posted match the ones found at the crime scenes. And there’s no one else who would play a joke on me like this. I don’t have a lot of friends, much less people who want to scare me.”

The sheriff runs a hand along his scruffy chin, tapping his thumb a couple more times on his desk. “And you didn’t go to your aunt with this why?”

“She’s still in contact with Justin, the guy who was stalking me. I think he’s helping the Mayday Killer.” Behind the sheriff’s desk are accolades and awards he’s accumulated on the job. Surely a man so decorated in law enforcement will care. Will do something.

“I’ll remind you we haven’t seen any proof that he’s dangerous.”

“What about the envelope of photos I found in the basement? You must have seen the photos. Tonight, I saw him give her another one just like it.”

Sheriff Lamb sits back, folding his