The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,76

held on. The girl who was so fucking terrified she’d buried the entire three days in the deepest recesses of her psyche.

I turned away again, stepping across the creek. I wasn’t lost; I knew if I kept moving, I’d eventually come out on Haymere Lane. I followed the incline, moving quietly, knowing I was now technically trespassing on another piece of property.

The first thing I saw was the remnants of an old fence. Just the bottom wooden slats, with a few pieces missing. The first sign of a property falling to disrepair. But I couldn’t find the house. There was a small structure set back from the road, a standing shed like Rick had in his yard. It was located at the end of a grassy drive, tire tracks marking the way through the weeds. The only evidence of a house was a wide slab of concrete—either a house that had been flattened or one that was in the process of being built.

Abandoned for now, either way.

Detective Rigby had told me that Sean Coleman’s car had been found on Haymere. He’d parked somewhere along this road. I followed what passed as the driveway out to the pavement. From where I stood, Haymere looked a lot like my street, with no sidewalk, a low shoulder, and a sharp curve, so I couldn’t see what lay beyond this property to the right.

But unlike my street, Haymere dead-ended. To my left, I could see the road stopped at something that wasn’t even a cul-desac, just a stretch of pavement that abruptly ended at the woods. Like someone had started and abandoned the project mid-work.

I didn’t think Sean would’ve parked along the road itself: too great a chance of him being rear-ended. Here—this driveway—this was what made sense. Tucked out of sight from any other residents nearby. Either here or where the pavement ended, to my left.

I imagined Sean Coleman standing where I now stood. Leaving his car out of sight. Trekking through the woods, where he knew he’d end at my house . . . How many nights had he done this? How many times had he been out there, watching?

I turned back for the shed, peered into the windows, but it was mostly empty space. Dirty windows and dusty floor. Had Sean Coleman been inside? Waiting for something?

If the police had been here, whatever was inside might have already been taken.

The sound of an engine cut through the quiet of the abandoned space. I peeked around the edge of the shed before jerking back—a police cruiser.

Turn around, turn around, turn around—

The sound of tires turning off the road into gravel and grass. The engine falling to silence and then doors opening and closing.

I felt my heartbeat down to my toes and quickly risked another look. Two men were standing outside the vehicle. I didn’t think I’d seen them before. I didn’t know whether they were looking for something here, or whether this was how they’d been keeping an eye on me and Rick. A central hub.

My phone started ringing, and I fumbled to silence it as fast as possible: a call from Bennett. I pressed mute and listened for the voices of the men in the driveway. I didn’t think they’d heard the phone; they were too far from the shed still. But their voices carried faintly in the wind.

I had to go now, before they got closer, before I was trapped. There was nowhere to hide here, just trees and open space. But they were still talking near the car. I tried to move as quietly as possible. Facing them, moving backward, stepping over the remnants of the fence, and then fading into the woods, my heart pounding, until I could tuck myself behind a tree, and then another, until finally, they disappeared entirely from my sight—and me from theirs.

MY SHOULDERS EVENTUALLY RELAXED when I reached the creek again. Knowing I was safely on my own property, not trespassing—not watching other people from a hidden location.

But then I thought: This was what they were doing to me. First Sean Coleman and now the police. I hated the feeling of being watched. Of the stories they were possibly crafting. The angles they would pick. The things I could imagine them saying.

And so I was unprepared for the man in my backyard, standing on the back steps, hands cupped around his face as he peered into my kitchen window.

He must’ve heard me at the same time I spotted him, because he jerked back,