Chapter 37
BY THE time I got out of the shower and into the clean jeans and polo shirt I’d scavenged from the mall, I had parts of a plan.
Becky claimed that someone named Danger forced her and Paul to attack us. Danger probably drove Suit, and the worm guy, and the woman with the cracked skull. I didn’t know anything about him except that he had a big red van.
And that Danger wanted Alice, Ceren, and I dead.
Becky had counted us as two, three, four.
You’d only count us that way if you already had counted number one.
Danger and his dregs might—might—be behind the attack on Nat Reamer. He might have left the number behind. A warning? A signature? A boast?
Nat Reamer lived in the lower half of a sagging two-story brick building a block off Main Street, behind the chain pharmacy. Ian R
