I've Died Here Before novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Miss Vickers Was Never on the List

Dean crossed the lobby with his hand out, as if we were old friends meeting for lunch.

"Mr. Courtland asked me to see you out safely, Miss Whitlow."

"He did not."

"He asked me on the phone."

"Then he can ask me himself."

The doorman stepped between us.

He was sixty years old and shorter than me, and he held his ground with his hands flat at his sides.

"Sir, residents only."

"I'm a friend of the building."

"Nobody is a friend of this building," the doorman said, "who touches a lady's arm."

Dean smiled at him.

He took his hand back.

Three residents had stopped at the mailboxes to watch.

An old woman in a camel coat held a small white dog, and she was filming with her free hand.

"Speak up," the voice said in my head. "He hates a crowd."

I raised my voice.

"Everybody in this lobby has seen my video," I said. "The one from Thursday. A million people know my face."

"Addie," Dean said gently.

"So if I leave with this man and I don't come home, who will know where I was last seen?"

The old woman's dog barked once.

"He drives a gray van," I said. "He came to the hospital with flowers.

"The police have a recording of him talking about a river."

"This is a misunderstanding," Dean told the lobby, warm and rueful. "She's had a hard week."

"Lots of people go into the river at parties," I said.

Dean's eyes went flat.

He leaned in until his mouth was by my ear.

"Rivers are public property, Miss Whitlow," he said quietly. "They belong to everyone. Even on a Saturday."

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