“You’re right,” she said as realization dawned. He seemed to only text when she was behaving in a certain way or dressed a certain way.

When I let her go, she nodded that she understood.

I gave Brandy a quick hug, too, and hurried off.

The girls started picking up the pace. They tried on sunglasses and hats and sprayed cologne on one another while Reyes and I scanned the crowd, but still nothing. Not until Amber raised her shirt like she was going to flash a cute boy walking by did she get a text. And it was not a nice one.

Joe didn’t seem to appreciate Amber’s sense of humor when he said, Raise that shirt again, and I’ll rip it off you and wrap it around your neck.

I resisted the urge to pump my fist. But I did do a mental Woohoo!

Now the real challenge began. And Amber did beautifully. She looked at the text and burst out laughing, just like we’d instructed. Then she showed it to Brandy, and they both laughed.

I was so proud of her. Pretending to laugh when you were filled with terror was not easy. I’d had to do it before.

After they sobered, they headed toward the food court. But in their haste, and as afraid as they were, Amber forgot to put down a perfume bottle she’d picked up. An alarm rang out, and her eyes rounded.

No.

A saleswoman hurried forward. Amber didn’t know what to do. She glanced around, the terror she was trying to suppress evident on every plane of her face.

My heart broke for her. We would, of course, explain, but the sting would be a bust.

Seconds before the saleswoman reached them, Osh raced by on a skateboard, snatched the perfume out of Amber’s hand, and sped off. When the woman got there, she seemed confused.

Amber improvised beautifully when she pointed to Osh. “I think that boy stole something.”

The woman hurried to call security. And I almost collapsed in relief. Osh didn’t know it yet, but that boy was getting a big fat kiss.

The girls, after almost fainting from relief, continued to the food court, sat at an outside table, and began talking about the text again, pointing at the phone and laughing.

“Come on, Joe,” I said, whispering under my breath.

A second later, another text came though.

You won’t be laughing when I spread those skinny legs, bitch.

Oh, yeah, he was angry.

Two of the cops stuck to the girls like glue while I surfed the crowd. If he was in it, I’d feel the anger. A strong emotion like that would be hard to miss.

Ubie’s voice came through. “Anything, Charley?”

I could only shake my head. I did a complete circle and got nothing. What the hell? He had to be here.

I glanced up toward the second floor but saw no one really watching, besides Reyes. He’d taken up position overhead to get a bird’s eye.

Growing frustrated, I started to circle again. The girls kept up the game. I gave Amber the signal to amp it up, at which point they showed a total stranger the text and burst out laughing again. I needed this guy to go ballistic.

I felt anger here and there, but nothing anywhere near what he would be projecting. And then it hit me. Anger, yes. But it was more than that. I felt hatred and jealously and hostility.

Whirling toward the emotions that had now filtered through the masses and were bombarding me, I saw no one.

“What is it?” Ubie asked into the mic. I held up an index finger and walked forward through the crowd. Men of every shape and size sat around eating a variety of mall food, but when I finally spotted the source of the rage, I stopped short, unable to believe my eyes.

I shuffled closer, pretending to look at my phone, but Joe Stalker was so busy watching the girls, she paid me no mind at all when I stopped right beside her table.

It was a kid. A young girl probably no older than Amber. Chubby with short dark hair, curly and unkempt, and ghostly white skin, she looked more like a book nerd than a girl capable of such hatred.

What the hell? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was just pissed off at her parents for not buying her the latest copy of Seventeen.

She bent to type out a text, then looked up, waiting.

The whole team got it at the same time. I’m going to stab you in the face, cunt.

Oh, no, she didn’t. She did not just use my beloved CU Next Tuesday in a negative, nonempowering way. We girls needed to stick together, not reinforce a derogatory stereotype. I bit down, vowed to have a little talk with Little Miss Miffed about her contradictory use of one of my favorite words and tried to lace this new information together with what we already knew.

First, she was a kid. For a kid, her grammar was flawless. Even though she didn’t text like a typical teen, we still should have picked up on that fact. It never even occurred to me. Then again, maybe that was part of her game. To make the stalker seem older. Smarter. More cunning. To scare Amber even more.

Amber looked at the latest text and laughed again, doubling over, mirth shaking her shoulders.

The girl exploded. Her temper skyrocketed out of control. I saw the glint of metal a mere second before she stood and headed toward the girls. This was going down.

My pulse accelerated like it had rocket boosters. Without another moment’s hesitation, I gave the signal. Which was basically jumping up and down and waving my arms.

The team rushed in, knocking people out of the way to get there. They’d pulled their badges out of their shirts to let people know who they were. I followed the girl, pointed at her, and yelled, “Knife!” just as she turned on her heels and plunged it into my stomach.

The sensation of cold, hard steel slicing through skin and ripping into muscle wasn’t the first thing that registered. What registered first was the fact that the girl embraced me with her free arm, and whispered, “Eidolon says hi.”

I stood stunned for several long moments, wondering if I’d inadvertently stopped time.