She looked exhausted.
Her face was pale, and she kept glancing toward the entrance as though she wanted to escape.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did my father do?”
Without speaking, she handed me her phone.
Her hands were trembling so badly that I had to take it from her.
A message from an unknown number filled the screen.
“Stay away from him. You have no idea what he is capable of.”
Below it was a photograph of Rachel leaving the restaurant with my father.
It had clearly been taken from across the street.
My stomach tightened.
“When did you get this?” I asked.
“About 20 minutes after I got home.”
I scrolled upward.
There were more messages.
Whoever sent them knew Rachel’s address.
They knew where she worked.
They even knew the name of her younger brother, Graham.
The final message was the worst.
“If you contact him or Lola again, Graham will learn what happened in Philadelphia.”
