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back into the protected area, but paused. She looked Miranda in the eyes and said, “I’d say don’t leave town, but I don’t think that’s probably necessary in your case.” And with that, Detective O’Hara stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind her.
    Miranda instantly analyzed the detective’s words, searching for the hint of mocking she knew had to be there, but unable to find it. If anything, the tone of O’Hara’s exit line had been sadness.
    Miranda headed to the front door of the station, only then remembering both her earlier ambush by Brooks and the text she’d received in the interrogation room. She stepped off into the corner and pulled out her phone to see who’d managed to have the worst timing ever.
    Unknown number. Weird. The software she’d installed on her phone to identify incoming calls rarely failed. And she kept an actual list of everyone who had her very unlisted number. She clicked through to view the message, which read only “Call me. 555-2930.” Then she scanned down for the caller’s tag. She sagged against the wall in disbelief. Bryce Campion. How had he gotten her number? And more importantly, why did the creator of Arc Angel want to talk to her?
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
    Miranda didn’t see Gavin Brooks when she peeked around the door of the police station, but she did see her cab, parked down the block, waiting for her as requested. She headed toward it, the casual saunter she’d been going for turning into more of a brisk walk. At least she wasn’t out-and-out sprinting. She climbed into the back of the cab and slumped down into the battered vinyl seat.
    As soon as her seatbelt clicked shut, the driver pulled away from the curb, not bothering to so much as make eye contact or confirm her destination. She let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. Man, this service is worth every penny. She’d had enough social interaction today. And speaking of social interaction…
    Miranda pulled her phone out of her pocket and read the text again.
    “Call me.”
    Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, she punched the reply button and sent a message.
    “How did you get my number?”
    She’d barely moved her fingers off the keys before her phone buzzed in response.
    “Doesn’t matter. We need to talk. Call me.”
    ‘We need to talk’? What on earth did Bryce Campion want to talk to her about? He couldn’t possibly know about what had happened to her. So why had he tracked her down?
    And he wanted her to call him. Not going to happen. Talking on the phone was impossible, far worse than talking face-to-face. Dr. French had explained that it was because she didn’t get any visual cues over the phone and so had an even harder time decoding the verbal inflections and tone people used. She didn’t know if she believed him; they hadn’t exactly bonded in their one-hour session. But whatever the reason, phone calls were out of the question.
    Somehow the idea of trying to explain Dr. French’s theory via text didn’t seem very promising. Shit. What should she say? She’d been sitting here, staring at the tiny screen on her handheld for at least a minute. He probably thought she was ignoring him. Her lungs gave a familiar hitch as her breath caught in her chest. She had to say something.
    “Not on the phone.”
    She hit send before she could think too hard about how stupid that sounded. Seconds later she felt the familiar vibration.
    “Fine. Come to house. 528 West Lawn Dr. I’ll notify gate.”
    Go to his house? Bryce Campion’s house? She set the phone down on her lap and wiped her damp palms on her thighs. A few years ago, she’d have jumped at the chance to meet Bryce Campion, particularly at a location not filled with thousands of screaming fans. Of course, a few years ago, she could still talk on the phone, at least sometimes. But now… he’d think she was a freak. She was a freak.
    Miranda pushed at a few strands of hair that were