Read Don't Turn Around for Free Online Page A

name and filled it with cash earned by her fictional foster father. As far as her clients knew, she was Ted Latham, a brilliant yet reclusive IT consultant. He worked freelance, primarily for a West-Coast-based company named Rocket Science. They were perfect in that they held Ted’s skill set in such high regard that they threw a lot of business his way and didn’t question eccentricities like his refusal to make on-site visits. Ted had a social security number, a PO Box, and a stellar credit rating. And he was extremely generous with his foster daughter, transferring nearly his entire income into her personal account every month. Plus he and his wife, Nell, were big believers in homeschooling: so good-bye, high school. They were easily the best parents she’d ever had.
    The clerk tapped some keys, then said, “Yup, here it is. I’ll have them bring it out for you. Step to the side to wait.”
    Noa obliged. As she waited for the new MacBook Pro, she felt a pang. Her old computer had been in her messenger bag when she was taken. Losing it hurt almost as much as the loss of the jade bracelet. It was the nicest thing she’d ever owned. She’d just bought a similar model, slightly smaller and more portable, the 13-inch rather than the 15-inch. Chances were, she’d be carrying it everywhere for the indefinite future, so better to travel light.
    A guy came out of the stockroom holding the new computer in a box. He was a slight variation on the door greeter, just as pimply but with darker hair. He grinned at her. “Nora?”
    “Yup.” She held out her hands for the box.
    He held on to it. “This is a great computer; I’ve got the same one at home.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Noa said impatiently.
    “We’re about to close, but if you want help setting it up, there’s a Starbucks right down the—”
    “No thanks.” Noa reached for it again.
    He looked wounded, but handed it over. “All right, then. Enjoy.”
    Noa didn’t bother answering. She grabbed the box, tucked it under her arm, and headed out the door.
    Even though her fingers were itching to tear open the box, she forced herself to wait until she was five blocks away. This time of night, downtown was quiet and desolate. She found the open Starbucks near Back Bay Station and made her way to a corner table, ignoring the pointed look of the girl behind the register who was waiting to take orders. Noa was oddly still not hungry, but the smell of brewing coffee was making her long for a mocha.
    She remained freezing, though, like her insides were a solid block of ice. Noa rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm up.
    She opened the box, got out the laptop, and powered it up. First thing she had to do was access some cash. These days, you needed at least a debit card to get through the day.
    Noa logged on to her bank account, then checked the credit card companies. None of them could get her cash or a card replacement outside of a twenty-four-hour window, which meant she’d be stuck on the street until then. Not the worst thing in the world, but more than anything right now she wanted to be alone. The girl behind the register was still eyeing her, and Noa met her gaze, glaring her down. When the girl looked away, suddenly extremely interested in the muffin selection, Noa allowed herself a small smile and turned back to the screen.
    Her eyes fell on the clock at the upper right-hand corner, and she frowned. That couldn’t be right.
    A well-thumbed copy of the Boston Globe was splayed across the next table. Noa reached over and grabbed it to double-check the date.
    “Oh my God,” she mumbled aloud. October twenty-fifth. The last day she remembered was October third. She’d lost three weeks.
    Noa leaned back against the wall, stunned. Her hand reflexively went to her chest again, where the incision throbbed dully. She really needed a quiet place to try to figure out what had happened. Which meant that she might have to suck it up and do her least favorite thing