͏b͏r͏o͏k͏e͏n || ͏b͏i͏l͏l͏y ͏h͏a͏r͏g͏r͏o͏v͏e

F O U R T E E N

I groaned under my breath. He's flirting. He's actually flirting in a crisis.

Mrs. Wheeler's voice floated through faintly. "Hi."

I could practically see her tugging her robe closed. Jesus.

"I, uh... didn't realize Nancy had a sister," Billy purred.

My jaw dropped.

You rat. You charm-snake. You absolute menace.

Mrs. Wheeler giggled—GIGGLED—and I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

"What's so funny?" Billy asked slyly.

"I'm Nancy's mother," she corrected, flustered.

Dead. I was DEAD.

There was a pause. Then a low, disbelieving, "No."

"Yes," she insisted.

Another pause, and then the most shameless tone he'd used yet:

"Mrs. Wheeler..."

I nearly threw the walkie into the yard.

"Um, I'm sorry, and you are?" Karen asked breathlessly.

"Billy. Billy Hargrove."

I dragged my hands down my face. Why does he introduce himself like James Bond?

"You must be here for Nancy," Mrs. Wheeler offered.

"Nancy? No, no, no. Not my type."

A noise escaped me—a strangled, horrified wheeze. Did he REALLY just say that?

"No, actually, I'm looking for my little sister Max," Billy continued. "Goes by Maxine. She's been missing all day, and I've been worried sick, you know?"

Even when he was lying his face off, he sounded convincing. That was almost more alarming.

"I thought she was at Lucas', but Mrs. Sinclair said your house is the designated hangout, so... here I am."

I could hear Karen flirt-smiling through the walkie.
There was paper rustling—she was writing something.

"Their driveway is pretty dark this time of night," she said warmly. "So drive slowly."

"Always," Billy smirked.

Ugh. I hated how well I could hear the smirk.

"And when you see Mike, tell him to come home already," Karen added.

"You're a real lifesaver, you know that?" Billy said.

"Anytime."

Then footsteps. A door closing. A small confident scoff.

And finally, "You still there, princess?"

My stomach dropped.

He sounded smug.
Smug and dangerous.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I lifted the walkie with trembling hands, my pulse thudding so hard it felt like it might shake the plastic casing.

I bite my lip, every nerve in my body buzzing with panic and fury. "You slick son of a—"

Billy cut me off, voice low, smug, and terrifyingly calm:

"I'm headed your way."

My stomach dropped straight into my shoes.

"Billy—don't." I pressed the walkie so hard to my mouth it hurt. "I'm serious. Turn around. Go home. Do literally anything except what you're doing right now."