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The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan
Gia Cribbs
There are worse things than disappearing.No one wants me to tell you about Sloane Sullivan.Not the lawyers or the cops.Not her friends or family.Not even the boy who loved her.But most of all, not the United States Marshals Service. You know, the people who run the witness protection program or, as it’s officially called, the Witness Security Program? Yeah, the WITSEC folks definitely don’t want me talking to you.But I have to tell someone.If I don’t, you’ll never know how when it really comes down to it, you can’t trust anyone. How you never know when the person sitting next to you isn’t who they claim to be…
No one wants me to tell you about the disappearance of Sloane Sullivan.
Not the lawyers or the cops. Not her friends or family. Not even the boy who loved her more than anyone. And most certainly not the United States Marshals Service. You know, the people who run the witness protection program or, as it’s officially called, the Witness Security Program? Yeah, the WITSEC folks definitely don’t want me talking to you.
But I don’t care. I have to tell someone.
If I don’t, you’ll never know how completely wrong things can go. How a single decision can change everything. How, when it really comes down to it, you can’t trust anyone Not even yourself. You have to understand, so it won’t happen to you next. Because you never know when the person sitting next to you isn’t who they claim to be...and because there are worse things than disappearing.
The Disappearance of Sloane Sullivan
Gia Cribbs
Copyright (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Gia Cribbs 2018
Gia Cribbs asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9781474084031
For my daughters. Never stop chasing your dreams.
Contents
Cover (#u2f6f1405-f3b4-5621-9d68-890a45bde9ee)
Back Cover Text (#uf2faa4a1-e9c2-5686-91c2-e108fa8ff3c5)
Title Page (#u71c091bb-b543-5317-97b0-635ba8555159)
Copyright (#ude361acd-6fe0-589c-ab7e-bcec814aa76d)
Dedication (#u18af31de-4a72-5ca0-8273-835ebc039343)
Prologue (#uc9fd99ab-1580-5b04-8ce7-5942e8c0664f)
One (#u5ce67e0e-a18d-5f09-8272-8bcb458a2230)
Two (#u1a8072f7-08fe-5b5b-b50e-3fac05105037)
Three (#u4641d51f-4ce0-55e7-9104-bff5aefefdd1)
Four (#u98ba1ffe-6989-5772-b490-0985e32419b1)
Five (#u2b9cecab-a516-596b-a0ca-73e23b4fa6ab)
Six (#u84957f2c-3a0c-50d4-bb67-fa7a3ee68902)
Seven (#u32cabd69-e98c-59a9-b69a-d7217746dbd7)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u359ae647-a7c0-5bd9-9480-ee94fb4801d6)
I couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching me.
Dropping the blindfold, I kicked away the ropes by my feet that, a few seconds earlier, had been wrapped a little too loosely around my wrists to keep me bound.
I couldn’t see a thing.
Thunder crashed, making something metallic sounding rattle to my right. I held my breath and waited for a flash of lightning to illuminate the pitch-black room, anything to give me a clue about where I was. But when I heard more thunder a minute later, my heart sank. There are no windows in this room.
My pulse raced. I had to get out and I didn’t have much time.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to concentrate, to ignore what I was feeling, and picture every windowless room in the school. The clean, slightly antiseptic edge to the air didn’t smell like the gym locker room. The kitchen? I inched toward the metallic rattling, arms braced in front of me. Even through my gloves, the metal shelves felt cool when my fingers brushed against them, feeling the buckets and sponges and spray bottles lined up along their edges. The supply closet.
I followed the shelving around the room until I came to the door. Without a sound, I eased it open slightly. After a few seconds of blinking furiously at the light that came pouring in, I could see well enough to tell the hallway was empty.
I glanced at the rooms directly across from me. Almost all the classrooms had windows, but most were too high and too small for me to fit through. There were side doors at the end of the hall to the left, a good two hundred feet away. Those doors were the closest exit, but making a run for it down the bright hall, even if the lights were dimmed at night, seemed too risky. I needed to stick to the shadows. Which left the only other way out of this part of the school: the gym.
I inched the supply closet door open farther and slid out, stepping over the rags that had been stuffed under the door to block the light. In only three steps I was in the chemistry lab, the one with doors to two different hallways. I dashed across the dark lab, careful not to bump into anything, and was about to step into the hall that led to the gym when everything went completely dark.
I was out of time.
I raced into the hall, willing my outstretched hands to find the gym entrance. Just as one hand skimmed the smooth metal gym door, something behind me squeaked. It was a quick, barely there sound. But it was also immediately identifiable: a sneaker skidding against the floor.
I froze.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but I could feel him closing in.
I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles—the only thing I’d been able to grab outside—and threw them down the hall. At the tiny plink of stone meeting linoleum, I crept in the opposite direction.
My fingers trailed along the wall, telling me where to turn. As I rounded the corner, an explosive flash of lightning lit up the entire hall. I peeked over my shoulder and saw him kneeling, picking a pebble off the floor. His head was just turning in my direction when the hall went dark again and thunder rattled the windowpanes.
I ran.
A full-on sprint around another corner to the side doors I’d seen earlier. I couldn’t hear whether he was chasing me over the sound of my feet pounding against the floor and my heartbeat thumping in my ears. Where are the damn doors—
I burst through the double doors with such force they slammed against the brick wall of the school before swinging shut. I took in everything: the trees straight ahead, dense and good for hiding; the sound of a car passing on a nearby street; the lights from a house off in the distance, blurry from the rain. I allowed myself a single second to smile before I reached down and clicked the stopwatch hanging from my neck.
When Mark finally pushed through the doors thirty seconds later, his brown hair escaping from under his black hat and his hazel eyes searching franticly, I was leaning against the brick wall, using the roof’s overhang to keep dry. I cocked an eyebrow when his surprised gaze landed on me.
He sighed and nodded at my stopwatch. “What was your time?”
“Three minutes, sixteen seconds. A new record.” I fought hard to keep a grin off my face.
“Hmph.”
“Don’t be a poor sport.” There was something about his hat that made him look older, more his age and less the college student he was sometimes mistaken for. I yanked it off in one swift move, leaving his hair wild with static. “You’ve caught me more times than I’ve gotten out. Remember Nebraska? You trapped me in the band room in a minute flat.”
The corners of Mark’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, but that was when you were young and easy to trick. Now you’re almost too good. I mean, pebbles? That was a nice touch.”
“If it makes you feel better, you almost got me with the blackout. How’d you manage that one?”
His smile grew wider. “Light switches in the front office.”
I shook my head. “Did you have to use all of them?”
Mark’s eyes locked on mine, more serious than they’d been a second before. “Lesson number one.”
My smile faltered. It was easy to joke around, to pretend it was only a game, especially this time. But we both knew it wasn’t.
It was a test. A way to see how well I knew the school, how fast I could get out if someone was chasing me.
I held Mark’s gaze. “Remember how to escape.”
When I entered witness protection, it was the first lesson I learned for a reason. Escaping wasn’t just about crawling through a window or shimmying down a vent. It was mental. Knowing how to push past the fear and stay calm and think was the most important part. Maybe breaking and entering wasn’t the best way to start off in a new town, but it was our routine, our way of preparing for every possibility.
Plus, a little extra practice disabling a security system never hurt a girl.
I took a few steps back, letting the rain, which had lightened considerably, mist over me. Everything smelled fresh as I examined the school, shadowy in the moonless night.
Mark moved to my side, his shoulder brushing against mine. “New school, new you,” he said, as soft as the rain.
I nodded.
“I’m going to make sure everything’s back the way we found it. You coming?”
