Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Damon
Five Years Ago
We left Anderson’s car where it was and climbed in mine, the
guys having already moved on, as I drove her back through
town and to her boss’s house.
“What are you going to do?” she asked me.
I pulled up, parking along the curb, across the street from
the theater manager’s house, a craftsman-style home with a
large wraparound porch and several gables. The yard was
green and pristine and only a single light shone from outside
the front door.
I wasn’t sure yet. But I always came up with something.
Emory Scott lived in this neighborhood. It was nice and
clean but boasted none of the mansions the seaside area of
town did. I actually preferred it here. Houses close together,
neighbors…it would’ve been a nice place to grow up.
I put the car in Neutral and pulled up the e-brake. “What
do you want me to do?”
I looked over at her, her hands clasped in her lap, looking
kind of nervous, and I smiled. Her mouth twisted, and I could
see the apprehension all over her face. So scared of getting
into trouble.