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should have kept my mouth shut, but even with the heebie-jeebie vibes Roger was giving off, I never expected him to pack us into his Lincoln for a creepy-ass drive deep into the Mojave Desert.
    I pull my cell out from the front pocket of my hoodie and check the screen. My heart sinks—no reception.
    Nick laughs without humor. “Now you want to call the cops? A little late for that, princess.”
    â€œEase off, Nick,” Mat says. He twists in his seat. “Seriously. What can one old gringo do against the four of us? Aren’t you curious what’s in there?”
    â€œA dead cat,” I say.
    Nick groans. “Mature.”
    I curl my fingers with thoughts of strangling him, but follow him out of the car and to the front of the building. My knees knock together like a busted driveshaft.
    Chelsea slings her designer purse over her shoulder and points a finger at me. “If I die, it’s on you.”
    Nick rolls his eyes and grunts out something indecipherable and probably insulting.
    I hate how he gets under my skin. Screw giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now I’m just pissed. “Maybe you already know what’s inside.”
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake. Grow up.” Nick shoves past me, stalks to the door, and yanks on the handle. “What? Scared to see the dead bodies?”
    â€œNot funny,” Chelsea snaps.
    Mat grins. “Haven’t you seen Saw ?”
    â€œAt least I’ll leave a pretty corpse,” Nick jokes.
    The blood drains from my face. “I hate you all.”
    On the other side of the door, a dim lightbulb casts flickering shadows throughout the room. I take quick inventory—coatrack, small table, three chairs.
    Roger.
    I flinch. “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.”
    â€œI’m afraid the lighting isn’t the best,” he says. “Follow me.”
    He enters numbers onto a keypad fixed to the wall—too fast for me to memorize the sequence—and an invisible door hisses open. I peer over Chelsea’s shoulder into the faint light.
    â€œWe can turn around,” I whisper.
    She reaches back and squeezes my hand as the door behind us slams closed. “Actually, I’m not sure that’s an option anymore.”
    Shattered fluorescent lighting tubes litter the hallways. An earthy scent masks the faint smell of bleach and gasoline. I’m sure this is the scariest place I’ve ever been, but I can’t shake a sense of familiarity, a weird nostalgia that doesn’t make sense.
    My foot catches on a piece of uplifted flooring and I pitch forward.
    Nick reaches for me. “Easy,” he says. His thumb brushes against the side of my hip, and an electric shock pulses through my veins.
    He pulls away so fast my skin turns to ice. His hand slides over the tribal ink on his right bicep, as though to make sure he won’t make the mistake of touching me again. Not like I wanted him to anyway.
    I shift focus back to Roger.
    There’s a certain giddiness to him when he walks. I guess it’s too much to hope we’re walking into Wonka’s chocolate factory. He pauses at a door and waits for us to surround him. We’re like moths to a flame.
    A glowing EXIT sign hovers over a metal staircase to the right that leaps up and down into darkness. An overhead bulb pulses and buzzes. I squint to read the faded signage on the wall, but the white letters are either scraped clear or coated with dust. Tiny spiders dance across my back.
    Chelsea’s finger brushes against my elbow. “So mysterious.”
    â€œBrilliant observation, Veronica Mars,” I whisper.
    Roger’s eyes shimmer. If he’s the kind of guy who gets off on murder, we’re in such deep shit.
    He punches in a six-digit code and the door swings open. A series of tick-tick-ticks echoes as fluorescent lights switch on in sequence. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and then—
    Nick stops dead.