I found a slip of paper tucked away in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Miss Watson, could you check the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It seems the students have tangled everything again, said the library director, Angela Clarke, adjusting the thin rim of her glasses. And please, dont stay late tonight. Youve been working far too many hours lately.
Right, Ms. Clarke, Ill get on it, Nina nodded, barely looking up from her screen. Just after I finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
Angela shook her head and drifted out of the cataloguing department, her heels clicking on the creaking old parquet. The community library occupied the former grammar school on the highstreet, with lofty ceilings, ornate cornices and floorboards that announced a visitors approach long before they appeared.
Nina had indeed been lingering after closing for the past three weeks. It wasnt diligence that kept her there, as Angela presumed, but the silence that had settled in her flat since Simon walked out, taking not only his suitcase but also the warmth that had once filled the tiny flat they had shared. Now only the ticktock of her grandmothers heirloom clock broke the hush.
The library, however, always hummed with work. Nina loved the scent of old books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that stubbornly gathered on the upper shelves despite the best efforts of the cleaning lady, Aunt Clara. Here she felt useful, in the right place.
Nina, dont forget we have a writers visit tomorrow, called out Ellie, the young librarian from the circulation desk, peeking through the doorway. We need to ready the small hall and print the posters.
Ive got the posters, Nina replied with a smile. Theyre in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself; I still have cataloguing to finish.
Ellie nodded, stepped to the massive oak desk where Nina worked, lifted the top drawer and pulled out a folder of posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling a crumpled sheet from the folder.
What? Nina turned toward her.
A note, I think. Must have slipped out of the folder.
Ellie handed her a folded paper. Nina unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart missed a beat. The first thought was that it was a prank, but deep down she sensed otherwise. She folded the slip carefully and slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan.
Just a bit of nonsense, she said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. Probably one of the students dropped it. Theyre always passing notes around.
Ellie shrugged.
Ill hang the posters now.
When the door clicked shut behind Ellie, Nina pulled the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What for? And who had written it?
The handwriting was familiar, yet she could not place it among the scripts of her colleagues. It wasnt Claras, nor Angelas. Could it have been Simon? But why would he write such a thing? Their breakup had been quiet, almost amicable; he had simply said he no longer felt the same and that they should remain friendsa rather ordinary ending.
Nina tried to refocus on her work, but the note kept looping through her mind. By the end of the day she finally completed the catalogue, handed over the keys to the security guard, and stepped out into a damp October evening. A fine drizzle fell, and the streetlamps smeared into yellow halos through the fog.
It was a fifteenminute walk home, a route she usually enjoyed, past the old park and a cosy courtyard with swings where children played in daylight. Tonight every shadow seemed menacing, every sound made her flinch. He knows. Run. Run from whom?
She entered the flatbuilding, breathed a sigh of relief as the hallway glowed softly and lay silent. On the third floor she opened the door to her flat. Everything was as always: quiet, the faint cinnamon aroma from the sachet shed hung by the entryway to mask the emptiness left by Simon.
She slipped off her shoes, hung her coat, and shuffled into the kitchen. She set the kettle boiling, retrieved yesterdays salad from the fridge. She didnt feel like eating; she just needed to occupy herself so the note wouldnt dominate her thoughts.
The phone rang, startling her. The screen displayed Mum.
Hi, Mum, Nina answered, trying to sound calm.
Nina, love, how are you? her mothers voice trembled. Ive felt uneasy all day. Everything alright?
All fine, Nina lied. Her mother already worried enough about the breakup; an anonymous note would only add to her anxiety. Just tired from work.
Why not come over this weekend? Ill bake a cake, you can rest
Maybe, Mum. Lets chat on Friday, okay?
After the call Nina felt even more isolated. The tea grew cold, the television remained off. She unfolded the note again, staring at the three words.
A knock sounded at the door. It was ten oclock. Who could be visiting at that hour? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw the elderly neighbour from upstairs, Michael Stephenson, standing in the landing.
Whos there? she asked, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Open up, dear.
She opened the door but kept the chain on.
Sorry to bother you late, he said sheepishly. My pipe is leaking, does any water get into your flat?
No, its all dry, Nina replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Thank heavens. I called a plumber; theyll be here tomorrow.
When Michael left, Nina laughed at herself for letting a simple plumbing issue spook her more than the mysterious note, which she now suspected had been slipped in by some mischievous student. She told herself that her imagination had run wild after the endless detective novels shed been devouring lately.
She tried to sleep, but the night was restless. Every creak, every distant car seemed ominous.
Morning found her exhausted. After a quick breakfast and a strong cup of coffee she headed back to the library. The day promised a busy schedule: the writers talk, the hall preparation, and the new arrivals to catalogue.
Inside, the library buzzed. Angela was issuing orders, Ellie arranging chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara, with a scowl, was scrubbing the floors.
Nina, a tall man in a dark coat was asking for you, reported Clara as Nina passed. I told him you werent here yet.
A man? Nina paused. Did he give his name?
No, just said hed be back later.
The phrase He knows. Run flashed through Ninas mind again. Who was this stranger? What did he want? She steadied herself; perhaps it was just another curious visitor.
She settled at her computer, trying to lose herself in the catalogue, when a knock sounded at the door.
Come in, Nina called without looking up.
The door opened to reveal a tall figure in a dark coat. Ninas breath caught. It was Andrew, a former schoolmate of Simons, someone shed met only a handful of times over the years.
Hello, Nina, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.
About what? her voice rose a notch, edged with alarm.
Andrew glanced around, as if checking the room for ears, and sat opposite her.
Its about Simon, he began quietly. And about you.
Were over, Nina replied curtly. If you have business with him, speak to him directly.
It isnt about the breakup. Its more serious.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note?
Nina felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that mean?
Andrews eyes flicked to the door.
It means Simon isnt who he pretends to be. He knows Ive uncovered something, and now he might think you do too.
What are you talking about? Ninas thoughts tangled.
Simon works for a car dealership, right? Thats just a front. Hes involved with a company called Eastbrook Investments, the one that promised high returns to pensioners and then vanished with the money.
Nina shook her head, disbelief flashing across her face.
Hes a simple salesman. Hed never
Ive got pictures, Andrew produced his phone, showing an image of Simon chatting with a man outside a drab grey building. That was taken three days ago.
Thats the Eastbrook office, he continued, flipping to another photo. Simon was there with the same men who ran the scam.
Ninas world spun. The man who had cooked weekend meals and collected vinyl records now seemed a conspirator.
Why did you write Run? she asked, voice trembling.
Because hes dangerous, Andrew said, eyes hard. When I started asking questions, they began watching me. Someone who tried to expose the scheme before died in a car accident.
Nina remembered the lingering feeling of being watched in the evenings. Was it paranoia, or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, desperate.
Get out of town, at least for a while. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, living three hundred miles away in a small market town.
I have a place, she admitted.
Then pack and leave today. Ill let you know when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Nina sat staring at the empty desk, the room feeling unreal, as if she had stepped into one of the detective stories she loved. Yet the photographs and the note were tangible.
She marched to Angelas office.
I need urgent leave, family reasons, she said.
Angela looked concerned.
Is everything all right? You look pale.
My mother is ill, Nina replied, fabricating a story. I have to be with her.
Of course, take the days you need. The writers event will go on without you.
Nina hurried home, stuffing a passport, a few pounds in cash, and a change of clothes into a small bag. She called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train, heading your way.
Is something wrong? her mothers voice quivered.
No, just missed you.
She passed a bookshelf and stopped at a framed photograph of herself and Simon on a sunny seaside holiday. Their smiles seemed now a distant lie. She lifted the picture, studying his face, wondering how she could have been so blind.
A sudden knock at the door made her jump. She peeked through the peephole and saw Simon standing there, his coat wet from the rain.
Her heart hammered in her throat. He knows. Run. She froze.
Nina, I know youre home, Simons voice was calm, a hint of fatigue. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, breath shallow.
Its about Andrew, he continued. He was here today, right? Talking about Eastbrook?
How could he know? Had someone really been watching?
Nina, listen, he pleaded. Andrews story is wrong. Im working undercover, with the police, to bring that gang down. Hes one of the suspects, trying to mislead you.
She stayed mute, mind racing: escape through the balcony? She lived on the third floor. Call the police? What would she say that her exhusband was at the door pleading?
Fine, Simon finally said, softer. Ill leave a note under the door. Read it, then call me.
She heard the rustle of paper, then footsteps receding down the stairs. After a few minutes, she cautiously opened the door just enough to glimpse the floor. A folded sheet lay there. She snatched it up, shut the door, and unfolded it.
It read: Nina, Im undercover. The Eastbrook case is real. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Simon.
Nina read it twice. Whom to believe? Andrew, the barelyknown schoolmate, or Simon, the man she had lived with for four years? Both notes He knows. Run and now Dont trust him seemed true and false at once.
She dialed the number of an old friend, Marion, a prosecutor.
Marion, sorry to bother you, Nina began. I need your help. Can you check some people? Its urgent.
What happened? Marions voice carried worry.
Its complicated. Can we meet?
An hour later they sat in a tiny café two streets from Ninas flat. Marion listened, then tapped her finger on the cold cup.
I can look into both Simon and Andrew. Itll take time, but well get to the bottom of this.
What should I do now? Nina asked.
Go to your mothers. Its safer there while we sort things out.
That evening Nina boarded a train heading east, watching the city lights fade behind her. She thought of how, just yesterday, she had been a plain librarian grieving a lost love, and now she was a heroine in a surreal chase.
Her phone rang as the train gathered speed. It was Marion.
Nina, Ive found out that Simon really is undercover. Hes cooperating with the economic crime unit.
So hes telling the truth?
Yes. And Andrew his links to Eastbrook are real. Hes one of the founders.
A cold shiver ran down Ninas spine. Andrew had tried to use her to trap Simon.
What now? she asked, breath quickening.
Return home. Simons looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me earlier?
It was a secret operation. Any leak could have blown it. He left to keep you safe.
Nina got off at the next station, boarded a train back, and the questions swirled in her head like a vortex.
At the bustling station, Simon waited, his shoulders slumped, eyes wide with relief.
Thank God youre okay, he sighed.
Why didnt you tell me?
I couldnt. It was a covert mission. Any exposure would have endangered you. I had to disappear.
Protect? Nina laughed bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, his eyes were earnest. I had no choice.
They stood amid the clatter of travellers, two people separated by months of mistrust and hidden truths.
I dont know if I can trust you again, Nina admitted. So much has been a lie.
I understand, Simon nodded. But I want to make it right, if youll let me.
Nina looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised she still knew very little about him. Perhaps now, with the cards on the table, they could start anew.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk there.
On the train back, Simon explained everything: how he infiltrated Eastbrook, how he met Andrew, why hed vanished, and how hed been trying to protect her all along.
Is it over? Nina asked.
Almost, Simon replied. Only a few more arrests. Andrews already in custody.
At her flats door, Nina paused.
I need time to process all this, she said.
I understand, Simon smiled sadly. Ill wait.
He left, and Nina entered the empty apartment. On the kitchen table lay the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both were halftruths, halflies. Life proved far more tangled than any detective novel she adored.
She walked to the window, gazed at the city glittering in the night, and for the first time in weeks felt she possessed a choice. And that felt more important than any mystery.
