I found a little note tucked in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Emily Harris, could you have a look at the catalogue cards in drawer three? The students have mixed everything up again, said the head librarian, Angela Parker, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. And please, dont stay late tonight. Youre working too many hours lately.
Right, Angela, Emily replied, barely looking up from her screen. Ill finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals first.
Angela gave a small shake of her head and left the cataloguing department, the click of her heels echoing on the old parquet. The town library sits in a former grammar school building lofty ceilings, decorative plasterwork and squeaky floorboards that announce a visitor long before they appear.
Emily had indeed been pulling allnighters for the past three weeks, but not because she was a workhorse. At home, it had been quiet since Simon left, taking not just his suitcase but the warmth that used to fill their modest flat. Now the only sound was the ticktock of the old mantel clock Grandma left behind.
At the library, though, work was always there. Emily loved the scent of paper, the rustle of pages, even the dust that settled on the top shelves despite Aunt Claires best efforts with the vacuum. Here she felt useful, right where she belonged.
Emily, dont forget weve got a writer coming tomorrow, peeked Olivia Clarke, the young librarian from the membership desk. We need to prep the small hall and print the posters.
Got it, Ollie, Emily smiled. The posters are already in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself, I still need to sort the catalogue.
Olivia nodded, walked over to the massive oak desk, pulled out the top drawer and fished for the folder with the posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling out a loose piece of paper along with the folder.
What? Emily turned toward her.
Just a note, must have fallen out.
Olivia handed her a folded schoolpaper sized sheet. Emily unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped a beat. The first thought was, Its a joke. But deep down she sensed it wasnt. She slipped the note into the pocket of her cardigan.
Probably some students prank, she said, trying to keep her voice flat. Theyre always passing notes around here.
Olivia shrugged.
Alright, Ill go hang the posters.
When Olivia closed the door behind her, Emily pulled the note out again. He knows. Run. Who? What? Whod written it?
The handwriting looked familiar, but she couldnt place it. It wasnt any of her colleagues styles. Could it be Simon? Why would he write something like that? Their split had been almost civil hed simply said he didnt feel the same way anymore and theyd agreed to stay friends. Nothing dramatic, just a quiet ending like a cheap romance.
Emily tried to focus on the catalogue, but the note kept looping in her mind. By the end of the day she finally finished the entries, handed the keys to the guard and stepped out into a damp October evening. A light drizzle fell, and the street lamps glowed like yellow puddles in the fog.
It was a fifteenminute walk home. Normally she liked this route past the old park, through the cosy courtyard with its swing set where children played in the afternoons. Tonight every shadow seemed threatening, every rustle made her jump. He knows. Run. Run from what?
She reached her flats entrance and breathed a sigh of relief. The hallway was bright and quiet. She climbed to the third floor, opened her front door and was greeted by the usual: silence, the faint smell of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the door to soften the emptiness left by Simon.
She slipped off her coat, hung it on the peg, and shuffled into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, pulled out yesterdays salad from the fridge. She wasnt hungry, but she needed something to keep her hands busy.
The phone rang and she jumped. The display showed Mum.
Hey, Mum, she said, trying to sound steady.
Emily, love, how are you? her mothers voice trembled. Ive been feeling uneasy all day. Everything okay with you?
All good, Emily lied. Her mother was already worrying enough about the breakup; she didnt need any more anonymous notes to fret over. Just tired from work.
Why dont you come up for the weekend? Ill make a cake, you can rest
Maybe, Mum. Lets chat on Friday, okay?
After hanging up, Emily felt even lonelier. Her tea had gone cold, she didnt want to watch TV or eat. She stared at the note again. He knows. Run.
A knock came at the door. It was ten at night who could be there? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw Michael Stevens, the elderly neighbour from upstairs.
Whos there? she called, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Open up, dear.
She opened the door a crack but kept the chain on.
Sorry for the late visit, he said, looking embarrassed. My pipes leaking. Does any water come into your flat?
No, everythings dry, she replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good. Ive called a plumber; theyll be here tomorrow.
When Michael left, Emily laughed at herself. She was panicking over a note that was probably a students prank, her imagination running wild after all the detective novels shed been devouring lately.
She tried to calm herself, but sleep wouldnt come. She tossed and turned, listening to every creak. Outside, rain pattered, distant cars passed, the usual night sounds of the town except tonight they felt a little menacing.
Morning came in a rush. After a quick breakfast and a strong coffee, she headed back to work. The day was packed: the writers visit, setting up the hall, and finishing the new arrivals.
The library buzzed with activity. Angela was barking out orders, Olivia arranging chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Claire, ever the reluctant cleaner, scowled as she mopped the floor.
Emily, a tall bloke in a dark coat asked for you, Aunt Claire announced as Emily passed by. I told him you werent in yet.
A man? Emily paused. Did he say who he was?
Nope. Said hed come back later.
The note flashed through her mind again: He knows. Run. Who was this stranger? What did he want? She tried to steady herself, thinking maybe it was just a curious visitor or a publisher rep.
She settled at her desk, hoping work would distract her. Half an hour later, there was a knock.
Come in, Emily called, eyes still on the screen.
The door opened and a tall man in a dark coat stepped in. Emilys breath caught. It was Andrew Bennett, a former classmate of Simons. Theyd only met a few times over the years, and she barely knew him.
Hello, Emily, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to barge in, but we need to talk.
About what? she asked, voice a little too high.
Andrew glanced around, as if checking for ears, then sat opposite her.
Its about Simon, he began quietly. And about you.
Were over, Emily said bluntly. If you have business with him, go to him directly.
Its not about the breakup. Itsserious.
He leaned in, his voice dropping.
Did you get my note?
Emilys skin tingled.
Your note? He knows. Run? she asked.
Andrews eyes flicked to the door.
It means Simon isnt who he says he is. Hes been digging into something, and now he thinks you might know too.
What are you on about? Emilys mind was a blur.
Simons been working undercover for the police. Hes investigating a fraud scheme called Eastbank Investments, the one that swindled a lot of retirees out of their savings.
He pulled out his phone and showed her a photo: Simon chatting with a man outside a bland grey building.
That building is the Eastbank office. The schemes been in the papers lately promising high returns, then disappearing with the money.
And Simon works at a car showroom.
Thats a cover. Hes actually one of the organisers.
Emily shook her head.
No, hes not. Hed never.
I didnt want to believe it either, Andrew said. But I saw him there, and I started looking. Five years ago he was involved in a similar scam up north, got off, changed his name, moved here, and met you.
Her head spun. The man shed shared weekends with, who loved cooking on Saturdays and collecting old vinyl, could be a con artist?
Why did you write Run? she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Because hes dangerous, Andrew replied, eyes serious. When I started asking questions, people started watching me. The last guy who tried to expose them vanished in an accident.
Emily remembered feeling watched that night, wondering if it was paranoia or real surveillance.
What should I do? she asked, panic rising.
Get out of town, at least until this blows over. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, who lived in a small town three hundred miles away.
Yes.
Pack a bag and leave today. Ill keep in touch when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Emily sat there, stunned, as if shed stepped into one of the detective novels she loved. The photos hed shown were real, and the note was real.
She walked straight to Angelas office.
I need to take a few days off for family reasons, Emily said. Can I have emergency leave?
Angelas face softened.
Is everything okay? You look pale.
My mothers ill, Emily said, again. I need to be with her.
Of course. Go. Well manage the writers event without you.
Emily hurried home, stuffing passport, a few pounds, some clothes into a small suitcase. She called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train tonight.
Anything wrong? her mothers voice trembled.
No, just missing you.
She paused by a framed photo on the bookshelf her and Simon on a sunny seaside holiday, both smiling. She stared at his face, wondering how wrong shed been about him.
A knock at the door made her jump. She peeked through the peephole and saw Simon standing on the landing.
Her heart hammered. He knows. Run. She froze.
Emily, I know youre home, Simon said, his voice calm but tired. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, terrified to breathe.
Its about Andrew, he continued. He was here today, right? Talked about Eastbank?
How does he know? she thought. Are they watching me?
Listen, Im not the villain here, Simon pleaded. Im working undercover. Andrews twisted the story. I can explain everything.
She stayed frozen, weighing whether to flee out the balcony she lived on the third floor or call the police.
Fine, Simon sighed. If you dont open, Ill leave a note.
He stepped back, the sound of his shoes echoing down the stairs. After a few moments, Emily opened the door just enough to see a folded piece of paper on the floor. She snatched it up, shut the door quickly.
The note read: Emily, Im undercover. Investigating Eastbank with the police. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Simon.
Emily read it over and over. Which side to believe? Andrew, a nearstranger, or Simon, the man shed lived with for four years? She sat on the sofa, clutching both notes He knows. Run and Dont trust him.
She dialed a number that wasnt Simons or Andrews. It was her old university friend, Megan, now a prosecutor.
Megan, sorry to bother you, Emily began, voice shaking. Can you look into a guy for me? Its important.
Whats happened? Megans tone was full of concern.
Its a long story. Can we meet?
An hour later they were at a tiny café two blocks from Emilys flat. Megan listened, then stared at her coffee cup, tapping the saucer.
I can check both Simon and Andrew. Itll take time, but well get to the bottom of this.
What should I do in the meantime? Emily asked.
Go to your mums. Itll be safer there until we sort this out.
That evening Emily boarded the eastbound train. Watching the city lights fade, she thought how absurd her life had become a humble librarian suddenly tangled in a fraud investigation.
Her phone buzzed as the train gathered speed. It was Megan.
Emily, Ive got news, Megan said, voice tight. Simon really is undercover. Hes working with the economic crime unit.
So he was telling the truth?
Yes. And Andrew weve found that hes one of the founders of Eastbank. He was using you to get at Simon.
Emily felt a chill run down her spine.
What now? she asked.
Come back. Simons looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me before?
It was a secret operation. Any leak couldve ruined everything. He left to keep you safe.
Emily got off at the next station, caught a return train, and headed back. At the main station, Simon waited, looking dishevelled but relief bright in his eyes.
Thank goodness youre okay, he said, exhaling.
Why didnt you tell me? Emily asked, hurt.
I couldnt, he said, shaking his head. If the word got out, it would have put you in danger. I had to disappear for a while.
Protect me? You broke my heart! she said, a bitter smile on her lips.
Im sorry, he said, his eyes pleading. I didnt know any other way.
They stood on the bustling platform, two people separated not just by months but by mistrust.
Im not sure I can trust you again, Emily admitted. So much has been hidden.
I get that, Simon replied. But I want to make it right, if youll let me.
Emily looked at him, realizing how little she truly knew about the man she thought she knew. With the truth finally out, maybe they could start anew.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk there.
On the train back, Simon explained everything how hed infiltrated Eastbank, met Andrew, the dangerous catandmouse game, and why hed left. He said the operation was almost over; Andrew had been arrested.
When they arrived at her flat, Emily stopped at the door.
I need time to process all this, she said.
I understand, Simon replied, a sad smile forming. Take as long as you need. Ill be waiting.
He left, and Emily stepped inside. On the kitchen table lay the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both had turned out to be halftruths, halflies. Life was messier than any detective novel shed ever read.
She walked to the window, gazed at the city lights flickering in the dusk. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks she felt she had a choice and that mattered more than any mystery.
