I found a note tucked in the drawer of the desk: He knows. Run.
Eleanor Whitaker, could you check the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It looks like the students have mixed everything up again, said the library director, Angela Peterson, adjusting the tip of her spectacles. And please, dont stay late tonight. Youve been working too many hours lately.
Right, Angela, Ill get on it, Eleanor replied, barely looking up from her screen. Just need to finish the electronic inventory of the new acquisitions.
Angela shook her head, her heels clicking on the aged parquet as she left the cataloguing department. The town library occupied the old grammar school building, with its high ceilings, plaster cornices and floorboards that announced a visitors approach long before they appeared in the doorway.
Eleanor had indeed been staying late for the past three weeks, but not because she was a workhorse. At home there was no one waiting for her since Simon walked out, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that used to fill their modest flat. Now there was only the ticking of the ancient mantel clock left by her grandmother.
The library, however, was always bustling. Eleanor loved the smell of paper, the rustle of pages, even the dust that stubbornly settled on the top shelves despite cleaning lady Aunt Claras best efforts. Here she felt useful and exactly where she belonged.
Eleanor, dont forget we have a writer coming tomorrow, called out Molly, the young librarian from the membership desk, peeking through the doorway. We need to set up the small hall and print the flyers.
Ive got it, Molly, Eleanor smiled. The flyers are already in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself; I still have to sort the catalogue.
Molly nodded and walked over to the massive oak desk where Eleanor was seated. She pulled out the upper drawer and handpicked the folder with the flyers.
Whats this? she asked, pulling out a loose sheet along with the folder.
What? Eleanor turned to her.
Just a note. Must have fallen out of the folder.
Molly handed her a folded A4 sheet. Eleanor unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was that it was a prank, but deep down she knew it wasnt. She folded the paper carefully and slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan.
Its nothing, she said, trying to keep her voice flat. Probably some student dropped it. Theyre always passing notes around.
Molly shrugged.
Ill go hang the flyers then.
When the door closed behind Molly, Eleanor took the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What for? And who had written it?
The handwriting was familiar, but she couldnt place it. It didnt look like any of her colleagues scripts. Could it be Simons? Why would he write something like that? Their split had been quiet, almost amicable. He had simply said he no longer felt the same and that they should remain friendsplain and predictable, like a cheap romance.
She tried to focus on her work, but the note kept pulling her back. By the end of the day she finally finished the catalogue, handed her keys to the night guard and stepped out into a damp October evening. A light drizzle fell, and the street lamps blurred into yellow halos through the mist.
The walk home was a fifteenminute stroll. Usually she enjoyed it, passing the old park, a cosy courtyard with a swing where children played during the day. Tonight every shadow seemed threatening, every sound made her flinch. He knows. Run. From whom should she run?
She entered the flat block and breathed a sigh of relief. The hallway was quiet and bright. She climbed to the third floor, opened the door to her flat and found the usual silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the entrance to mask Simons absence.
She slipped off her shoes, hung her coat, and padded into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, pulled yesterdays salad from the fridge. She didnt feel like eating, but needed something to keep her mind occupied.
The phone rang and she jumped. The display showed her mothers name.
Hi, Mum, Eleanor answered, forcing calm into her voice.
Ellie, love, how are you? her mother sounded uneasy. Ive been feeling a strange unease all day. Is everything alright with you?
Yes, all fine, Eleanor lied. Her mother was already worrying enough about the breakup; she didnt need any more anonymous notes to frighten her. Just tired from work.
Maybe you could come over this weekend? Ill bake a cake, you could get a break
Maybe, Mum. Lets talk on Friday, okay?
After the call Eleanor felt even lonelier. Her tea had gone cold, she didnt want to watch TV or eat. She pulled the note out again, staring at the three ominous words.
A knock sounded at the door. It was tenpast nine. Who could be visiting at that hour? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw the elderly neighbour from upstairs, George Stanhope, standing in the landing.
Whos there? Eleanor asked, just in case.
Its me, George Stanhope. Open up, Ellie.
She opened the door but kept the chain on.
Sorry for the late visit, he said shyly. My pipe is leaking; does any water seep into your flat?
No, everythings dry, she replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good, I was nervous. The plumber is coming tomorrow.
When George left, Eleanor felt a foolish sting of panic. She was probably overreacting to a note that a mischievous student had slipped into her drawer. Her imagination had run wild after all the detective novels shed been devouring lately.
She tried to calm herself and went to bed, but sleep wouldnt come. She lay awake, listening to every creak. Outside, rain pattered, distant cars passed, ordinary city sounds that tonight seemed foreboding.
Morning found her exhausted. After a hurried breakfast and a strong cup of tea, she headed back to work. The day promised to be busy: the writers arrival, the hall preparation, and finishing the new acquisitions.
The library was already buzzing. Angela handed out instructions, Molly arranged chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara scrubbed the floor with a disgruntled expression.
Eleanor, a man asked for you earlier, said Aunt Clara as Eleanor passed. Tall, in a dark coat. I told him you werent in yet.
A man? Eleanor stopped. Did he give his name?
No, just said hed come back later.
The words He knows. Run flashed through her mind again. Who was this stranger and what did he want? She tried to steady herself; perhaps it was just another curious visitor.
She settled at her workstation when a knock sounded.
Come in, she called, eyes still on the screen.
The door opened and a tall figure in a dark coat stepped in. Eleanors breath caught. It was Andrew, a former classmate of Simons. Shed only met him a handful of times during her marriage, and she barely knew him.
Hello, Eleanor, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to barge in, but we need to talk.
About what? her voice rose a little, edged with fear.
Andrew glanced around as if checking the room was empty, then slid into the chair opposite her desk.
Its about Simon, he said quietly. And about you.
Were over, Eleanor replied bluntly. If you have business with him, go to him directly.
Its not about the breakup. Its far more serious.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
Did you get my note?
Eleanor felt a chill run down her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that mean?
Andrew glanced nervously toward the door.
It means Simon isnt who he says he is. He knows Ive uncovered something, and now he thinks you might know too.
Know what? Eleanor was lost. What are you talking about?
What Simon really does, Andrew pulled out his phone and showed a picture. It was Simon talking to a man in front of a nondescript grey building. This was taken three days ago. Do you recognise the place?
Eleanor shook her head.
Thats the office of Eastgate Investments, the firm thats been in the papers lately for swindling pensioners with bogus highinterest accounts. Then disappearing with the cash.
And Simon? Eleanor asked. He works at a car showroom.
Thats a cover, Andrew said, showing another photo. He was one of the orchestrators of the scheme.
Eleanor stared, disbelief flooding her. The man shed lived with for four years, who loved cooking on weekends and collected old vinyl records, now seemed a fraud preying on the elderly.
Why did you write run? she asked, trying to piece together the puzzle. Run from what?
Because hes dangerous, Andrews eyes were serious. Once I started asking questions, I realized I was being watched. The person who tried to expose the operation before me met with an accident.
Eleanor remembered the uneasy feeling that someone might be watching her at night. Was it paranoia or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, frantic.
Get out of town, at least until things settle. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, who lived in a small market town three hundred miles away.
Yes, I can.
Then pack and leave today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Eleanor sat staring at the empty desk, the reality of the situation feeling like a novel shed been reading for fun, yet now painfully real. She gathered her resolve and walked to Angelas office.
I need to take emergency leave. Family reasons. May I have a few days off?
Angela looked at her, concern evident.
Something happened? You look pale.
My mothers ill, Eleanor lied. I have to be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the writers session without you.
At home she quickly packed a small bag: passport, some cash, a change of clothes. She phoned her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train, arriving tonight.
Is everything alright? her mothers voice trembled.
Just missing you, thats all.
She paused by a bookshelf, noticing a framed photograph of herself and Simon on a beach, smiling under the sun. She stared at his face, wondering how she could have been so wrong.
A knock at the door made her jump. She crept to the peephole and saw Simon standing on the landing.
Her heart hammered. He knows. Run. She froze, uncertain what to do.
Eleanor, I know youre home, Simons voice was calm, a hint of fatigue. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, barely breathing.
Its about Andrew, he continued. He was here today, wasnt he? Talking about Eastgate Investments and me?
How could he know? Was someone really watching her?
Eleanor, listen, this isnt what you think, Simons tone softened, pleading. Andrew got it all wrong. I can explain everything.
She remained still, thoughts racing. Escape through the balcony? She was on the third floor. Call the police? What would she say that her exhusband was at her door wanting a chat?
Fine, Simon sighed. If you wont open, Ill leave a note.
He slipped away, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the stairs. After a minute, Eleanor carefully opened the door. On the floor lay a folded piece of paper. She snatched it up and shut the door.
The note read: Eleanor, Im working undercover. Im investigating Eastgate Investments with the police. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Simon.
She read it over and over. Who to believe? Andrew, a nearstranger, or Simon, the man shed lived with for four years, now apparently a covert officer?
She sank onto the sofa, holding both notes the original He knows. Run and this new one Dont trust him. The tangled web of lies and halftruths spun around her.
She dialed her old university friend, Marina, a prosecutor.
Marina, sorry to bother you, Eleanor began. I need your help. Can you check a persons background? Its important.
What happened? Marinas voice was tense.
Its a long story. Can we meet?
An hour later they were in a tiny café two streets from her flat. Marina listened without interruption, then sat back, tapping her finger against the cold mug.
I can look into both Simon and Andrew, but itll take time.
What should I do meanwhile? Eleanor asked. Where do I go?
Go to your mothers, as you planned. Itll be safer until we get to the bottom of this.
That evening she boarded the eastbound train. Watching the lights of the city recede, she thought of how ordinary she had been yesterday, a librarian mourning a lost love, and how today shed become the heroine of a thriller, running from an unknown danger.
Her phone rang as the train gathered speed. It was Marina.
Eleanor, Ive found out that Simon really is working undercover. Hes cooperating with the economic crime unit.
So he was telling the truth? Eleanors pulse quickened.
Yes. And Andrew his name appears in the companys registration. Hes one of the founders of Eastgate Investments.
Eleanor felt that chill again. Andrew had tried to use her to trap Simon.
What now? she asked, voice shaking.
Come back. Simons looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me earlier? Why did he disappear?
It was a secret operation. Any leak could have ruined everything. He left to protect you.
She alighted at the next station and caught the return train. At the platform, Simon waited, looking dishevelled but relieved to see her.
Thank God youre alright, he said, exhaling.
Why didnt you tell me? Eleanor asked, the first question to escape her mouth.
I couldnt, he gestured helplessly. It was a covert assignment. I had to embed myself in their circle, and any tipoff could have blown the whole thing. I left to keep you safe.
Safe? she laughed bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, his eyes were genuinely painful. I had no other way.
They stood on the noisy station, two people separated not just by distance but by a breach of trust that had grown over the past months.
I dont know if I can ever trust you again, Eleanor admitted. Too many lies.
I understand, he nodded. But I want to make things right, if youll let me.
Eleanor looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised how little she truly understood about him. Perhaps now, with all 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 became an undercover officer, infiltrated Eastgate, met Andrew and the other conspirators, and why he had to disappear. He described the danger hed faced and how the operation was almost over.
And now? Eleanor asked. Is the case closed?
Almost, he replied. Weve arrested most of the gang. Andrew is already in custody.
At her flats doorway she paused.
I dont know what comes next. I need time to process everything.
I get that, Simon said sadly. Ill wait. Whatever time you need.
He left, and Eleanor stepped inside her empty flat. On the table lay the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both had turned out to be partly true and partly false. Life was farShe finally put the notes away, resolved to write her own future with cautious hope.
