by Sara Shepard
Maddox’s mouth dropped open. ‘Huh? ’
‘You were this weird kid, sitting on my couch, always looking so freaking angry. I figured you were hatching a master plan.’
Maddox reached for his drink only to remember he’d finished it. ‘I wasn’t angry.’ Was Aerin making this up because she was drunk? The past felt very muddled, suddenly.
‘I know. I realize that now.’ Aerin lowered her eyes. ‘I feel bad that I accused you of having something to do with my sister. I shouldn’t have said that.’
Maddox nodded, touched. That Aerin had even said that out loud had hurt. ‘Thanks.’
Aerin offered her hand. ‘So … friends?’
‘Definitely.’ Maddox shook. ‘Glad you no longer think I’m Gru.’
‘You are definitely not Gru anymore.’ Aerin raised a glass. After swallowing more champagne, she kissed Maddox’s cheek, slid the door open again, and danced back into the crowd, hips shaking to the music. Madison saw her and whooped.
Maddox watched the traffic for a while, trying to remember sitting on the Kellys’ couch while his mom babysat. What had he been thinking about back then, before Helena’s murder, before he made the track team, before his mother had married his stepdad and their lives had forever changed? When the sliding door opened again, it was Seneca, whom he hadn’t seen all night. His stomach dipped when he saw her – it was crazy that he was still nervous around her. Probably because he still couldn’t reconcile this beautiful girl with his friend from online.
Seneca settled on the arm of a chair across the deck, where she could peek over the guardrail at the city below. ‘You heard about Greg?’
Maddox nodded. ‘Aerin told me. Think he was in rehab when Helena disappeared?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her brow furrowed as she typed on her phone. ‘I’m trying to find him on Facebook, but no luck so far. But guess who I did find? Loren Jablonski.’
‘Really? Anything still there from around the time Helena went missing?’
Seneca gritted her teeth, gaze on her phone. ‘I’m working on it. The page is taking forever to load.’
Maddox chuckled. ‘You know, you don’t have to work all the time.’
Seneca looked up, a coil of hair falling over her eyes. Maddox was sure that if Seneca knew how adorable it made her look, she’d fix it right away.
‘Enjoy the view. Have a drink.’ The words felt lame as soon as they came out of his mouth. What was it that made him off balance around her all over again? He’d thought they were past this.
‘I’ve already had enough to drink,’ Seneca laughed, but she tucked her phone into her pocket anyway and grabbed her cup, taking a swig of champagne. ‘This view is pretty sweet,’ she admitted, gazing out at the skyscrapers and the dark greenery of Central Park.
Maddox meant to look out at the view, too, but found himself staring at the way the city lights illuminated her profile in the dark instead. ‘You know what Aerin just called me?’ he said abruptly. ‘Gru, from Despicable Me. She said I was like some supervillain when I hung out at her house. Always angry.’
Seneca cocked her head, fixing that intense gaze on him. ‘Were you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Maddox ran his hand over his hair. ‘I thought she was the bitchy one, but maybe it was the other way around.’
They met each other’s eyes and smiled. With the fading light on her profile, with her pink cheeks and dark hair loosened from her ponytail and flying everywhere, Seneca looked more than just adorable, Maddox realized. What was she doing out here, with him? Why wasn’t she inside, with all the cool older guys Brett had found to come to this swanky party?
Seneca turned to the view again. ‘I came here with my mom once, a long time ago,’ she said after a long pause.
Maddox froze. It was as if a cold draft had swept through the terrace. He’d held back from asking her about her mom, giving her the space he’d thought she wanted – but maybe he’d been wrong. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.
Seneca’s eyes flicked back and forth. ‘She took me for tea at the Plaza, which was pretty boring, but at the end, when the waiter had her sign the credit card, he gave her the most amazing pen to use. She looked at me and said, How about we steal this? She slipped it into her pocket and walked out with it.’
Maddox laughed, watching Seneca carefully. ‘Your mother stole a pen?’
‘Almost.’ Seneca started to giggle. ‘We were halfway out of there, but then the same waiter – this old guy, probably eighty or so, with these little chicken legs – scuttled after us and said, Ma’am?’ She deepened her voice for effect. ‘I’d like my pen back, please.’
‘That must have been embarrassing.’
‘Not really. She just laughed and gave it to him. She didn’t care. That’s the way she was. Nothing got to her. The world was more fun with her in it.’
Her face crumpled. ‘Hey,’ he said, standing and moving over to where she was perched, huddled against the guardrail. ‘It’s okay.’
Seneca hunched her shoulders. ‘She’s always with me.’ She sounded choked. Then she held up the P necklace. ‘Especially because of this.’
‘She gave that to you?’
Seneca laughed sharply. ‘Uh, no. Not exactly.’
She stared into her lap. Maddox had no idea what to say, so he stayed silent. ‘When they found her body, my dad was away at a business conference, and there was bad weather that delayed his trip home. I wanted to see her body – I couldn’t believe it was actually her – so I lied to the coroner so I could be the one to identify her. I had a fake ID already. I said I was eighteen.’
Maddox stared at her, unable to breathe.
‘So anyway, there I was. In the morgue.’ A muscle in her jaw twitched. ‘She was wearing this necklace on the, you know, slab. I don’t know what came over me, but when the coroner turned his back, I took it off her.’ She glanced at Maddox as if daring him to judge her. ‘It might not have been legal. My dad would be shattered if he found out – he just thinks I found it in her jewelry box. He was already really messed up that I’d seen her like that. He was also pissed at how much the coroner and the police had screwed everything up.’
‘God, Seneca,’ Maddox whispered. He dared to reach over and touch her hand, which was warm against the coolness of the night air. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Seneca said distantly, but she didn’t let go of his hand. Then, abruptly, she turned to him. ‘Thank you.’
‘Y-you’re welcome.’ When he looked down at her, Seneca was looking at him differently. Had he said something wrong again? What was the matter with him?
Seneca pulled back. ‘You’re doing that thing again.’
He flinched. ‘What thing?’
‘That thing with your fingers, where you rub them together.’ Seneca pointed to his hand. When he looked down, his middle finger and thumb were indeed touching. He pulled them apart immediately.
‘You feeling … nervous?’ she asked.
‘Me? I’m never nervous.’ Maddox tucked the offending hand behind his back.
‘It’s okay if you are.’ Seneca’s smile wobbled. ‘The Maddy I knew online got nervous sometimes. I liked that.’
He met her gaze again. The horn honks from the street below suddenly sounded muffled. Even the party music inside faded. It felt as if champagne coursed through Maddox’s veins, bubbly and warm.
His skin started to prickle with anticipation. ‘Um,’ he fumbled, not having the slightest clue what to say.
‘Um,’ Seneca teased, her eyes shining. And then, astonishingly, Seneca grabbed his other hand and pulled him down to her. Their lips touched, softly at first. Maddox lifted a hand to the back of Seneca’s neck, his fingertips on fire. The kiss deepened into something hungry and urgent. Seneca pressed into his hands, and he wrapped an arm around her hips, pulling her up until she was crushed hotly against him.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ Seneca whispered, meeting his gaze for a moment.
&n
bsp; ‘I know,’ Maddox breathed. Being with Catherine was nothing like this, he realized.
Catherine. He pulled back sharply, almost gasping. ‘Wait.’
Seneca opened her eyes, too. She searched his face. ‘What?’
Maddox lowered his eyes. ‘I can’t do this. We can’t do this.’
Seneca’s gaze upon him felt laser precise. A small sound escaped her, then her lips tightened. ‘What is it?’ she asked, stepping backward, out of his embrace. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
Maddox could feel a headache starting, a sharp spike drilling into the side of his head. ‘It’s … complicated. But –’
Seneca cut him off with a wave of her hand. Her eyes were slits. ‘Complicated.’ Her voice cracked. She yanked the sliding door open and slipped back inside, closing the door behind her with a violent jerk of her arm.
‘Seneca …’ Maddox went to the door, but she was already lost in the crowd. He slumped back down into a chair and put his head in his hands. ‘Shit,’ he said under his breath, and then glared at his phone. He felt a sudden urge to throw it off the balcony.
He sat there for a moment, but soon enough the patio felt too small, too constricting. He needed to get away from this suite. He needed to clear his mind. Head down, he pushed into the room, barreled past the partiers, and groped for the silver-handled door to the hotel’s hall. There was no one in the elevator, and the car made a hollow, screeching sound that echoed in his ears. The lobby, though opulent, was eerily empty – even the front desk was unoccupied. Maddox looked warily at the closed gift shop, the dark bar. The clock on the wall said it was past 2 a.m. He hadn’t realized it was so late.
Out of the revolving doors, a line of traffic lights down Fifty-ninth Street glowed a steady green. Stragglers shuffled along the park’s stone walls. A homeless man sat on the sidewalk, shouting and gesticulating, and Maddox sidestepped him. A cab swished past, nearly clipping his side. He jumped out of the way, pulse rushing at his temples.
He turned down Sixth Avenue and hurried past an empty bistro. The subway rocked beneath his feet, its breath hot and stinky through the grate. Had it always been that loud?
When a hand covered his eyes, Maddox’s first thought was that it was Seneca – she’d come to talk. He tried to wheel around, but a steely arm braced his chest. He caught the scent of leather and – gasoline?
Something cracked his kneecaps, and he let out a strangled wail and dropped blindly to the pavement. He tried to scream again, but the attacker had fallen with him, covering his mouth, rooting around in his pockets, striking his back. Something about the person felt slight … but strong. Maddox heard a high voice in his ear: ‘Stop, or I’m going to kill you.’ Another blow hit his head, and a searing white pain cracked through his skull. Where were the cops? Where were all the people?
Blackness enveloped him. When he opened his eyes again, clouds passed over a half-moon. Streetlights swirled dizzily. Maddox tried to move a finger, then a toe. He tentatively touched his scalp and felt a sticky patch of blood, and when he riffled in his pocket, his phone was still there, but his wallet was gone. How many minutes had passed – one, two, ten?
He sat up and looked around. The street was empty. He was still sitting in front of the empty bistro, the last thing he remembered seeing. He stared inside at a man wiping the bar, stunned that he hadn’t seen anything, or done anything. Was this stretch of sidewalk too dark? Did the man just not care?
What had just happened?
CHAPTER 22
Aerin hadn’t felt this crappy after the rager she’d gone to last year where she and Anderson Keyes did keg stands, or after the time she and Brad Westerfield drank Jäger shots and watched Fourth of July fireworks, or even after that hideous flu she’d come down with last winter, five days in bed plagued by fever dreams of Helena drowning under piles of snow. Why had she drunk so many glasses of champagne? Why had she kept on drinking even after she’d puked? What was wrong with her?
Nevertheless, she managed to get her ass up on Friday morning – the body jets in the shower definitely helped – put on her clothes from the day before, and follow the others down onto Central Park South. It was before 9 a.m. They wanted to catch Loren as soon as he got to work.
It was the only bright spot in Aerin’s mind. All this might end today. Loren might be the answer. Though Aerin had no solid proof, she just didn’t feel like Greg Fine was the right fit – he’d acted skittish and insecure last night. She couldn’t picture Helena falling head over heels for him – and more than that, she couldn’t imagine this guy working up the kind of anger to murder someone. Sure, people were different when they drank – her stoic friend Tori wept for starving people in Africa after one too many shots, for example. Still, Greg seemed even more passive than Kevin.
But hopefully Loren was a whole different story.
Brett stood in line for egg sandwiches, and when he handed Aerin hers, he met her gaze for a moment. ‘Sure you can keep this down? Don’t get me wrong, your puke is really sexy, but this is my last clean shirt.’
‘I’ll make sure to puke on someone else next time, lover boy,’ Aerin grumbled. She had a vague memory of throwing up all over Brett’s lap last night, but he’d been so sweet about it, cleaning them both off in the bathroom, shooing everyone else away, even though Madison kept crashing into the room saying repeatedly that she had to pee. He’d walked around for the rest of the party without a shirt on, and she sort of remembered doing a shot off his abs later … and then passing out on the kitchen floor, only to wake up this morning in a pile of drool. Classy.
Seneca had her arms wound tightly around her body. As a behemoth city bus blustered past, Aerin poked Seneca’s side. ‘You okay?’
Seneca shrugged. ‘Do you feel good this morning?’
Brett bounded back to the hotel doorman and asked him to hail him a cab. As a bright yellow minivan pulled to the curb, Maddox grabbed his arm. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this.’
‘Huh?’ Brett frowned.
‘Dude, I was mugged last night,’ Maddox moaned. ‘I feel like it’s a bad omen.’
Aerin’s stomach turned over. Apparently, while she was asleep, an NYC cop had come to the door with Maddox after talking to him about the person who’d robbed him. It freaked her out that mugging was still even a thing. Wasn’t the city supposed to be really safe?
Brett waved him away. ‘We’ll be fine, bro. Promise.’
They piled into the minivan cab. Seneca climbed into the backseat. ‘Madison and Aerin, sit with me.’ Aerin did as she was asked, but she sensed it wasn’t a let’s-be-girlfriends request – more like she didn’t want to sit with someone in particular. Maddox? Had something happened between them?
‘Twenty-sixth and Eleventh,’ Brett told the cab driver. The cab lumbered downtown, getting stuck in Times Square traffic and then maneuvering its way to the river. At Twenty-sixth, Brett handed over some cash, and everyone got out. To Aerin’s sensitive ears, the sounds of construction nearby were almost deafening. She eyed the Kiko Gallery. The lights were off, a metal grate pulled down over the windows and door.
Madison flicked the tassels on her hat. Maddox kept glancing up and down the street. Brett tossed his egg sandwich wrapper into a trash can.
‘That’s him,’ Seneca hissed.
Someone had emerged from around the corner. It was a man in his late twenties wearing a dark tee and Ray-Bans. He had longish hair, a round face, a portly body, and pockmarked skin. There were sweat stains under his arms. Even from across the street, Aerin could hear huffing and puffing. He looked like the type of guy who had back hair.
The guy stopped in front of the gallery and pulled out a key. An unlit cigarette hung out of his mouth. Seneca dug her nails into Aerin’s arm. ‘Think he and Helena were going out?’
Aerin wrinkled her nose. There was no way Helena was secretly traveling to the city for this dude.
Seneca seemed to pick up that vibe, too. ‘Then who was he?’ she whispered.
&nbs
p; ‘Only one way to find out.’ Brett crossed the street, narrowly avoiding an oncoming bike messenger. ‘You Loren?’
The guy looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Who wants to know?’
The egg in Aerin’s stomach curdled. It was the same gravelly voice from Helena’s voicemail.
‘I’m looking for someone,’ Brett said. ‘Her name was Helena Kelly. She disappeared in December five years ago. I think you knew her.’
Loren scratched his unshaven chin. ‘Name means nothing to me.’
Seneca exchanged a look with Aerin, then started across the street, too. ‘Well, she knew you. She had your name in her phone. And January that next year, you left a message on her phone. Then she turned up dead.’
Loren wrinkled his nose. There was no sign of guilt on his face, but maybe he was a good liar. He lit the cigarette between his lips. ‘You people cops? You have to tell me if you are.’
Brett shook his head. Loren relaxed a little. ‘What did this message say?’ he asked.
Hands shaking, Aerin reached into her pocket for Helena’s phone. After punching in her password, she set the phone to speaker and stepped toward the group. Up close, Loren’s skin smelled surprisingly like mint. His angry voice blared out again on the message, giving her chills. After the recording was over, Loren glanced up the street, then toward the river to the west. ‘She was probably one of my clients,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I run a delivery service.’
‘A delivery service for what?’ Aerin snapped.
‘Depends on what you want. Some people want pills. Some people want pot. Some people want strippers. I’m a one-stop shop.’
Aerin’s stomach swirled. Strippers? ‘Maybe you left her a message by mistake?’
‘Not a message like that.’ Loren had a seedy grin.
Aerin called up a picture of Helena from her phone. It was from the Thanksgiving just before she vanished. Helena sat at the table, mid turkey bite, her face turned toward the camera, her delicate, graceful features softened by candlelight. ‘This was her.’