“Gabbi is my grandmother’s name—your great-grandmother.” Her smile gets a little sadder, but a little more real all at once. “The murder mystery writing grandmother …” She tapers off, and I can sense there’s something more to this. If I have to, I’ll pry, but I wait patiently to see if she won’t provide the information herself. “The diner itself is … based off the place where your father asked me to marry him.” Tess blinks a few times before turning back to her laptop.
My stomach drops to my feet; I feel queasy and excited all at once.
“It’s about forty-five minutes from here, in a little town called North Sultan. I’ll tell you the story some other time,” she says, her voice drifting. And then her fingers are on those keys, expertly clacking away, even with the acrylics.
Bingo.
I watch her for a minute before I turn and leave her office.
Maxx and Chasm both look up at me as I step inside my room and carefully close the door behind me.
“Well?” Chas asks, popping out a single earbud. He’s sitting in my desk chair while X takes up nearly my entire bed. It’s a little weird to see him on it, but I make myself not care. Like, who gives a shit if my friend is sitting on my bed? It doesn’t matter; it makes no difference.
Chasm, maybe, is avoiding that spot on purpose. As he looks at me, I feel the emotions brewing between us like a storm. The easiest way to push through it is to put my gamer girl brain on. My puzzle solving brain. My kick-the-boss’ ass brain.
“The diner in the book is based on the one where Justin asked Tess to marry him; she said it’s in North Sultan.”
“Holy shit,” Chasm chokes out, kicking up from the chair and pulling his other earbud out. “That’s huge.” He thinks on that for a minute as Maxx pushes his laptop away and crosses his arms.
“You said the place was out-of-business, right?” he queries, and I nod. “It’s far too obvious of a location for Parrish to be staying—and I highly doubt an old diner has a fancy wine cellar anyway. But maybe that’s not the clue here? I know my parents get weird about all their ‘special places’.” He makes quotes with his fingers and then gives an adorably exasperated expression. “The Slayer asked you to push Tess on the Justin Prior thing. He had you smash your birthday gift with the typewriter that meant so much to her. Now this diner thing? I wonder if we shouldn’t look into other places that have significance to their relationship?”
It’s a good idea, actually. A great one.
“I still think we should check the diner out, just in case.” Chasm gives me a look that’s hard to interpret. “My dad wants me home on Sunday,” he adds sourly, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “But if X wants to come with me, we can scope the diner out beforehand.” The two of them exchange a look. “We’ll stop by Mr. Volli’s place while we’re out.”
“I’d rather go with you on Tuesday,” I tell him, but then he turns those gorgeous eyes of his on me and shakes his head.
“You need to stay here and figure out a way to get Tess to talk.” He points at the book on my nightstand. “At the very least, you need to keep reading and see if there’s anything else that stands out. If we’re going with this theory, we need a list of places to search. The location where they first met, where they first kissed, where they first—” He stops suddenly, and our eyes meet. X lets out an annoyed sigh.
“Do you two need a minute?” he asks dryly, but I shake my head.
We do, actually, but I’d rather not waste any time tonight on messy feelings.
We have work to do.
“No, we’re good,” Chasm says, looking away before I can think up an appropriate answer. “It’s all good.”
But neither of us is going to forget the look on Parrish’s face anytime soon.
I settle back down on the bed with the book while X turns and leans his back against the wall. Our feet bump together, and we both go still, but neither of us acknowledges the strange, electrical currents we feel when we touch.
Even if he’s technically Maxine’s ex, he’s still hers.
He will always be hers.
“Okay, Tess, let’s see what you’ve got,” I murmur, flipping the book back open.
I stare at my father across the table, a plate of ham and eggs in front of me, and I smile at him with all the ignorance of a girl who has no idea that the man she loves the most is a cold-blooded killer.
I’ve always enjoyed idioms.
This one seems most appropriate to describe what happens next: speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Delphine wakes me up the next morning. Nothing unusual about that, but I can’t help but be suspicious of her and anyone else that had access to this house that night.
“Breakfast is ready and on the table,” she tells me with a smile as I climb out of bed and head straight for the bathroom to deal with my period. I’m not about having a conversation with her right now. I just couldn’t bear it if I was friendly with her and it turned out she was like, an accomplice or something.
Once I’m dressed in jeans and a Whitehall Prep hoodie that either belongs to Chasm or Parrish—I truly don’t know since it’s been washed and smells like soap and only soap at this point—I head back into my room to find Delphine folding clothing from a basket and slipping it into the top drawer of my dresser.
The pajamas I wore that night when I woke up in the woods are in her hands.
That’s a puzzle I’m still having trouble figuring out. Like, did the Slayer buy a second set and put me in them? Or were the ones I was wearing washed, dried, and put back on me? Delphine would have easy access to the laundry, right? I’m just struggling to figure out how she’d be capable of drugging me and then dragging my body outside by herself. She’s so tiny and thin, and it doesn’t look like she works out much more often than I do.
I decide to push that thought aside for the time being, heading down the stairs just in time to see the pool guy leaving out the front door. I’ve seen the dude in passing before, but he never stood out to me much. Same deal with the man outside on a riding lawn mower, dealing with the slightly overgrown grass.
Guess the Vanguard household is back to running on all cylinders.
I don’t like that.
It makes it feel like Parrish doesn’t matter, like he isn’t coming back.
“Come eat,” Maxx says, standing in the doorway between the living room/kitchen area and the hallway. I glance over, finding him dressed in … oh. Wow. X is cloaked head to toe in this slick lime-green, black, and white jersey and pants. Even his boots match, hitting him at mid-calf, and strapped tight against his muscular legs.
I must be staring like a crazy person because he hooks a confident smile my direction.
“What do you think?” he asks as I finally remember that I’m supposed to be doing something other than gaping at my sister’s ex like a cringe-worthy tit-faced asshole. I make my heavy feet move forward, but Maxx doesn’t move back, and then we’re just standing way too fucking close together. “My parents made a surprise trip into town and basically ordered me down to the track.” His mouth twitches. “They don’t think I should draw attention to myself by participating in another press conference. Worried the Slayer might get me next or … something.” He sounds supremely annoyed.
“You’re going riding today?” I query, wishing circumstances were different so that I could go with him. Not only would I love to see Maxx Wright in his element, but I’d love a ride on the back of his bike … I mean, on my own bike. Maybe he could give me lessons or … something. Anything less disturbing than my brief, flickering fantasy of wrapping my arms around his middle and taking a ride.
He cringes just a bit, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head.
“I know it’s fucked, but my parents are on my ass; they don’t appreciate that I’m finishing the school year here instead of, like, actually at the university.” He offers me a pretty smile to make up for the perceived slight to Parrish. “Besides, I have to get on their good side
. I need to convince them to let me keep the humping rabbit.”
“He jizzed all over Maxx this morning,” Chasm offers up from behind him, stuffing a small square of watermelon into his mouth. He talks while he chews sometimes. Well, more like mumbles around his food. It’s annoyed me when other people do that in the past, but not him for some reason. I actually find it … cute?
Then it hits me what he just said.
“Seriously?” I choke out, completely skeeved at the idea. I think it might be time to get poor GG neutered. X snorts as he stalks past me, this tall, imposing presence that I don’t even need to look at to appreciate; he has a strong, impactful aura about him.
“He didn’t jizz on me; he pissed on me,” X corrects as I look over and notice the varied assortment of foods on the table. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, toast, a bowl of fruit, orange juice. It’s a very pretty spread. Frankly, I can barely keep my eyes open. Giving Maxx a sidelong look, I try to imagine what it’d be like to be with someone who gets up early every day and enjoys cooking breakfast while simultaneously prepping himself for a day of riding bikes.
My heavy lids sag and I slap both hands against my face to wake myself up, cringing when I smack the splints of my broken fingers on accident. Where Maxx Wright gets his energy from, I have no idea. He really is perfect for Maxine. My sister’s an early riser, and she’s always puttering around doing something, always eager to go out on some adventure or another.
I wet my lips as Chas shrugs and slumps into a chair at the table. It’s just the three of us in here currently. No sign of Tess, Paul, or the other kids just yet.
“However it happened, it was hilarious,” Chasm continues, snacking on another piece of cubed watermelon from the bowl of fruit. His eyes shift over to mine, and my cheeks pinken slightly. He takes note even as he looks away, a small smirk claiming his lips for a brief moment. “All down his bare chest, soaking into his sweatpants.”
I try not to think too hard on that image—because of the rabbit pee as well as the memory of Maxx Wright’s naked chest—as I glance back at X.
He stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth, letting it hang out as he snatches a windbreaker off the chair next to me. In order to reach it, he actually has to reach around me, his arm brushing against mine and making me shiver.
“Glad you found it amusing,” he mumbles around the toast, pausing on his way out the door to take it from his mouth so he can point at Chasm with it. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and then we’ll do our thing?”
Chasm lifts up a fist with his thumb up and X grunts, stuffing the toast back into his mouth before he takes off. He seems to realize something and scoots a few steps backward to look through the doorway. This time, it’s me he gestures at with his toast.
“I’ll see you later, Kota,” he says, and then he’s taking off again and disappearing into the garage.
I pull out the chair next to Chasm’s and sit down, our legs bumping together and giving me a wild thrill, one that stokes the heat between my thighs and makes me feel like a crazy person. Now that I’ve had sex, I just … kind of want to keep having sex. It’s fun. It feels good. It makes me feel close to Chasm.
And to Parrish.
“He likes you,” Chasm says, wrinkling his nose like he’s just bitten into something sour. The thing is, he isn’t eating anything at all right now. Apparently, it’s the idea of X liking me that’s given him that facial expression.
“Of course he likes me. We’re friends,” I say, reaching for the fruit bowl at the same moment that Chasm does. Our hands brush together and he catches my attention with his eyes again. Sometime last night, I fell asleep. When I woke up in the very early morning, I was alone, covered with my blankets, my Tess-phone recording from its tripod. It occurred to me then how ironic it was that I’d been using my phone to protect myself while the Slayer was happily watching me through that very same camera.
I thought about seeking Chasm out. I did. Inviting him into bed. My body.
In the end, I just went back to sleep, but I can see now that this tension between us is going nowhere. Parrish. Parrish. Oh god, I’m so sorry Parrish. If I even remotely let my mind stray back to last night, I feel a terrible sadness that clings like early morning dew to the sleeves of a wool coat.
Oddly specific imagery, Dakota. Really nice. If you do end up becoming a writer, you’ll fill your books with meaningless but very pretty purple prose.
“Not like that,” Chasm says, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I think he likes you in a different way. Did you see his face when he was watching us do it on the video last night? I thought he might punch me.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I snort, but I can’t quite get past the idea that he’s telling me the truth.
Our conversation comes to an abrupt halt as Tess enters the kitchen. She looks stunning with her dark hair in a topknot, her white business suit like something one of the Kardashians might wear on a magazine shoot. She looks … wow. I guess it isn’t all bad, sharing DNA with her.
“The press conference is in a few hours,” she tells us, looking over the spread on the table with a small frown. “Have Delphine come in here and clean this up when you’re done. Then Dakota, I’d like you to get dressed up in something nice.” She actually uses my correct name for once which I appreciate. Tess grabs a mug and then gestures loosely in Chasm’s direction with it. “Kwang-seon, your father doesn’t want you to participate in the filming, so you’ll need to go home before then or stay out of view of the cameras.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, but there’s no hint of mocking or sarcasm in his voice. He knows we’re both on thin ice with Tess. Add in the wild card of Kimber Celeste and things could get bad if we don’t toe the line.
The doorbell rings, and Tess pauses, glancing over her shoulder in that general direction.
“What on earth?” she asks, setting her mug on the counter and heading that way. Chasm and I exchange a look. There shouldn’t be any surprises knocks on the door here; we have a gate with a keypad and two police officers for a reason. Did a reporter sneak over the fence? Is it the lawn guy telling us that he found something? The FBI agents?
However I imagine things working out—that is, not at all the way they actually do end up turning out—I could never have dreamed of this.
Even if, one day, I were to become a famous novelist like Tess, I could never come up with this plot. Not in a million years.
I move up beside Tess, but a few steps behind her. Chasm is trailing just slightly behind on my left, and my entire world is about to shift in indescribable, inexplicable ways.
Tess doesn’t bother checking the front door cam or peeping out the window. She must, like me, figure that whoever is waiting on the other side is a friendly party. Or, at the least, a neutral party. At worst, a reporter overstepping their boundaries. She looks like she wouldn’t mind punching an inappropriate paparazzi.
The front door here is actually two front doors, a very grand sort of entrance. Tess opens the left side and looks out. As soon as she sees whoever’s on the other side, her hands slips right off the handle, and the door swings wide, bumping into the wall.
A man stands on the front porch, his hands tucked casually into his perfectly creased slacks. He’s wearing a dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, a loose tie that highlights the strong column of his neck, and a smile
A genuinely beautiful, open, adoring smile.
His eyes are a brilliant blue, his hair a glossy black, his skin a slightly tanner version of my own.
He looks right past Tess and straight at me.
My blood goes cold, and if I hadn’t put a hand on Chasm’s shoulder to steady myself, I might’ve fallen over and cracked my head open on the white marble floor.
“Justin?!” Tess chokes out, her voice high and reedy. She sounds like she’s about to faint. She looks at the man the way someone might stare at a corpse risen from the grave.
Justin.
Did she
just … did she say Justin?!
“Justin?” Chasm repeats, making the name ring in my head like a curse. I’m just staring at the guy. He looks like a model or a rock star or something. His face is handsome but not too pretty, his lashes long, his hair full and slightly wavy. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably in his mid to late thirties.
“Hello, princess,” he says, and his voice is exactly how I might’ve imagined my biological father’s voice to sound. Smooth, confident, adoring. He gazes at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen in his life. “A hug for your old man?”
I hope you’re excited for tomorrow.
My mind goes completely blank right then and there. I mean, like really. I see stars, and I can barely remember my own name.
Is this seriously happening right now?
“What are you doing here, Justin?” Tess asks, looking like she’s about to hyperventilate. Justin barely flicks his gorgeous blue eyes in her direction before turning back to me. He fixates on me with this … this horrible stare. He’s looking at me like I am the be-all, end-all of his existence.
Just like Tess does.
I consider vomiting onto the toes of his shiny dress shoes.
“Well, Mrs. Vanguard,” he purrs, managing to make the greeting sound both sincere and mocking all at the same time. He gestures loosely with one hand, an expensive watch strapped to his wrist. “May I come in? I’d like to discuss the fact that you found our daughter and didn’t think to contact me.”
For an entire minute, there’s nothing but silence.
It’s broken only by the distant murmur of reporters at the end of the road, and the buzz of the lawn mower as the landscaper meanders around the edges of the property.
“You … you’re not supposed to be in Medina,” she whispers, but Justin comes inside anyway. Tess scrambles to close the door behind him, looking like she might be sick. There’s too much going on for any of us to even give a second thought as to how Justin managed to get past the front gate and the pair of police officers on either side of it, without anyone noticing.
Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2) Page 25