by Jillian Dodd
“Shhh,” he whispers again. He gently pushes my hair off my face, his lips never leaving my temple. “But what, baby?”
“After my friend left . . . Accidentally saw mom. Both shopping. New York City. Stalker was following Mom. Chased.”
“Chased your friend?”
“Yes. Cabs. Streets. Fast. Got away. Later. Mom. Package. Photo of friend. Stabbed with scissors.”
“How awful.”
I nod, completely agreeing with him. “The girl who . . . was killed. Like my friend.”
“And?”
“My friend did something.”
“What'd she do?”
“She went back. To the club. Knew stalker would be there. Danced. For him.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Tired of hiding. Trying to push. Get him to make a mistake.”
“I still don't understand why your friend thinks it's her fault a girl was killed. Sadly, murders happen in big cities like L. A. all the time.”
“Girl . . . stabbed with scissors.”
“Oh my god. That’s awful.”
“And . . . and . . . and.” I start crying again. “And . . . it was all my idea.”
“Take my hand,” he says, reaching out to me.
I’m still on autopilot, but my hand moves into his and he squeezes it tightly.
“Listen to me. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known it was going to happen. Everything will be okay. I’ll help you.”
Somehow his squeezing my hand does make me feel like everything will be okay.
“I’m supposed to be somewhere. Class? Dance?”
“You’re in no shape for it.”
Aiden takes me to his room, where I lie on his bed and snuggle into his pillow, which smells just like his neck.
A few minutes later, Riley is sitting on the edge of the bed. “Cooper asked me where you are. He seemed worried.”
“I was with him—getting my hamstring stretched—when I . . .”
“I told him all about it,” Aiden tells me. “I have to get to basketball practice. Riley is going to stay with you until I get back, okay?”
He kisses my forehead and is heading toward his door when Riley squints at me. “Wait? So both you and your friend were stalked?”
Aiden freezes, turning around quickly. “What do you mean?”
My lies are unraveling before my very eyes.
“When we were in Miami, there was a guy who tried to grab Keatyn,” Riley says to Aiden.
I get tears in my eyes. Now, not only do I have to lie, but I have to lie about my lies.
“Riley, I lied.”
“Why?”
I put my hands in my face trying to figure out a new story, but my brain is fried.
Thankfully, Aiden sits back on the bed and starts telling Riley what I told him.
About my friend.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Riley asks, pushing my chin up so I have to look at him.
It’s easy to tell the truth to that question.
“I was shocked. I mean, it all happened so fast, and I was told—no, warned, sworn to secrecy—that if I told anyone about the stalker then he could find her.”
“So, where is she?” Riley asks.
I close my eyes again. “She's lost,” I say, simply stating how I feel.
“No one knows where she is?”
“They put her in witness protection, but she didn't feel safe anymore, so she left. She can’t tell me where, but she’s tired of being away from everyone she loves. Her family. Her friends. She wants her life back.”
“But what does that have to do with you?”
“It’s sort of another reason why I didn’t get to stay at my old school. She has this personal security firm that helped. They were worried that all her close friends could be in danger too. That he might hurt us to find her. It just worked out that Damian was away on tour and Brooklyn was leaving to surf. I had the option of coming here or going with my family. I chose here because I was worried about my sisters. She and I were really close. I’d be the natural target if he couldn’t find her. And, now, I’m responsible for a girl being dead because I told her it was time to stop running and fight back. My friend told me about the girl. Says she can’t handle it. The guilt. The fear.”
“Keatyn, you didn't do anything wrong,” Riley says. “You're just stronger than she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if it were you, you'd fight back. You wouldn't just sit around and wait for something to happen. You'd make what you want to happen, well, happen. It's like what we just learned in history. How you never know what people will do when faced with danger. How they react like animals. Fight or flight.”
“Fight or flight?”
“He’s right,” Aiden says. “Your friend chose flight, but not you. You'd fight. You wouldn't let this stop you.” He wraps his hands around my fists and squeezes.
I smile at him. “You’re right. And you just gave me an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Instead of her going to dance this week, I will.”
Aiden and Riley share a worried glance.
Aiden kisses me. “Stay here with Riley until I get back.”
The second Aiden closes the door, Riley narrows his eyes at me and says, “So, which one of us are you telling the truth to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your story. It’s full of holes.”
“I know. I don’t want to lie to you. I just had to lie about this. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all you’re lying about?”
“Yes. I hate to lie. But I promised. And the lies are only for protection, so I hope you understand.”
“I understand. Now, move over. If you’re going to do something dangerous, I’m going to help you script it.”
I move over and lean against his arm while we brainstorm.
What we end up with is a scene straight out of a movie.
Which is pretty fitting, if you ask me.
Later that night, as soon as Katie is asleep, I go into the stairwell, call Troy, and tell him what I think happened.
“Oh, wow,” he says slowly. “I didn’t even put that together. Do you really think it was him?”
I tell him about the picture.
“Wow,” he says again.
“So, I need to know. Did he get one of the bouncers to bring him back there? Give her a card? Anything?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Let me check and I’ll call you right back.”
Ten minutes later, he calls me back.
“Yes. He asked one of the bouncers to give her his business card. Said he was a producer and would be interested in doing a screen test with her. From what I understand, this isn’t unusual for him. A lot of the girls admitted to doing screen tests and many have hooked up with him. They say he’s charming and a perfect gentleman.”
“Is the bouncer willing to tell all this to the police?”
“He will. He feels responsible because he helped her get the job.”
“Troy, if he isn’t arrested this week, I’m coming back Thursday to dance again. I want to honor her in a big way. Do you think the club and the girls would be willing to help?”
“Absolutely. We’re all still reeling. And we’ve been trying to figure out something to do for Leighton.”
“Leighton was her name?”
“Yeah, Leighton Wall.”
I close my eyes. Somehow knowing her name makes it even worse.
“I’m going to have a bunch of packages delivered to the club with your name on them. What time does the club open?”
“Ten.”
“Can you have all the employees there at nine?”
“Will do.”
“And Troy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Damian. I want to keep him as far away from this mess as possible.”
I know Cooper will probably have a fit about this, but I don’t care.
I toss
and turn in bed, trying to sleep, but visions of Vincent, cages, and scissors haunt me every time I close my eyes.
I know there’s a very good chance that I might not come back from this trip.
That my fate might be the same as Leighton’s.
Aiden sneaks in my window sometime after curfew and pulls me into his arms.
I still don’t sleep, but I do realize there’s something important I need to do before I go back to face Vincent.
Just in case I don’t come back.
I slip out of bed, grab my phone, sneak into the bathroom, and send Sam an email with a very specific set of instructions to be carried out in a very short amount of time.
I end the email with a directive to meet me on Thursday afternoon.
Then I use the notes function on my phone and start writing.
After practice the next day, Cooper meets me in the training room.
“So what were the calls about?”
“We’re going back to Malibu on Thursday.”
Cooper’s face turns a shade of pissed-off red. “Are you fucking nuts?”
“Calm down!” I whisper softly, but firmly. “I have to do something. I can’t let what happened stop my plan. I also need to go back to honor her.”
“You’re not going to the funeral.”
“No, that wouldn’t be right, since I didn’t know her. We’ll be honoring her at the club.”
“No. No fucking way are you going back there. I’ll quit before I’ll allow that.”
“Fine. Then I accept your resignation.”
Cooper bangs his fist on the table. “Oh, you are so damn stubborn.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Cooper. I have to do something. I can’t let him get away with it.”
“He might not get away with it. The police are going to question him.”
“That’s awesome news. He deserves to go to jail. But knowing him, he’ll get off. And knowing him, he’ll be back at the club on Thursday to see if I have the balls to show up.”
“I want to know your entire plan now. We can’t go out the back again. We have to have a different plan. Something . . .” Cooper says.
“More dramatic?” I laugh, knowing my plan is just that.
“No, I was thinking safe.”
“We’re going out the front door, Cooper. I just need you to make sure I get there and then to . . .”
I tell him my escape plan.
Cooper slaps his forehead. “You seriously have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Think it will work?”
“It’s not like he’ll be able to follow us. But you told me that when you were in Miami he had a gun. The photos he’s sent to your mom and Brooklyn involved shooting. What if he decides to start shooting? Creates a distraction to get you out. Or, worse, to clear a path to you.”
“I think—well, hope—that he’ll be too shocked to do anything. And by the time he realizes what’s happening, we’ll be gone.”
“Let me think this through, okay.”
I nod, shutting up.
“It sounds more like a movie than real life,” he finally states.
“That’s why it’s perfect. He’ll never expect it. And if you can get your friends to help, I’ll stay safe.”
Cooper shakes his head at me. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Cooper texts Keatyn as she’s en route to the airport.
Cooper: I don’t like this. I should be going with you.
Me: I’m meeting Sam. Just have to sign papers dealing with this takeover. He has power of attorney, but it’s limited and doesn’t cover this.
Okay, so I’m lying to him, but only about why I’m meeting Sam.
But why I’m meeting him is too personal to share with Cooper.
He’d say I’m admitting defeat.
But I want to be prepared.
Just in case.
Cooper: Still . . .
Me: Your flight lands in L.A. before mine does. I’m wearing the wig and the flight is booked under your name. I’ll see you when I get there.
Cooper: You swear to me you’re going to see Sam?
Me: I swear. Plus, I don’t think it would be smart to both miss school on the same day.
Cooper: True. All right. See you tonight.
On the plane, I look at a magazine that Peyton gave me last night at dinner. On page eight is a spread about Damian, including two pictures of him and Peyton. In one they are coming out of a trendy restaurant and in the other coming out of a club. Obviously, he didn’t keep her busy in the bedroom the whole time.
Shit.
But then I look at the caption and realize that you can’t clearly see her face in either photo.
Damian Moran, lead singer of the hottest new band on the planet, Twisted Dreams, was seen this past weekend with another blonde on his arm. And this blonde apparently held his attention for the entire weekend. Who is this gorgeous mystery girl? Can she tie down the playboy? And, come on, Damian, how about some equal opportunity for us brunettes?
I’m really thankful they’re spending the holiday in St. Croix, where there are no photographers.
And I pray Damian will keep their relationship a secret until March.
I roll the magazine up and carefully put it in my backpack next to the brunette wig.
I’m not wearing the wig for this part of the journey.
I’m just me.
I have to be.
I close my eyes and listen to music during the long flight, arrive on schedule, and hop in Sam’s rental car.
We drive for about thirty minutes through what I think is one of the most beautiful parts of the country.
Hilly. Lush. Green. Blue sky.
Sam turns onto a dirt road, winds up a hill, and says, “This is the spot.”
I nod, understanding and taking it in.
He stops the car on a large flat area. “Is this what you were envisioning?”
I get out of the car and walk toward the view of the ocean.
And smile.
“You did good, Sam. It’s perfectly perfect.”
“I got lucky,” Sam chuckles.
“No,” I say. “It was fate.”
I spin around, taking in the beautiful view in every direction.
“You’ve done everything exactly the way I requested, right?”
“I followed your instructions to the letter.”
“And you’ll do whatever it takes from a price and timing standpoint? We don’t have much time.”
“The current owners are aware of your timeline and if the offer is what they expect, we’ll have the deal closed on Monday.” He looks at me closely. “Are you sure this is what you want? To be cremated? To have your ashes spread here?”
“Yes. I’m positive.”
He shakes his head, but all he says is, “Then I just need your signature.” He holds out a clipboard, hands me a pen, and points to the places I should sign.
“Thank you so much, Sam. I love it.” I pull an envelope out of my purse and say, “And here’s this.”
He takes it from me and places it safely in his briefcase.
I look back at the ocean, smile again, and feel an overwhelming sense of peace.
I close my eyes.
Say a prayer.
Then get driven back to the airport.
On Thursday, Vincent is in his office when he gets a visit from the police.
“We’d like to ask where you were last week. Thursday night.”
“May I ask what this is about?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I had a business dinner with a colleague and then went to a club I frequent.”
“What’s the club’s name?”
“It doesn’t have a name.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s in an industrial area, and it has no name.”
The officer scrunches up his nose like something smells. Vincent knows they found the girl. He saw it on the news. Thought it was really sad. He can surmise that
the authorities questioned those employed at the club and were given his name. Just as he planned they would. The cop pulls out a photo and shoves it across Vincent’s desk. “You recognize her?”
Vincent studies the photo, recalling the girl’s beauty. Shame what he was forced to do to her.
“I think so. She looks different in this picture, but I think she works at the club I just mentioned.”
“She does. Why do you thinks she looks different?”
“Well, in this photo she looks sweet and innocent. If it is the girl I’m thinking of, she was a new employee and danced in one of the cages.”
“Cages?”
“I assume you went to the club and questioned their employees, had a look around. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. And that means you know exactly the cages I’m referring to.” The officer starts to speak, but Vincent continues. “I can also assume that the bouncer told you that I gave the new cage dancer one of my business cards. Is that a problem?”
“Normally, no,” he replies in a smart-ass tone. “Except that she’s dead.”
Vincent studies the photos again, shaking his head. “Tragic. Such a pretty girl. Drugs?”
“Murder.”
“What?” Vincent says, feigning surprise. “How?”
“I can’t answer that question while the case is still under investigation.”
“Am I being investigated? Is that why you’re here?” Vincent asks, standing up quickly, pretending to be shocked and outraged.
“We’re trying to piece together a timeline of the last few hours of her life.”
“I saw her dancing. Thought she had a certain look. My company is currently casting a movie. I sent her my card, suggested she get in touch with me this week.”
“Just what kind of movie is it?”
“A remake of A Day at the Lake.”
The policeman grins. “That’s when I fell in love with Abby Johnston,” he says, causing Vincent to tense up. “Have you seen the trailers for her new movie? H. O. T. When I looked you up on the Internet it said you were searching for the next Abby.” He nods at the photo. “You think this girl could have been it?”