by Tara Brown
He shrugged. “She isn’t going to hate you. She’s just going to be pissed her little lies are over.”
I jerked my hand free from his. “I get it—you think I’m the least likely to be offended that you are using me to make Sierra get over you. You want your freedom from her, and you think pretending to be into me will help that along. But I’m not actually as cool with this as you think. I actually have feelings, you ass. And I actually like the way you smell and look. And—ugh!” I turned and walked to the bar, hoping they weren’t going to try the whole “must be twenty-one to drink” thing now that the cameras were rolling because I needed a stiff one.
I leaned against the huge mahogany bar and waved. The bartender, the one from the party the night before, strutted over. “Hey, I know you.” He gave me one of those smiles boys give when they think they have a chance with you.
“I know. I threw up a lot and you helped me. I remember.”
He wrinkled his nose. “No, last night.”
I paused. “Right, and last night.”
“You want that same thing with the cranberry juice and vodka?” He looked confused all of a sudden.
“No. Just a scotch on the rocks, please. Make it a double.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He cocked an eyebrow. He turned and poured, looking baffled. He was obviously rifling through his memories, trying to find the puking story while I was wishing I had kept it to myself. He passed me the drink as the lightbulb turned on in his head. “The yacht!” He laughed and shook his head. “I forgot all about that. You had the wicked stepmom who yelled at you for drinking too much, but you were seasick.” He grinned wider, still chuckling. “How have you been?”
I sighed, not sure where to go with that. “Great.”
His gaze narrowed. “You aren’t friends with that girl, who just got uhm—were you?”
“I was,” I answered quickly, looking around. I wasn't fast enough to escape before Vincent was there, leaning against the counter, blocking the bartender and grinning. “You got my favorite. Thanks, princess.”
I rolled my eyes and let him drink my scotch. I lifted my fingers at the bartender to tell him I needed another two. Vincent would tear through this drink like it was his first one.
“Tell me why you hate being called princess.” He sipped and watched my eyes like he was studying them. When I didn't speak he did, “Because as far as I can tell, you are. Your family is rich, you live in a palace, your dad acts like he’s King Shit of Turd Island, and you have a wicked stepmother.”
I snorted at the King Shit comment.
He lifted a finger. “And when you flash your beautiful smile I can’t help but wonder if maybe woodland creatures are on their way to assist you in whatever deviant behavior you have planned for the evening.”
I stopped smiling. “You are the deviant. And you watch way too much Disney.” I shuddered, remembering the pictures in his drawer.
He shrugged. “It’s all part of being a teenaged boy. A little Disney and a little deviancy. Keeps the blood flowing.”
That arrogance made me angry. “Those girls didn't look like it was a typical day for them, Vince. They could have been human trafficking victims.” I turned and stalked off, completely annoyed.
His hand bit in, spinning me around. The fun look on his face was gone as he lowered his stare to mine. “What did you see?”
I shoved him, tearing my arm from him. “Screw you!”
“What?” His tone made me jump. “What did you see?”
I swallowed and confessed, hating that I wasn't nearly as sneaky as I thought. “Your drawer. I saw the photos in the false bottom.”
His jaw fell and his eyes closed. He released me, shaking his head.
“I don't even know why the hell I am here, but I definitely know I shouldn't be with you. You’re an ass and a pervert.” I turned and walked into the crowd, not waiting around to hear his lies about how they weren’t his or he was holding them for someone. I couldn't believe I’d let him kiss me, or that I’d liked it.
I walked to where Sierra was slamming booze and tapped her on the shoulder. “You ready to go?”
She smiled wide, putting her drink down on the counter. “Let’s do this.”
I linked my arm in hers and nodded at Lainey who fled from her mother’s side and joined us on the way out.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to see Sage. This was a terrible idea. This is morbid, dancing and drinking as if there isn’t a storm pouring down on us.”
Chapter Twelve
Kidnapper font?
Sage’s night guard gave me a look. “The Miller family isn’t seeing anyone.”
Sierra leaned across me and fluttered her eyelashes. “Tell Sage that Sierra wants to see her.”
He sighed and walked back to his desk. Seconds later the gate opened, but he didn't look impressed. I glanced at Sierra. “I hope my car is still here.”
“I’m sure their driver took it home for you after that kiss.”
I winced. “I don't like people driving my car.”
She rolled her eyes as the car parked in front of the house. “You are such a diva.”
Lainey, who had been sitting quietly, climbed out first and walked calmly. She seemed really uncomfortable.
We followed her to the door, smiling at Hennessey, the butler. I walked in behind Sierra and Lainey, noting the weird look he gave me. “You having a good night, Miss Lindsey?”
I shrugged and glanced past him, realizing he had motioned for me to wait a moment. I sighed. “How bad is it?”
“You don't want to be here. I shouldn't be doing this; we both know that. But she is quite unsettled. Her father just had his driver take your car home before Sage lit it on fire.” His British accent was thicker than my butler Robert’s.
“Oh God. Did she touch it at all?”
He shook his head.
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll wait in her room and talk to her alone.” I slipped past him and headed for the stairs. I didn't have to walk near the room where everyone else was to get upstairs, thankfully.
Taking each stair slowly, I had the funniest feeling. It was the first time in my life I had ever experienced it so the sensation took me a second to recognize.
It started low in my belly and prickled my skin, making me anxious and worried.
I was scared to be alone.
I exhaled and glanced around nervously, certain I was being watched from all sides. Every shadow became a person lurking. Every corner had a body around it. And in each room I couldn't see I knew there was someone following my every step.
It was the most miserable sensation I had ever had. My eyes ached from staring and my head hurt. It was like I had to strain to see everything, and yet the walls felt as if they were closing in.
At the top of the stairs, I did the thing the old me would have done: I walked to Ashton’s room and lifted my hand to the knob. When I turned it I exhaled and reminded myself I liked the dark, I could hide in the dark. It was the light that showed too much.
When I cracked open his door my mouth went dry.
The large room, easily the size of mine if not bigger, was completely dark except where the light of the silver moon shone in the huge windows, casting shadows everywhere. I shuddered and entered, closing the door and pressing my back against it.
My palms were sweaty and I could hear my heart beating as I gazed about the dark space as if it were a blank canvas or this was my first time snooping in someone’s room.
But it wasn't.
I was seasoned at snooping, as well as sniffing out the best hiding places.
But there in the dark I was alone, as in on my own, and I felt it.
Pushing myself away from the door, I stumbled out into the room, unsure of which way to go. The stillness of the room and the silence in the air haunted me. I turned to the right, opening the door to his bathroom. I closed it again, feeling a bit weird about going in there. Ashton didn't seem like the type who would hide a
nything but if he did, it wouldn't be in a bathroom.
And I hated bathrooms anyway. If I was going to be murdered, out of all rooms, I feared it being in the bathroom the most. I had made the mistake of watching Psycho too many times. Combining that with the movie It, and I was not going in there.
I glanced at the door next to me. I stepped lightly, opening the closet and flicking on the light. I exhaled, liking the light being on.
His closet overwhelmed me. I didn't even know where to start. But the empty hangers on the floor seemed like a good place. I took a step in farther, noting the way the clothes seemed pulled forward on the shelves, like Ashton or someone had grabbed clothes and not noticed these had been pulled forward too. It was too disheveled to be any one of our closets.
Empty hangers were still hung up, randomly spaced. All the clothes that were moved and hangers that were bare seemed to be in the comfortable clothing section of the closet. None of his tuxes, suits, or dress shirts seemed to be missing.
It was weird, to say the least. But it was weirder still that I didn't suspect him of killing Rachel. He clearly knew she was dead. When I told him, he hadn’t even flinched. And he knew Sage had been hurt. But how and why? And his clothing was missing and the police were looking for him.
Why would he run if he were innocent?
I left the closet, realizing he would not have hidden anything in there. Someone else came in daily to put his clothes away.
I stepped back into the dark room, leaving the light on in the closet to brighten the bedroom just enough. His bed was made but there was an imprint in the bedding, like someone had lain on top of it. The shadows from the light created mountains and valleys where the person’s outline was.
His desk was empty and his bedside tables were clean and without false bottoms. I checked under the bed and in the laundry, and even in the walls, pushing and tapping lightly. I was about to lose hope in my mad skills, which had returned tenfold while I had been snooping, when I caught a glimpse of something.
It was a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket.
His maid was just like ours; she cleaned the garbage every day, just like she put away the clothes and straightened everything up.
Only I knew Ashton had fled in Rachel’s car or that he was aware of what had happened when we arrived at Sierra’s. I hadn’t told a single person Ashton had taken Rachel’s car. I hadn’t told anyone he was missing. And I certainly hadn’t shared the fact he knew what had happened at the party.
So the maid would have definitely cleaned this room today. The mess in here was new.
Ashton had come home today and taken things. I wondered if Sage and her family knew and just hadn’t filled the rest of us in on it. But mostly I wondered why he had left in the first place.
Something about the garbage called to me. I bent down and picked up the basket, lifting the one single piece of paper from it.
When I lowered the basket my nerves started to twinge with anxiety. I smoothed the paper and opened it, gasping.
In kidnapper’s-ransom-note style it read, “Leave town or your sister is next!”
I swallowed hard, realizing suddenly I had my answer. Ashton had come home, but I would bet he hadn’t told anyone. I would bet he had left town in a hurry.
Completely terrified and still convinced I was being watched, I looked up from the paper and glanced around. Through the window I saw a figure on the grass below staring up at me.
I jumped, leaping behind the drapes so I could hide and peek. My hands shook as I tried to get a glimpse through the side of the curtain, but the person was gone. I exhaled, though I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.
If that was the killer, then he or she knew I had seen the note.
Did that mean I was next?
I closed his door and ran toward Sage’s room. When I got inside Sage, Sierra, and Lainey were already there.
Sage rolled her eyes, sighing loudly. “No one invited you, Lindsey. Leave.” She pointed at the door.
I tried to catch my breath and twitched my head in a no. I didn't want to go outside and I needed to explain. More than anything, my brain screamed, what if the killer is still there? What if they are coming in here? “No, Sage. Stop being an ass.” I sighed and lifted a hand.
“I’m the ass? You made out with my boyfriend on national television and I’m the ass?”
“He isn’t your boyfriend. You need to stop lying to us all.” I rolled my eyes, in no mood for her dramatics over petty shit, not while her brother had run off and the killer was threatening her.
She gasped but I silenced her with a fierce look. “You have been lying to us for months about him and you. You made Sierra feel like shit for HIM kissing HER, when in reality you had been broken up for a month. I don't even understand why you want to date him—he’s a pig. But I never made out with him, and I never came on to him. Believe it or not, I have zero interest in him. Now stop being a little bitch and tell us what the hell is going on here.” I flashed the ransom-looking note at her, still trying catch my breath.
She looked cruel for half a second and then it melted away to confusion. “What is that?” Her eyes widened, as did everyone else’s.
“I found this in Ashton’s wastebasket and there’s someone in a dark hoodie on the lawn.” I wiped the cold sweat from my brow.
Sage’s eyes filled with tears as she sniffled. “That was in Ash’s room?”
“Yeah. I assume it means you are next.” I pointed at her window. “Let’s not forget about the person on the lawn who might be here to kill you,” I repeated and pointed at her closed curtains. “I saw someone.”
Lainey’s mouth dropped open.
Sierra, who had been sporting a bit of a cocky look when Sage and I were squabbling, swallowed hard after taking a sip of her Pepsi. That look had since washed away.
Sage shook her head. “I don't know what you mean. Why would that be in Ashton’s room? Where is he? That's a joke. That's not real. Where is he?”
“Well, I think he must have come here after his room was cleaned this morning. His closet’s a mess, and it looks like he rifled through things in his room.” It was my turn to swallow hard and confess. “And this was in his wastebasket, crumpled up.”
“But why?” Sage still seemed suspicious.
I sighed and let it all out. “He was at Sierra’s last night, just before I called my dad. But my dad never took care of Rachel’s car—Ash did. He showed up moments after we arrived, maybe guessing we would go to Sierra’s or maybe following us, and he took her car. He told me to clean us all up and left. I haven’t seen him since. I assumed he would clean the car or get rid of it altogether because he thought you killed Rachel.”
Sierra snapped. “You kept this from us?”
“You were all freaking out and I was freaking out, and honestly, I didn't think it would do him any good to be named as part of this. He and Rachel had been fighting; I didn't want him to get in trouble. Especially, since I believed it was you who killed Rachel, and he was cleaning up your mess, like the rest of us.”
Lainey nodded but Sage shoved me, hard too. “You always want to be the only one who knows shit, Linds. You are such a liar—how do we know you didn't plant that in Ash’s room? And no one but you saw him at Sierra’s—you probably made that up. You probably killed Rachel!”
Sierra nodded but Lainey looked torn.
“That doesn't even make sense.” I shoved back, knocking Sage onto her bed.
“Rachel hated you and loved to torment you. It makes perfect sense.”
I lost it then, pointing at her and screaming, “You were the one fighting with Rachel, and you are the one we found covered in her blood and injured like she’d knocked you out. How do we know that you didn't kill her and then take the GHB so you would suddenly have an alibi? How do we know you didn't write this stupid note to make it look like you’re innocent and next on the killer’s list?” I stepped back, disgusted. “And I am not a liar. I’m not the one wh
o’s been lying about her relationship all summer!”
“Least I have had a relationship and am not currently pining after the emo coffeehouse whore!”
My insides tightened and I might have let out a small whimper. “Screw you, Sage. And get rid of the disgusting naked selfies you have in your journal before someone sees them and they end up on the net!” I turned and stormed from the room, leaving Sage crying, the note on the floor, and the other two stunned silent. It was such an offside way of threatening her with the naked photos. I wasn't sure she would even get that it meant I had snooped through her room and knew her dirty little secrets.
I didn't even care that there was a hoodie weirdo on the lawn. I just wanted out. If he messed with me I would kill him myself.
Stomping down the stairs, I pulled out my earrings and stalked for the front door. I was outside and across the driveway before I realized I was alone with the maybe killer and far less skilled in hand-to-hand combat than I had anticipated being. I knew in my heart Sage hadn’t done any of it. I knew that. In spite of the drama she was still the nicest girl in the world. I knew that. She was just angry.
And knowing that meant I was alone with a killer or, at the very least, a stalker.
My steps quickened but my heels were killing my feet. I stepped out of them, tucking my earrings in the toes, and then holding them like the heel was a weapon.
A sound broke the silence behind me. I didn't look back, I ran for the gatehouse, imagining the killer was chasing me. My brain was super helpful by offering up all the imagery I had stored in there from the night Rachel died.
Images of the way her body had been lying in the leaves and dirt flashed behind my eyes as I sprinted for the guard.
Chapter Thirteen
Blackmail’s a B
My feet padded along the driveway, making the only noise I could hear. When I turned the corner and saw the guardhouse, I sighed and slowed down, breathing like I might have done a marathon.