“It was a private message that you happened to read.”
My arteries felt like they’d been clogged with a triple decker burger, large fries, and an enormous ice cream sundae as I mumbled, “The texts I got today, those were threats.”
“Are you sure?”
Trying to reopen my eyes would’ve been a losing battle against gravity, so I left them closed. This wasn’t the healthy kind of sleepiness that comes from a full day spent kicking butt and taking names, but a sludgy, desperate exhaustion that made it nearly impossible to function.
“No,” I said honestly. “I’m not sure about any of this anymore.”
“Alright, here’s what I know: My grandpa wouldn’t keep me in the dark without a damn good reason.”
“What about the missing thirty-year-old scotch? Maybe he was mad that you helped yourself to his liquor.”
“The scotch was a birthday gift.” I could hear the wry smile in his voice. “This is different, which is why there’s got to be some logical explanation for him to confide in you.”
I yawned drowsily. “No offense taken. Mostly because I’m too tired to care.”
He leaned forward until I could almost feel his harshly spoken words against my cheek. “There has to be something that you know, Emmy. Something that I don’t.”
“Romance novels are a billion-dollar-a-year industry.”
I cracked open my eyes only long enough to get a glimpse of Sebastian’s obvious frustration. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s one of the many things that I know and you don’t. Want me to keep going? The Romance Writers of America was founded in 1980 and—”
“There must be something important that you’re not telling me.”
My mind sifted through a million possibilities, as my body grew increasingly warm, overheated, like an overwhelmed computer ready to crash. “Mhmmm, well, your guess is as good as mine.”
“It has to be about your dad,” Sebastian got up and began pacing, his tread muffled by a gorgeous Moroccan rug. “Except if there was a threat, I could’ve helped him neutralize it.”
“How lovely for you.”
Sebastian ignored me. “So why did he leave me out of it?”
He probably intended that as a rhetorical question, but my sleep-deprived brain decided to give it my best shot. “Maybe he thought you knew the bad guys? Maybe he didn’t trust you? Maybe he was trying to protect you? Maybe he wanted you to focus on school, or lock picking, or knitting ugly Christmas sweaters instead.”
“You can stop now.”
“Okay.” My agreement sounded distant, as if I’d spoken it minutes earlier but the echo had taken a little side trip and was only now getting back to me. “That’s cool.”
Then I pretty much conked out.
A romance novel would’ve made it sexy. The hero would have tucked me into bed, admiring the way my red hair fanned out luxuriously across his pillow. Then he would’ve spent the night standing guard over my sleeping figure. Sebastian’s idea of chivalry extended only to spreading a blanket over me, probably because he didn’t want me getting sick and sneezing my germs all over the place. I didn’t know how he could be so cavalier about leaving a girl he barely knew in a room lined with priceless antiques, but when I jerked awake the room was deserted.
It was also pitch black.
I couldn’t distinguish furniture from fantasy. It was all darkness with a side of shadows, oh yeah, and more freaking darkness. More than anything, I wanted to hear my mom calmly reassure me that the monsters were all in my head. That there were no pools of blood oozing out from my closet. No killers hiding in a corner waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Except she wasn’t there and I wasn’t brave enough to search for a light switch. My mind half-fogged from sleep, I decided that remaining silently perched in the chair was the safest option. As long as my feet didn’t touch the ground, nobody could wrap their hands around my ankle and drag me away like a limp rag doll.
A limp, terrified, screaming-its-head-off rag doll.
I rubbed my eyes with closed fists and fought down a rising surge of panic. I was overreacting. Everything was fine.
Gritting my teeth, I lunged for the door, running my hands across the wall, searching blindly for a light switch plate. I sagged in relief when I finally bathed the room in light.
That’s when my idiocy sank in.
I was clutching the doorknob, poised to flee an empty room without my bag, after—quite literally—falling asleep on the job.
Frederick St. James couldn’t have picked a worse confidante if he’d tried.
I couldn’t protect myself, let alone the precious Slate that his grandson had probably swiped from my bag. It wasn’t like Sebastian had any moral scruples to hold himself back from engaging in some light theft. I strode across the soft Moroccan rug back to the leather chair I’d used as a makeshift bed.
A muffled vibrating came from the bag leaning haphazardly against it.
Sebastian hadn’t taken it.
That realization came more as a surprise than a relief. The Slate had succeeded in freaking me out from the first moment Frederick St. James had slipped it into my coat pocket. Knowing that Sebastian was behind the I won’t stop until I find you text didn’t magically make everything better. I hadn’t come any closer to unmasking the Potential Hostile or figuring out what they wanted with me. Something I would have forced Sebastian to discuss if I hadn't totally checked out in the chair instead. I had fallen asleep on the job. That had to set some kind of Emptor Academy record for incompetency.
There was also that last text I’d seen in the gym with Sebastian.
So will you kill him or not?
I gave myself a half-hearted pep talk as I reached inside my bag. “Okay, Emmy. It’s a Slate, not a snake. It’s not going to bite you.”
I glanced down at the screen and instantly wished I hadn’t.
Kill him or return my money.
Too bad the old man also hadn’t given me any pointers on refunding homicidal maniacs before he died. I’d waited too long to reach my Slate and the message disappeared, leaving an empty password screen and a tight knot of fear in the pit of my stomach.
Sebastian’s words from earlier that night slowly began to resurface.
“There must be something important that you’re not telling me.”
It had to be my father. No other part of my life contained anything even remotely mysterious. He was the only missing piece of the equation, and suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted the truth. I’d spent so many years clinging to the image of my dad as the handsome young man who had swept my mom off her feet with his omelets and his quick wit, and I didn’t want to update that mental image. Some part of me had always known that if my father had been hero material he would have stuck around for the happily ever after instead of disappearing without leaving so much as an e-mail address behind. But replacing all those fantasies with cold hard facts? There was a good chance that by the time I reached rock bottom of this rabbit hole, my dad would resemble the villain a whole lot more than the hero.
I glared at the Slate in my hands, even as I braced myself for the inevitable.
There was only one way to find out if my dad’s six-letter name matched the password.
“What have you got to lose, Emmy?” I demanded hoarsely. “Worst-case scenario, it’s not the password and nothing changes. Best-case scenario,” I froze, leaving the sentence unfinished. I honestly couldn’t picture a satisfying best-case scenario anymore. It used to be so simple. A five-book publishing deal and a romantic dinner date with Ben that would include candlelight and slices of dark chocolate cake. Although the trappings had never been the important part. The heart of the daydream centered on Ben confessing the depths of his feelings for me because he simply couldn’t contain them any longer.
Now my best-case scenario centered on not getting murdered on a toilet.
My whole body tensed as I slowly typed D-A-N-I-E-L and p
ressed Enter.
Invalid password.
So much for that idea. I forced myself to smile, even though there was nobody around to see it. I refused to be disappointed. This wasn’t a setback, merely an opportunity to test another theory. Sure, and every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings. I reached into my bag and pulled out my beat up cell phone.
It was time to call in the cavalry.
Chapter 25
I’d no sooner plugged my phone into the wall than it began ringing.
There were only three possibilities: Ben, Audrey, or my mom. None of whom would be reassured if I admitted that my day had included getting kicked out of one class, yelled at during another, and having my belongings drenched in soda by a vindictive willowy brunette. Oh yeah, there was also my panic attack at lunch, my first make-out session in the girls’ locker room, and a series of death threats. But you know, overlooking all of that, it was a totally normal first day.
Right.
I stiffened my spine and checked to see who was calling.
Ben.
He probably wanted to check up on me, make sure I wasn’t withholding any more information from the police. That I hadn’t landed into even deeper trouble. Although maybe he wanted to remind me that he didn’t think I was special. Not that I could ever forget hearing him say those words. Sending him straight to voice mail would only postpone the inevitable. Ben would only keep calling. Keep texting. Keep poking and prodding at me.
“Hey, Ben.” I could already feel my throat closing. Longing, desperation, heartbreak, the intensity made me want to curl into a tight ball, but the worst had to be the shred of hope. There’s nothing quite like placing that last bit of optimism onto the conveyor belt of an emotional wood chipper. Soon there would be nothing but a mangled mess to show for it.
“Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?”
I wondered how quickly the indignation in his voice would fade away if I told him the truth. I can’t always handle hearing you call me a friend when I want to be so much more. Yeah, that would shut him up. Too bad it would also kill our friendship.
“Sorry, I fell asleep and forgot to charge my phone.” I didn’t mention how desperately I’d needed sleep since the Starbucks Incident. Not that Ben would have accepted that as an excuse, given my track record with the low battery exclamation point of doom signal.
“Your mom called me when you didn’t answer her calls. She’s been worried sick about you, Em. You can’t drop off the face of the earth with no warning!”
“I. Fell. Asleep,” I emphasized each word harshly. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s this trend that’s really catching on. It’s recommended by ten out of ten doctors.”
“I thought we’d reached an agreement. You were supposed to check in each night until this stuff dies down.”
Cameron had to be somewhere nearby. That was the only reason for Ben to be cleaning up his language. It wasn’t like my delicate ears needed protecting, not when I’d grown up with a soundtrack of swearing in more languages than I cared to count.
“I’m fine.”
“Great. Glad to hear it. Next time, answer your phone before midnight.”
One quick glance down told me that Ben hadn’t been exaggerating about the time. My digital clock read 12:14 A.M., and a pang of guilt shot straight through me.
“I should go call my mom now.” It was a lame excuse, but I didn’t have anything else to say to Ben. Nothing that he wanted to hear at any rate.
“She’s probably asleep.”
“Then I’ll leave a message.”
I could hear Ben release a short breath of frustration. “You can do that later. It’s not like a few more minutes will change anything.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Emmy, is there a reason you’ve been avoiding me?”
Well, crap. I hadn’t expected that question from Ben, especially not over the phone. He preferred to hash things out in person so that he could get a full read on the situation. Apparently, he’d decided to bend that rule with me.
Which was too bad for him because I had no intention of spilling my guts.
“I’ve been a little preoccupied. You know, what with the dead guy and the new school and that other thing, what was it again? Oh right. Trying to avoid a killer who seems to want me dead.”
Ben knew me too well to fall for my sarcastic deflection. “Things have been off with you for a while. I want to know why.”
And I wanted to spend a lazy afternoon chatting with Susan Elizabeth Phillips; both of us would just have to live with the disappointment.
The door swung open, startling me into nearly dropping the phone. Sebastian strolled inside as if he owned the place, which, okay, he kind of did. But he didn’t have to smirk quite so arrogantly as he eyed the way I crouched on the floor with my cell phone jammed against my right ear. My left hand balled into a fist before returning limply to my side.
“Say something, Emmy!”
I tried to access my most reasonable voice, the one I reserved for talking my mom out of showcasing her cleavage on sketchy first dates.
“It’s complicated.” I cringed at the cliché, but I couldn’t risk arming Sebastian with any more insight into my personal life. It was only a matter of time before he accepted that his grandfather was gone in the most permanent way possible, and when that happened—when he finally believed what I’d been telling him all along—there was no telling how he might react.
“Now really isn’t the best time to talk, Ben. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Sebastian’s smile widened. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping on my conversation. “Wait, is this the boyfriend?”
“Mind your own business, Sebastian,” I snapped automatically, before I realized with an awful sense of foreboding that I should have kept my own mouth shut. I should have ignored him and focused on ending my conversation with Ben.
There was a long damning pause on the other end of the phone. “I thought you said you were sleeping, Emmy.”
“I was!”
“I guess I should’ve asked if you were sleeping alone.” Ben spoke slowly, as if he couldn’t believe his own words. As if it had never occurred to him that I might spend the night with someone—anyone—out of an impulse other than friendship. My shoulders squared at the insult. Just because he wasn’t interested didn’t mean the rest of the world had to follow suit.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Ben, but nothing happened.”
“Nothing? Well, that’s not entirely true,” Sebastian’s voice rang out loudly enough for Ben to catch every word. Apparently causing chaos was a St. James family trait. “That kiss seemed pretty important to you.”
“You kissed him?”
Beating my head with the phone until the screen cracked in my hand suddenly sounded far less painful than attempting to rescue this conversation.
“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, Ben.”
“It wasn’t bad at all,” Sebastian’s smile widened at my obvious discomfort. “I quite enjoyed that thing you did with your tongue right before we were interrupted.”
“I’m . . . this . . . it’s not what you think,” I stuttered, unable to think of anything else I could say to reassure him. Unsure why I was trying so hard in the first place. I didn’t need Ben’s permission to kiss someone, and I definitely didn’t owe him any explanations. “Trust me.”
Ben laughed hollowly in my ear. “Trust you? Trust you? Emmy, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Direct hit. I sucked in my breath as the pain of those words sent shockwaves through my system. I felt raw, exposed, as if my chest had been cracked open and Ben was peering inside with a scalpel saying, “Yes, it looks like the tumor has infected everything in here. Let’s close her up, everyone. There’s nothing worth salvaging.”
“Come on, Ben. It’s still me,” I turned my back on Sebastian, needing at least the illusion of privacy.
“No, it
isn’t. The real Emmy would have cooperated with the police. She wouldn’t be kissing some rich douchebag while her friends and family worry about her.”
The unfairness of the accusation burned deep. “You would run to the police, Ben. Not me. Just because you don’t like my choices doesn’t make them any less mine. I’ve always wanted to find my dad.” I raked a hand through a tangled clump of hair, yanking my scalp in the process. “And you’ve never even met Sebastian, so why are you acting like he broke your favorite toy?”
My anger kept me from mentioning that I happened to agree with him about Sebastian. That wasn’t the point. For all he knew, Sebastian was a perfectly nice guy who had fallen head-over-heels in love with me.
“It’s called common sense, Emmy. Most people try to avoid jackasses like him.”
One glance in Sebastian’s direction confirmed that he was enjoying the hell out of my conversation. He looked like he listened to people analyzing his personality on a regular basis. Maybe he had planted half a dozen listening devices in his therapist’s office. It seemed like something Sebastian would do for entertainment.
“He’s not always a jackass.”
He winked. “Thanks for coming to my defense, sweetheart.”
I glared at Sebastian in annoyance as he strengthened Ben’s original point. “Although that does appear to be his default setting.”
“This is what you do, Emmy,” Ben lowered his voice to a quiet warning. “You build up people in your head, fall in love with the fictional version of who you want them to be, and then they crush you.”
“I’ve never been crushed,” I objected, even as my cheeks heated in embarrassment.
“Pierre. Henri. That German guy, Hans. Want me to keep going?”
I stiffened, but forced myself to act calm. “What about them?”
“You were suckered in just like your mom.”
Usually, I could convince myself that I liked Ben’s upfront approach to honesty—that I’d rather know his opinion than waste my time second guessing everything he said—but right now? Yeah, I really wished he’d kept that last bit of analysis to himself.
Dial Em for Murder Page 17