by Sally Mason
“My uncle went down to Connecticut to get Cameron,” he informs me after mumbling a “Hi” and signaling the waitress to bring him some coffee. “Social Services cleared him as a temporary guardian after I agreed to move out until my lawyer can file a motion to vacate my conviction for sexual assault. I’m not allowed to be around Cameron for now, but at least he’s safe and won’t be in foster care.”
I frown, fearing the worst. “Where’re you gonna stay?”
My suspicion is confirmed just moments later. “I think I’ll crash at Marcel’s for a while. Tyrone has a big house and I could even help out, earn some extra cash.”
The waitress places the coffee in front of him and gives me a refill. I wait until she is out of earshot before I cut into him. “I think that’s a terrible idea.”
If he is living there, he’ll get caught up in Marcel’s undercover operation. Marcel had just told me this morning that the DEA will be moving in soon to make the bust since a huge deal with some South American drug cartel is about to go down. “Tyrone’s a criminal and you’re setting yourself up for trouble. Your probation officer will probably violate you if he finds out you’re living there.”
He sips his coffee slowly, glaring at me with knotted brows. “You know, I’m really surprised to hear this. If it wasn’t for Marcel, you’d be dead.” He tries to keep the trembling anger from his voice, but fails. “He’s my friend and has always been there for me. I hope you won’t make me choose, because let me assure you, you’ll lose.”
The thought of giving him an ultimatum had crossed my mind but is quickly discarded after his words. “Hey, I don’t wanna fight. I’m just worried you’ll get yourself into more trouble.” I grimace. “This gang business is new to me and I don’t really feel comfortable around Tyrone. He creeps me out.”
“I guess he can be scary, especially for some country chick like you. Sometimes, I forget you grew up in Stonehenge. You stood your ground like a real street kid out there in New Haven.” He laughs. “You were kickass.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” My smile is slow, uncertain whether to take this as a compliment. The fact that he grew up around crime and drugs makes me question his values at times. I now understand why Marcel mistrusts him to a certain degree—I’m not sure if I would put my life in Finn’s hands if I was a cop.
It was almost too easy to sell him Marcel’s story. After we had gotten the car from the impound yard and had checked on Maisie, who had temporarily found a home with one of Marcel’s DEA buddies, Marcel called him and picked him up from the Greyhound bus stop where Finn had been waiting for a bus back to Maine.
As soon as Finn saw Marcel’s face, he immediately presumed that Marcel had hired some legal heavyweight and gotten himself released with the threat of a lawsuit. Convincing him that his assumptions were right was a piece of cake after I confirmed Marcel’s detailed account of how the cops had managed to screw up the entire case. I just explained how they retaliated with brutal violence right in front of me after he had given them a smart lip.
A giggle from the door distracts me when two new patrons enter the coffee shop.
“There she is,” Cynthia mutters to Justin, loud enough for the whole diner to hear.
I frown—why can’t those two can’t just leave me alone? The gossip in town has been booming since Luke’s arrest and I have suffered under the constant stares and whispers of anyone I passed on the street.
Justin slowly strolls over to me. “Nice pictures you posted on FriendBook. I have to admit, you’re hot.” He kisses Cynthia’s cheek when she nudges him in the side. “But of course not as hot as you, babe.”
That causes her to giggle hysterically.
I roll my eyes. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. I haven’t been on my FriendBook account in years.”
“Oh yeah.” His eyes fall on Finn and he smirks. “Dude, those pictures are dynamite. Your girlfriend seems great in the sack. I’m just sorry that it’s with another guy.”
Finn glares at Justin. “She just told you she doesn’t know nothing about it.”
Justin lazily fishes his iPhone from his pocket, tapping around before holding my FriendBook profile under my nose. “Here we go.”
All color leaves my face. My profile picture has been changed to a topless photograph of myself. Underneath, there are dozens of pictures of me having sex with Jed. I clutch my hand over my lips as a gurgle builds in the bottom of my throat.
“I—I didn’t do that.” My mouth is so dry that I have trouble swallowing. Every breath is agonizing, the all-too-familiar feeling of oxygen being squeezed from my lungs with an iron fist spreading across my chest. I gasp, the diner spinning. Jed’s lustful eyes burn in my mind; his groans echo in my ears and mix with my pleading yelps for him to stop.
A sharp pain pulls me back before the panic spirals out of control. I find Finn’s eyes, his fingernails clawing deeply into my skin. His message is clear—“Keep it together.”
“Get lost,” he hisses at Justin and Cynthia. “If I were you, I wouldn’t share these photos, or you might regret it.”
Justin throws me a vicious look. “Too late. Kelsey’s profile is public, so the world can see those pictures. They’ve been on there for hours. Everyone knows.”
Tears fill my eyes as the full impact hits me. There is no way to get every single one of the photos deleted—they will be on the Internet forever. Napoleon must have broken into my FriendBook account and not only posted them, but set my profile to public.
Anger flares, and in my rage, I turn on Justin. “You probably remembered my password and uploaded these. Hell, for all I know, you were the second kidnapper. I’ll talk to the cops and have you arrested.”
For a moment, he stares at me, and I triumph, thinking I actually scared him. Then he starts laughing.
“You’re totally crazy.” Tears sparkle in his eyes as he continues to snicker. “Cynthia and I weren’t even in the country over Christmas. We went to her family’s vacation home in Barbados and didn’t come home till last night.” He nudges my shoulder and I recoil. “You are hot, but not enough for me to go through the trouble of kidnapping you.” He takes a deep breath, his chuckles finally dying down. “Boy, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.”
For the first time, I notice that they are both covered with a golden tan, Cynthia’s face full of freckles that usually fade in the winter. He must be telling the truth.
Finn’s eyes narrow. “If you touch her again, I’ll break your jaw, and then you won’t be able to laugh for a while. What kind of sick person makes jokes about stuff like that?”
Justin pushes out his chest with a smug expression on his face. “You two aren’t even worth my time.” His arm comes to rest around Cynthia’s shoulders and he smiles sweetly at her. “Let’s go, babe. The movie starts in ten minutes and this is our last week before you go back to college.”
He winks at me as he whisks her away, my gaze following them with a sullen expression. Of all the people on my suspect list, I would have loved seeing him in jail. He’s such a douchebag.
Finn signals the waitress and pulls out his wallet. “We need to get those pictures off FriendBook. Let’s go to your place and take care of it.”
I hesitate—there won’t be anyone at the house. My mom and Roy have gone to Augusta for the day to meet with one of Roy’s friends who is supposed to help with Luke’s case. My mom had only agreed to go when I had sworn to return straight home after my visit at the jail.
“I’d rather be alone for a while,” I claim, my shrewdness competing with my mounting need to have a friend by my side.
He pulls out a five-dollar bill, placing it on the table when the waitress takes her sweet time. “There’s no way I’ll leave you alone and risk you cutting yourself. This is a prime situation to relapse.”
It is time to fess up. “Finn, you can’t come. I don’t want to be alone with you.”
His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why’s that?”
How do you tell your friend that you suspect him of being a rapist? I nibble on my lip—feverishly thinking of something to sugarcoat the inevitable message. My mind comes up blank. This may be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do. “Because there’s a chance that you could be Napoleon.”
He looks like someone just cut his chest open with a machete as all color leaves his face. Confusion, pain, and the utter sense of betrayal are written in his eyes, making me feel like a despicable human being. How could I have ever doubted him? I want to take back the words—apologize—but he doesn’t give me the chance.
With a sigh, he slides the wallet back into his pocket. “Take care of yourself.”
As he strolls out without another glance, I can’t shake the feeling that I will never see him again. That’s when my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. It’s the moment I realize how much I actually care for him. Though I know that I owe it to myself not to take any chances, my stunt likely screwed up my one chance at happiness. Yet this time, there is no one else to blame but myself.
CHAPTER 29
The diner in the center of Bangor is the old-fashioned type where waitresses still wear uniforms that were popular in the fifties and the menu has dozens of different milkshakes on offer. I slurp the double chocolate Oreo kind, my eyes fixed on the small window behind the counter where the kitchen staff places the completed orders. So far, no sign of Drake Whitmer, though I’m sure he works here.
“Wanna try some of my brownie?” Hallie asks, pushing the plate closer to me. Her eyes are filled with concern.
My mood has been on a constant decline ever since Finn departed from my life a little over a week ago, and I have been more than a bit snappy. The brownie looks delicious, but my appetite is lacking. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
She shifts with a small grimace. I can tell her cast is bothering her. “Any word from Finn?”
“Nope.” My gaze wanders to Marcel, who is right outside the diner, talking on his cell. He told me that Finn had moved into one of the spare bedrooms at the house, but so far, has not involved himself in any criminal activities. The bust is only days away and I hope that he doesn’t end up in handcuffs.
“What do you make of Marcel?” Donna asks. She has squeezed herself into the booth right next to Hallie and the crutches. When we told her we were going to Bangor, she insisted on coming. “I mean, he seems really sweet and all, but do you think he would change for a woman? He asked me out on a date the other day, but I’m not sure if that’s what I want. One day, he’ll probably end up in jail and I’ll be left with a whole lot of problems.”
I would love to tell her the truth about him, but I swore complete secrecy. Even the Maine police don’t know about Marcel’s undercover operation since the DEA suspects that a few of the cops are on Tyrone’s payroll. The risk of exposure is just too high, which would not only blow the operation but could get him killed.
“I think you should give him a chance,” I say. “He’s obviously trying to turn his life around, otherwise, why would he help us? He has proven himself a good friend. After all, he rescued your sister.”
Donna puckers her lips and I’m not sure if she is convinced. In that moment, Marcel glares at us with a menacing frown. He sure is wearing his best drug runner impression, which doesn’t help. With swinging arms, he continues his conversation—whoever is on the other line is making him angry.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks.
“Yes.” I beam at her. “I heard an old friend from high school is working here—Drake Whitmer. Is he around?”
“He works in the kitchen. Do you want me to get him for you?”
I glance at Marcel. I would prefer him to be around, but this might be my only chance to lure Drake out. “That’d be great. I just want to say hello.”
She disappears and I signal Marcel to come in, but he ignores me. My fingers drum on the table, not sure what to do if Drake shows up. My eyes keep darting to the kitchen entrance, then back to Marcel—he now has his back turned to me, and I have no clue how long his phone call will take.
Drake looks just like I remember him—he has always reminded me of a beaver with his two big front teeth that constantly seem to tug on his lip. He pushes his glasses up when he realizes it’s me, his eyes wide in panic. His gaze moves to the door and I’m sure that flight is one of the options he’s considering.
With a sigh, he finally trots over to our table, his arms folding over his chest when he comes to a sudden halt three steps away. “What do you want?” A stick could have competed with his rigid, straight body.
I decide not to beat around the bush. “Closure. I need to know if you were one of my kidnappers.”
His jaw drops; he apparently didn’t expect such an honest answer. “I swear I had nothing to do with it and I already told all that to the police. Anything else?”
“Like you would really tell us if you did,” Hallie mumbles. “You have to do better than that.”
His eyes narrow. “And who the hell are you?”
His reaction to Hallie is very convincing. He shows not the slightest indication that he knows her.
“Well, my second kidnapper had a scar on the inside of his thigh.” I grin, not really eager to see that part of him. “No scar and you’re off the suspect list for good.”
He snorts. “No way. You better leave, or I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re harassing me. You can’t just go around, making these types of allegations.”
“Sure we can.” Marcel finally finished his phone call and strolls up behind Drake. I have to admit, his timing has always been impeccable. “Now, man, we can either do this the hard or the easy way”—he cracks his knuckles—“and trust me, it makes no difference to me.”
All color leaves Drake’s face as he slowly backs up. “Stay away from me, dude.” He glances at our waitress. “Call the cops, Liz. This guy is threatening me.”
Marcel clicks his tongue. He is done playing. “Let’s go.” Grabbing Drake by the collar of his shirt, he drags him toward the bathroom. Halfway there, he halts, squinting at me. “Coming, Kelsey? Wanna make sure I look in the right place.”
With much hesitation, I get on my feet, facing the inevitable. At least I will know afterward for sure if Drake is my tormentor.
I have never set foot in a man’s bathroom before and the first thing I notice is the stench, reminding me of chlorine and pee. There are five urinals against the wall next to a couple of sinks and two stalls. Luckily, no other patron is using the facilities and the room is empty.
“Okay, drop your pants,” Marcel demands, his hand coming to rest on the grip of his gun.
Drake’s eyes go as wide as saucers; for a moment, I’m afraid he’ll wet himself as his stare stays on the gun in Marcel’s waistband. The gangbanger glares at him with an even expression. If I didn’t know him, he would scare the shit out of me.
With trembling fingers, Drake begins to fumble with the button of his jeans. It takes him forever to get the zipper open. I squeeze my eyes shut when the pants drop.
Marcel clears his throat. “Kelsey, where do I look?”
“Top of the left inner thigh, right next to—you know.” I peek a little when there is shuffling beside me, but drop my gaze at the sight of Drake handling his private parts.
This might have been a sixty-second affair if the door had not been pushed open, another customer toddling in. He halts in his tracks when he sees us, his eyes laced with shock at the sight of a pantsless Drake.
Marcel smirks. “You’re welcome to join the party.”
The guy’s cheeks color crimson red and he turns on his heel, storming out.
“That’s our cue to get out. Someone is bound to call the cops and I sure don’t feel like explaining what we’ve been doing.” He cups Drake’s head and pulls him closer, his mouth only inches from his ear. “Now listen, man. It’d be best if you forget this ever happened. If anyone called the cops, tell them it was just a silly prank. If no
t”—he chuckles softly—“you can imagine what I’ll do to you.”
Drake stutters an “Okay” and Marcel lets go of his head. It’s amazing how well he plays the part of the bad guy. He can be absolutely terrifying, and I’m sure Drake got the message. I actually feel a little guilty. After he has been cleared of being Napoleon, he sure didn’t deserve being hassled like that, though it’s his problem that he just disappeared while the first investigation was still ongoing. He could have volunteered to be eliminated as a suspect years ago as Larouge suggested, but his lawyer objected on the grounds that such an invasive procedure violated his human rights. Since there was never any real evidence, the cops dropped the ball after that.
Pressing silence hangs over the diner when we step out of the bathroom, but it’s not only Marcel and I who have caused a ruckus. Hallie is sobbing silently at the table while Donna mumbles to her, stroking her back. When our eyes meet, I know something terrible must have happened.
“More drama is all I need,” Marcel mutters under his breath. With a small huff, he places fifty dollars on the counter, not waiting for his change. Scooping up Hallie into his arms, who is too stunned to protest, he departs.
I shrug—that was the practical solution. It would have probably taken ten minutes to calm her down. Donna grabs the crutches and follows him, and we almost collide at the door. For once, I can’t wait to get back to Stonehenge, sure that I won’t visit this diner again.
Hallie is still crying when Marcel takes off with screeching tires. He must have watched too many movies and be imagining he’s driving a getaway car. As he speeds along to get some distance between us and the diner, Donna fills us in.
“Someone broke into Hallie’s FriendBook account, too, and uploaded these nude pictures after she was raped. A friend from school messaged her and that’s when Hallie totally lost it.”
“I hope you didn’t delete them,” Marcel says, shooting me a dark look.
I’ve been lectured on and off after deleting mine since they are considered evidence of a crime. Apparently, it’s harder for the police to track who uploaded them once they are off my timeline. Detective Larouge was able to find a few downloads to aid in the investigation, but so far, all trails have gone cold.