by Cassie James
Before I realize what he’s doing, Patrick pulls off onto a dark road and puts the car in park. I look around, but there’s literally nothing around us. Maybe the silhouette of a house up ahead. In fact, this might actually be someone’s long driveway and not a road at all.
My heart thumps nervously in my chest as I realize I might have spoken too soon. Nothing good comes from being a girl alone on a dark road with a guy she barely knows. I shouldn’t have taken the ride home. I shouldn’t have put myself in this position. My fingers inch towards the door handle.
My breath catches as Patrick leans towards me slightly, his arm resting on the center console as he invades me personal space. This is a very small space and now we’re very close and damn if that doesn’t put some thoughts in my head. Thoughts I absolutely shouldn’t be having. I like Smith. I like kissing Smith. I like hanging out with Smith. It’s Smith I should be thinking about right now. I mean, I am thinking about Smith, to be fair, but I’m also still thinking about Patrick. I let out a frustrated groan, wishing my hormonal brain would just shut itself the fuck off for two seconds.
The sound of it startles Patrick, who’s quick to ask, “Are you okay?”
“Hmm? Yeah.” I’m pretty sure I’m doing a very poor job of acting like I don’t know what he’s talking about. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a grin. I’ve seen the way Patrick is when he flirts—he’s a pro. He probably knows exactly what was going through my mind. Well, maybe not exactly, but I’m sure he’s got a guess that’s close. “Why are we stopping?”
“I want to talk you about something. I know you weren’t exactly comfortable when Sadie asked all of us to get together to talk about it, but I still think there’s more to talk about. About Kathryn.” He pauses, before adding, “And about Celia Harrington.”
“Oh,” the sound comes out in a surprised squeak. I cough lightly and say, “Oh,” again just to make it sound more normal. This feels a little bit like a betrayal, talking about this without the others. Not that I think Smith or Sadie would want to be here to hear Patrick accusing their mother of being involved again.
“I know you probably think my theory is insane, but hear me out, okay? The whole Lexington secret treasure thing, everyone I know wants to solve it, but it’s mostly all about the allure of a good mystery and eternal bragging rights. But our parents? The people in their generation tend to get a little more frenzied about the whole thing. God, you should hear them talk about it when they get together. Whatever Hollis hid, they’re way more desperate to get their hands on it than anyone our age.”
“So you think Celia only pretended to sneak in to check that Sadie wasn’t drinking?” I guess. As much as I hate to let myself get invested in this theory, he’s just reminded me of something. “Sadie made it seem like Kathryn was pretty convinced I’d already found Hollis’ treasure and just didn’t want to tell anyone else. Do you think it’s possible Celia thought the same thing?”
“It’s a motive.” Patrick shrugs, twisting his lips into a grim grin.
But this theory seems crazy. “But do you really think that would have been worth killing someone over? I mean, no one even knows what Hollis’ treasure is supposed to be, right? Why go to such lengths to keep someone else from getting it first?” Kathryn was just a teenage girl. Could a grown woman really have been so desperate for buried treasure that she would kill her daughter’s classmate? It still seems so far-fetched.
“How much time have you spent with Celia?” Patrick asks as he grimaces. “She’s got real problems. I’ve never seen that woman without a drink or a bottle of pills in her hand. I’m not so sure how rooted in reality she is, and she only seems like she’s gotten even more unhinged since you showed up. I’ve spent more than enough time at the Harrington place to notice that Celia’s unpredictable, and even more so now that you’re here.” Still, there’s a long way to go from being unpredictable to being a murderer.
“Have you talked to Smith about any of this? Or Sadie?” They’re friends. It seems like they should be the ones he’s talking to about this, not me.
“God no.” Patrick shudders like the very idea is horrifying. “Didn’t you see how they reacted when I suggested it that morning after it happened? Neither one of them is ready to even consider that possibility without actual evidence in front of them.”
“Patrick,” I say his name and his eyes go almost predatory as his pupils dilate. I just blink for a second, my mind going blank as I try to remember what I was going to say. Oh, right. “Why are you telling me all this? Why not talk to the police?”
“When the governor pulled us aside that night, it was to tell us to keep our mouths shut and answer as few questions as possible. I think Governor Woods is the reason people don’t seem to be talking about what happened. He’s managed to keep things quiet. Have you noticed the story never even hit the news? Not even the local paper.” Patrick shakes his head. “If I start pointing fingers now without being absolutely sure of everything, it won’t just make me the laughingstock of the police department; it will earn me the wrath of the Woods family. You, of all people, know what that’s like.” He’s not wrong about that.
“Funny, you didn’t help me when I was the one on the receiving end of Jax’s bullshit. Why should I have to be the bigger person?” It seems like that’s becoming a recurring theme around here. The boys do what they want, and I’m just supposed to deal with it. As far as I know, Jax never did get any actual punishment for the stunt he pulled during our history final. And Ace never got in trouble for leaking those photos of me.
“Because one of our classmates is dead, and if we don’t figure out for sure who’s to blame, whether it’s Celia or someone else…” Patrick pulls back a little, putting some space between us, but only so he can look me in the eyes as he reaches out and strokes my cheek. “It wasn’t a secret that Kathryn was planning to search your house the night of your party. There’s a chance this whole thing has been about Hollis’ treasure. And if that’s the case, I’m worried you might be next.”
I snap back so fast I’m surprised my head doesn’t roll right off of my neck. Patrick’s hand falls away, but instead of moving it away he rests it on my knee. My throat has gone so dry that I’m not sure I can speak. All of the cryptic warnings I’ve endured since I got here, I never in a million years imagined there was any real threat. And now Patrick is acting like my life might really be in danger. He has to be wrong. I didn’t make it all this way out of a shitty neighborhood just to end up in more danger than I was before. It just isn’t fair.
“Hey, it’s okay, take a deep breath.” Patrick squeezes my knee and takes a few deep breaths with me until I do manage to calm down ever so slightly. There’s only so much calming you can really do when someone tells you they think your life might be in danger. “I don’t want to have to scare you, but I think it’s too dangerous for you not to know. I need you to be safe.”
I choke out a laugh with an eye roll because he’s crazy if he thinks I’ll fall for that one.. “Try something more believable next time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He squeezes my knee hard, though I’m not totally sure he even realizes he’s doing it. His face looks like he’s trying really hard not to react. I really think the knee thing must be a reflex.
“I’d say you’re only second to Jax in wanting me gone, right? I can’t imagine you’re all that worried about whether or not I’m safe.” I can’t help but feel bitter about that fact. “It seems to me like what you’re really doing is taking advantage of this shady shit to try to scare me off like people have been trying to do since the day I got here.”
Patrick groans, letting his head fall against the headrest of his seat. “I should have known giving you crap would come back to bite me. It’s only because I realized you’re a serious threat.” His hand leaves my knee, and it takes everything in me not to ask him to put that hand back where it belongs—on me. I’m feeling very confused at the moment, both emotionally and physically, a
pparently. My brain is giving my body very mixed signals. “Do you have any idea what kind of crap I’ll get if you swoop in and steal my place at the top of the class? My father is the headmaster. There are expectations that come with that.”
The very idea that I would ever be top of any class makes me giggle. “I highly doubt that would ever happen.”
“Are you fucking stupid?” My jaw tightens, but Patrick dips his chin before I can say anything. “Nope, sorry, that’s just habit.” Some excuse that is. Asshole. “The Patience School isn’t just about GPAs, it’s about test scores, too. And outside of math, you’ve been testing higher than me. My dad might be a nice guy 99% of the time, but when it comes to this, there’s a lot of pressure for me to be at the top. Ever since you got here, you’ve been threatening my place. My dad loves it because he thinks it will make rise to the challenge, but it’s really pissed me off. No one was even coming close until you got here.”
So many of my interactions with Patrick suddenly make so much more sense. No wonder he’s been putting me on the spot and questioning my intelligence at every turn, he’s been trying to throw me off so that the self-doubt would get to me. Damn. That’s even darker than my earlier assumption that he was just another generic asshole not wanting to associate with the new girl. That means he was willing to do what he could to destroy me just for his own gain.
“Based on the look on your face, I’m not making this any better.” Patrick blows out a long breath, turning his head to look out the front window instead of directly at me. “Juliet, mind games are a staple in Patience. It’s something all of us have been engrained with all our lives. Along with our parents, and their parents, and for some of the older families from around here, several generations before that, too.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” The words come out in a whisper.
I’m feeling so much right now. Sadness to know that’s how my classmates have grown up. Anger at so much of that now being directed at me. And still, that same flaming attraction to Patrick that I can’t seem to fight no matter how much I don’t want it. The way he turns to look at me with regret clear in his eyes doesn’t help much in that regard, either. There’s something unexplainably hot about a guy acknowledging he fucked up, even if it’s all in the eyes.
“Well, I’m trying to make it right now.” I’m not sure he understands how making it right really works.
My eyebrows shoot up. “By warning me that someone might have killed Kathryn and that I might be the next name on their kill list? Right, thanks so much for the lifetime of nightmares that’s bought me.” As if I’m not already plagued by them, anyway.
“If you would just stop being so difficult—”
I cut him off. “If you would stop insulting me—”
He’s kissing me. Wait, what? It takes me several long seconds of mouth to mouth contact before I fully realize what’s happening. Patrick is kissing me. Like really, really kissing me. Kissing me like it’s his job and he’s hoping for a promotion. I mean, damn, I knew he was a flirt, but this is something else altogether. My whole body feels like it’s floating as his lips urge mine to part for him. Kissing him is like choreographed dancing, like we’ve rehearsed a thousand times. It feels the way dinner with his parents felt. Homey. Easy.
“Stop.” I push him away. Already, I can feel the guilt gnawing at me. Smith and Patrick are friends, and I don’t want to be someone who gets in the middle of that. I’ve already caused enough issues between Smith and Jax, I’m not interested in adding this to the mix.
Patrick runs his tongue along the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like that.” He looks horrified, like I might somehow have found him lacking. The very idea of that is laughable. If there was such a thing as kissing gymnastics I’d be giving him an easy perfect ten, but this isn’t just kissing. This is something far messier.
“I’m with Smith.” Sort of. “I can’t do this with you.” And holy hell do I feel bad that I want to. I really like Smith, so why am I so tempted by Patrick? What kind of person does that make me?
I’m not at all expecting Patrick’s reaction. He grabs me behind the back of the head and pulls me back in again. This time, he kisses me harder. I can’t seem to help myself, either, I kiss him back. But just as I’m about to let myself say fuck it and get lost in this kiss, he jerks away from me, turning his head so that I can’t even see what he’s thinking right now. “Fucking Harringtons,” he growls.
I keep my mouth shut because I don’t trust whatever might come out of it at the moment. After a minute, he takes a deep breath and throws the car into reverse to back down the driveway and out onto the street. I clasp my hands in my lap, putting all of my energy into not letting myself reach for him the way my body so wants to. It would be so easy to take it back, but I feel too guilty to let myself do that. Patrick doesn’t talk to me the rest of the drive, and I catch myself wishing we could go back to talking about his conspiracy theories. Maybe I just made a big mistake.
Chapter Eight
Patrick’s theory about Celia Harrington eats away at me until I have no choice but to do something about it. It’s been a quiet week, the end of January sliding into February so seamlessly that it’s hard to believe another month has passed here. But I’m about to ruin the quiet.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I hear a muffled “What the fuck?” from inside just before the door is ripped open. I take a half step back, just enough so that I’m out of the way of physical danger but not so much that it should be noticeable. Jax seems to notice anyway, his eyes bouncing down to my feet before up to my face again.
With a stony expression, he reaches out and pinches part of my exposed cleavage. “Ow!” I yelp as he smirks. I can’t exactly rub part of my cleavage without it being obscene, so I settle for putting a gentle, protective hand over the spot instead.
“Damn, and here I thought you were just a dirty fantasy come to life.” He gives me a long once over. “What are you doing in the lion’s den, Juliet?”
I snort before I have a chance to cover it. Jax’s eyes narrow, but c’mon, did he seriously just call his house a fucking lion’s den? Someone get this guy a reality show, because he’s obviously got the ego for it.
“No really,” he deadpans. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, I try to channel my inner ballsy bitch—a term Salma coined earlier this week for me—I push past him into the house.
He splutters, struggling to come up with words as he watches me with wide eyes while I plant myself in the middle of the grand entryway. If Lexington Estate is a time capsule, which it certainly feels like most of the time, then the Woods’ place is a museum. The art collection in the entryway alone is enough to rival Pearl’s, though the Woods have pieces that look a lot more modern than the more traditional stuff lining the walls at home.
“You can’t just waltz in here,” Jax growls, having found his voice.
This time I’m the one narrowing my eyes. “There are plenty of things you can’t do, but you do them anyway. I’m just taking a page out of your playbook.”
He stalks closer. “So you’re saying you’re a fan?” Leave it to him to figure out how to turn literally anything into a compliment. He’s shameless. He’s also looking at me like he’s thinking of how to physically remove me from his space.
Throwing caution to the wind—I’m pretty sure I’m surpassing ballsy bitch and going straight to crazy bitch at this point—I turn on my heel and venture further into the house. The further in I am, the harder it’ll be to make me leave. At least, that’s my current, potentially misguided thought process. I really should have taken a second to think all of this through a little more before showing up here. But too late to turn back now.
I’m almost ready to actually confront Jax when several female voices carry from what looks like the kitchen. I’m barely out of sight of that open doorway. Cursing under his breath, Jax grabs my upper arm and drags me back the way
I came. I didn’t really stop to consider there would be other people here. All the times I played this out in my head, I pictured him alone in an evil lair. Like a movie villain.
“Out you go,” he says under his breath, trying to force me towards the door. I dig my heels in, and when the big staircase at the front of the house gets close enough, I reach out and hang onto his banister for dear life.
He lets go so he can stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. I mean I have, obviously, because that’s the only explanation for this. But I’m committed now. Focusing on this keeps me from focusing on half a dozen other things I don’t want to think about. Like my not-mom trying to call me again. Or that kiss with Patrick and how guilty it makes me feel every time Smith kisses me now. Yes, I’d much rather focus on a murder investigation.
Taking my shot now that his hands are off me, I dart around the end of the banister and run up the stairs two at a time. I move so fast you’d think I had hell hounds chasing me. It’s worse than that. Jax Woods is chasing after me.
When he reaches me—he’s able to get up the stairs a lot faster than me—I’m almost a little worried that he might just shove me down the steps right here. He looks like he’s considering murder right now, his eyes flashing angrily as he gnashes his teeth at me, struggling to talk through his anger.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing?” He stalks towards me, forcing me backward until suddenly I’m going through a doorway.
Everything is shrouded in darkness as Jax uses his foot to push the door closed behind him, trapping me in here. He flicks a light switch on the wall, temporarily blinding me as we go from pitch black to bright light. He reaches for the light switch again, this time adjusting the dimmer on the side.