And now with the whole affair thing hanging in the air between us, I wasn’t sure I even wanted her around. I thought about what Dr. T had said—letting my mom in, us needing each other now more than ever.
“Call Alana,” she suggested. “Do something fun today. I heard they’re having a sale at Nordstrom.”
“OK, fine. See you later, then.” I wanted to grab my cell phone off the nightstand and check for messages, but I couldn’t because of my bruised wrists.
“Don’t be like that, Rue.” She reached over to shift my hair out of my face, and I let her. Like a puppy starved for attention, I even leaned into her touch, hoping it would last longer. This was it—my opportunity to let her in. She was trying. I would try, too. My heart ached for Dad. And she had hurt me with her mistakes and selfishness. But I still needed her help. And for a second, I thought maybe I could tell her everything and she’d understand. Maybe it would all be OK. Maybe she’d believe me if I said, Yes, I was stalking LeMarq, but no, I never meant to kill him. And I was also following this other dude, Rick “The Stick,” someone I also killed last night. And, oh yeah, I killed his friend, too—
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She pulled her hand away from my cheek.
“Like what?”
She blew out an exasperated breath and pinched her eyes shut. “Like you don’t understand the stress I’m under or what’s at stake for me.”
I rolled my eyes. So typical—always thinking of Jane.
“I have a lot of important people relying on me, and I can’t let them down now,” she continued. “The governor wants to see me, and…” That’s when I stopped listening. I was tired of wishing she’d consider me one of those important people.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. I wasn’t trying to guilt-trip her. I just knew I couldn’t win this one. White flag raised.
“I promise I’ll be back in time for dinner. We’ll talk,” she said, starting to get up. There was that teasing word again—“talk.” I wouldn’t hold my breath. “What do you want me to bring home? Chinese? Italian? A nice prime rib?”
“I don’t care,” I said, watching her speed walk out of the room. “It’s your world,” I muttered to myself, knowing she couldn’t hear me. It was more likely she’d forget to call, and I would end up making myself mac and cheese.
“I’ll surprise you, then,” she hollered from the staircase. She must’ve been taking two at a time, even in heels. And I thought I’d inherited my agility from Dad.
After the garage door shut, I wondered if it would’ve been a blessing to her if I’d died last night. She wouldn’t have to bother anymore with any of this mothering mumbo jumbo. She wouldn’t have to come home ever. My death would probably give her a boost in the polls, and best of all, she wouldn’t have to share the five million dollars of life insurance money my dad had left for me in trust.
So why did I still want her love and attention? If only Dad were here. He knew exactly how to buffer the tension between Mom and me. He’d make me some of his famous French toast with extra powdered sugar on top. He’d throw the wet suits and boards in the back of his truck and drive me down to our surf spot. He’d take me to the SWAT obstacle course and gun range to sweat and shoot my worries away.
I remembered now what it had felt like to hold my dad’s gun for the first time when I was twelve. It was exciting—exhilarating, even. But last night that gun had felt so dangerous and wrong. The minute I got back home, I’d put it back in his safe where it belonged.
Which begged the question: How did Dad’s gun even get there last night? Had someone stolen it from the crime scene? Taken it off his dead body for profit? Sold it to a pawnshop where Mr. D. S. had then tracked it down? My brain overflowed with ridiculous theories. Dad’s entire SWAT team was with him the night he died. At least that’s what I’d gathered from the few details I’d heard. So how could anyone have been able to take the gun—unless that someone belonged to SWAT? Could one of them have betrayed him? If it was possible for Martinez—his former partner—to betray him so deeply, then a wider SWAT betrayal was just as believable. Perhaps that’s why his partner, Mathews, hadn’t dared show his face around here since.
Crack. A sharp noise on the window made me jump. I looked over to see if it had shattered, but it was intact. Hugging the towel to my body, I got out of bed to make sure it was locked. Then I saw him—Liam.
He grinned up at me like I’d offered him an early birthday present: me, wearing virtually nothing. I jumped back, both relieved that he wasn’t an ax murderer and totally pissed at him for scaring me and invading my privacy.
I ran to my closet to grab a robe, and in the space of a few feet my mind changed. I wasn’t that mad. Maybe a little surprised, maybe a bit flattered, and maybe a bit curious about what it would be like to be in the same room as him wearing only a towel.
Two robes hung in my closet: a thick, purple frumpy thing I used at Christmas and the Victoria’s Secret robe I used in the privacy of my own room. I couldn’t very well go down there looking like Barney the dinosaur.
I wrapped the hot-pink robe around me and headed downstairs to talk to him like a civilized human being.
“Oy, you,” I yelled out the front door. “There’s this thing called a doorbell.”
He came running around the hedge. “I was going for the whole Romeo-and-Juliet thing.” He shoved his hands in his jeans and flashed that sparkly smile. Why did he look so happy to see me?
When was I ever going to understand this dude? Aside from Mr. D. S., he was the only person in the whole world who knew exactly what I was: a killer. And yet he wanted to play Shakespeare with me.
“You do know that Romeo and Juliet both ended up dead,” I said, trying to sound unaffected by his charm, while inside I couldn’t help feeling flattered—or maybe twitterpated. The black Hurley V-neck shirt he wore clung to his chest, revealing the muscular curves I’d daydreamed about ever since that shirtless morning at the beach. “And also, Romeo didn’t chuck rocks and nearly break Juliet’s window.”
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” He scratched his neck and wrinkled his nose. “Turns out throwing a rock twenty feet in the air delicately is sort of hard.”
He stood on the welcome mat, looking like he felt totally unwelcome. Avoiding his eyes, I stared down at his feet. Under his impressively clean throwback Jordans, the mat read: “Life Is a Bed of Roses.” Dad had given it to Mom a few years back. I used to think it was absurd. But after he died I started seeing it differently. Sure, we had our share of thorns, but we all loved each other.
“Have you heard from Alana?” Liam broke our uncomfortable pause.
“Not yet,” I replied, unhappy to be reminded that my best friend had finally realized I was the worst. “Have you heard anything on the news about”—I paused for a second, ashamed to say what had happened out loud—“you know, the warehouse?”
“Nope.”
I squinted at the sun, waiting for him to tuck tail and bolt.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Liam asked.
I looked down at my robe, feeling a little underdressed. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d want to come in. “Well, are you or aren’t you?” he asked again, moving closer.