“So you hid it in the soap? Lucky for you it’s such a big bar, otherwise you’d have hid it in your bra?” His voice was flat, emotionless. He leaned over and turned off the shower. He waved the Beretta in her face as he stepped back.
“Get out of here.” She slowly rose, realized she was sopping wet, shook herself, and stepped out of the shower.
“Vanessa,” he said, her name a caress, “you’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not, Matthew. I’d never break your rules. Obviously the phone belongs to Ian or Andy; it sure isn’t mine. You’ve got to believe me, Matthew. Now let me get on dry clothes and together we can show the phone to Ian and Andy, see what they have to say.”
He stepped into her face, and she felt the Beretta pressing against her breast.
He whispered against her cheek, “You’re lying, you traitorous bitch.”
He dragged her from the bathroom, his arm around her neck, the Beretta against her temple now, and pulled her down the hall. She jerked at his arm, and he let her suck in a breath, then squeezed hard again.
She saw her uncle’s face, knew he would grieve for her, and he’d know in his heart she’d screwed up. She was facing death alone. Alone. She shut her eyes, stopped struggling, and the pressure released. Matthew threw her onto the floor and she rolled, smashing into the corner of the sofa. She heard Ian shouting, heard Andy talking fast and crazy, nothing new in that.
Ian shouted, “What is going on here, Matthew? Don’t hurt her, you bastard.”
Matthew said nothing, merely stood over her, the Beretta aimed squarely at her heart, and tossed Ian the phone.
“What is this? I’ve never seen this before. Is this her phone?”
Ian paused, looked down at Vanessa, sodden, huddled in on herself. “Is this your phone, Van? Really, it’s your phone?” She heard the horror in his voice, but also heard the acceptance that she was guilty.
“You think we’ve got a traitor here, Matthew?” Andy asked, and jerked the phone out of Ian’s hand. “Let me see it, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Ian, Andy, it isn’t mine. I already told Matthew that it wasn’t, that I found it in a drawer when I was cleaning them out to pack. Is it yours, Ian? Andy? It’s not mine, I swear it. But Matthew doesn’t believe me. Tell him it can’t be mine, Ian. Tell him.”
Ian wouldn’t meet her eyes. Andy was staring down at the tiny phone in his palm, ignoring all of them. “Tell me your secrets, little phone,” he said, his voice almost a croon. Crazy, crazy Andy, even more twisted than Matthew was now, and that was saying something. “Where did you come from, little beauty? So tiny you are. Tell Andy your secrets.”
Matthew said, “Andy, quit screwing around. Who’s she been calling?”
Andy finally looked up. “Sorry, dude, there’s no history, everything’s been wiped.”
Without a word, Matthew hauled her up and threw her into the wall. His fist moved so quickly she almost didn’t see it coming. But he didn’t hit her; instead, his fist slammed into the paneling behind her head, cracking the wood. He stuck the Beretta into her cheek.
Soft, his voice was so soft, cajoling. “Tell me who you really are, Vanessa. Tell me right now or I will shoot you dead.” She felt the rage pouring off him, even as his face remained emotionless, as if they were talking about what to have for dinner.
“Please, Matthew,” she whispered, voice shaking, a little girl’s terrified voice, “please don’t kill me, I didn’t do anything. You’ve got to believe me. It was probably Andy, you know how crazy he is, haven’t you always told me how nuts he is? I mean, give him a match and he’d set the world on fire, and he’s always playing with that Zippo. But not me, how could it be me? You know I’ve wanted you, I was proving it to you in the bathroom. It isn’t my phone, Matthew, really, it isn’t my phone.”
He grabbed her wet hair, jerked her head forward. His voice remained soft, even soothing, comforting.