“I’m sure. She’s with them. Laney and her friends. They’re trying to turn you against me.”
“You’re the only one who’s turning me against you.” I sighed. “We’ll figure this out once we’re safe. Let’s just fucking go.”
“She’ll come back. Wait with me, and you’ll see.”
I started to tell her this was absurd. I started to use words she’d used on me: paranoid, hypersensitive, overreacting.
Then I remembered the nights I’d come home crying, battered. First by him. Later, by strangers.
How she’d believed my version of events. No question.
“Okay,” I said. “I have an idea.”
I left out the front door.
It was later than I realized, the snow-fringed streets empty. Brake lights splashed sudden blots of color on the asphalt, neon blood splatter. As if someone were wounding the city. My footsteps echoed too loudly in the L station, and the echo sounded uncannily like a chase. I kept looking over my shoulder. The Beretta was on me. Every now and then, as if quieting a racing heart, I touched it.
When the train came I got on and rode it for one stop, then walked back home.
In the alley behind the building small footprints dotted the snow.
It could have been anyone. But I didn’t think it was.
I climbed the fire escape, remembering that first night. Silently lifted the kitchen window Ingrid had unlocked. Took my boots off, tucking them into a cabinet.
In the shadows two bright green discs flashed at me.
I stroked Bell’s head, praying she wouldn’t cry out. She rubbed against my palm, purring.
Voices in the apartment.
I crept toward Ingrid’s room.
“What do you want?” I heard her say.
Tam tsked. “Some hospitality would be nice.”
“You broke into my apartment. You scared the shit out of me. For all I knew, you were Adam.”
“You knew I wasn’t Adam,” Tam said acidly.
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t like a bloody thing about you. Give me your mobile.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
Something clicked. “No, you’re not. Give me. Your mobile.”
My hand went to the Beretta again.
No fucking way. They might barely be able to stand each other, but Tamsin wouldn’t hurt Ingrid.
Would she?
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Inge said. “You’re the one who’s been following me.”
“Well done. Ten points to Slytherin.” A creak, floorboards shifting under weight. “We have everything we need. Except for one last jigsaw piece. Which I think you’re daft enough to have saved on your mobile.”
I pressed myself flat beside the door frame. My heart was so loud I could hardly hear over it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do, love.” Another creak. “Now hand it to me. I’d hate to spoil that pretty face.”
The gun slid out of my coat, cold in my hand. Shaking.
Was she really about to make me do this?
Tamsin, why?
No, not Tamsin. Cressida.
“Don’t touch me,” Ingrid said.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
My pulse thumped louder. I flicked the safety.
“Get the fuck off of me.”
“You really don’t want to fight me, love. You’ll lose.”
I edged into the doorway.
Tam’s back was to me, Ingrid towering over her, but willowy, lanky, no match for her opponent’s strength. The gun was half-raised. Ingrid met my eyes.
Then jerked her chin up and said, “You’re faking me out. You won’t actually hurt me.”
I could read that sign anywhere. Did she think I’d forget?
Fake-out play.
Instantly I knew what to do.
I holstered the gun and ran on tiptoe to the front door. Rattled the locks noisily, flung the door open and slammed it and called, “I’m back. Forgot something.”
I gave them time to de-escalate. Pretended to stub my toe, knock books off a shelf. If I hadn’t been listening I’d have missed the faint screech of the kitchen window, the flex and groan of wrought iron steps.
Ingrid came running into the kitchen.
Down in the alley, a shadow slid over the snow, vanished. Blood banged furiously in my ears.
“What the fuck was that?” I said.
Ingrid answered, “Betrayal.”
———
In the hotel that night, Tamsin said, “Fuck me.”