CHAPTER TWENTY
“Look, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I don’t need a sedative.”
It was almost three in the morning, and Veronica sat at the edge of the hospital bed, a plaid blanket tucked around her shoulders. She wore a set of light blue scrubs, three sizes too big—she’d still been in her bikini when she’d arrived at the ER waiting room an hour and a half ago, shivering and exposed. Now she held up her hands to ward off the tiny Dixie cup the nurse was trying to hand her and accidentally knocked it to the floor. Two blue pills scattered across the scuffed linoleum.
The nurse, a short, plump man with a buzz cut and glasses perched on the edge of his nose, gave her a stern what-did-I-tell-you look before stooping to scoop them back up. “You don’t, huh? Except for the fact that you’re shaking like a leaf.”
Back at the mansion, the EMTs had taken one look at her neck and insisted on taking her straight to Neptune General. Once the doctor had swabbed the blood away, the cut turned out to be shallow, only about three centimeters long, but they’d had her lie still for a while so they could monitor any possible shock.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “My friend’s on his way to pick me up. I’ll be okay then.”
On the other side of the thin cotton curtain around her bed, she heard the sound of someone violently puking into a bin. The ER was full of gray-faced undergraduates, most of them with alcohol poisoning. The nurse sighed heavily, gave her one last argumentative look, and turned to go and check on her neighbor. Veronica pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, relieved to be alone.
The nurse was right—it wasn’t just the chill air that made her shiver. All the adrenaline of the last few hours had curdled in her blood, leaving her weak limbed and nauseated. Her arm ached where Eduardo had grabbed her, and a half dozen dull, throbbing pains were blooming across her body from the struggle. And then there was the thin line across her throat, still burning from the touch of that blade. Superficial as the wound was, she felt it most of all.
But she didn’t want to take any pills that would make her slow or stupid—not yet. Not while she might still have to think on her feet.
The curtain fluttered open. A second nurse put her head through. “Miss Mars? Your friend’s arrived. He’s in the waiting room whenever you’re ready to go.”
She jumped off the bed. “Okay. Thank you.”
Wallace stood in the lime-green waiting room wearing a pair of baggy sweats and a T-shirt. Her call had obviously woken him up; he was sleep rumpled, but his warm brown eyes were alert. He was pretending to read a poster about proper hand washing when she came in the room, but he looked up with a gentle, concerned expression, taking in her scrubs, her tangled hair, and the dark red scratch on her neck.
She paused in the doorway. Then, all at once, her lip started to shudder, and she burst into tears.
It was a sudden storm, coming on without warning and gone almost as soon as it’d started. Wallace pulled her against his side in a rough hug and didn’t speak. They stood there for a few minutes, him patting her shaking shoulder. Finally, she wiped her eyes frantically, embarrassed, unable to speak. Then she laughed shakily.
“Let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” He squeezed her shoulder and then let go.
The streets were still busy, even at 3:00 a.m. Most of the bars kept extended hours during spring break, and they passed a few, fluttering with light. An ambulance streaked in the opposite direction, back toward the hospital. She leaned her head back against the seat and looked over at Wallace.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” she said. “Dad’s not cleared to drive yet.”
“It’s no problem,” Wallace said. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
She watched his knuckles tighten around the steering wheel as she told him about the night—how she’d gone back to the party to find Willie Murphy, how she’d gotten caught sneaking around the upstairs rooms. How the cousins had closed in on her—only to be interrupted by Murphy himself, leading an impromptu parade through the library.
“You know, you didn’t have to go back in there alone.” She could hear a hint of restrained anger in his voice. “I would’ve gone with you.”
She gave a sad smile. “No, you would have tried to talk me out of it. Probably with good reason.” Her hand flew up to her throat. “But I had to find Murphy, Wallace. I had to take the chance.”
“You always do, don’t you?” He glanced at her, then looked quickly back to the road. “Look, I’m not mad, Veronica. I’m just worried that someday the unstoppable force is gonna meet the immovable object.”
“Wait, which one am I?” she joked. “No, don’t answer that.”
He snorted. “So you found this Murphy guy. Do you think he did it? Took the girls?”
She stared out at the world rolling away outside her window. “I don’t know anymore. I went in thinking Willie Murphy was the one behind the disappearances. But you should have seen the guy’s face when Eduardo grabbed me—he was terrified. And he waltzed back in with Dick and those girls and probably saved my life.”
“Yeah, but he had that necklace, right?” Wallace glanced at her, his fingers drumming along the steering wheel. “He had to be involved somehow.”
He was right. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t fit. Willie Murphy didn’t look like a guy who could handle violence, much less one who liked it. And he’d come back—scared as he was, he’d come back, because it was the only way he knew to keep Eduardo from killing her.
“Maybe Murphy’s just their cleanup crew,” she said, thinking out loud. “Maybe Eduardo or Rico—or both of them—killed Hayley and Aurora, either because the girls found out something they shouldn’t have or because the guys just like killing. Or maybe Eduardo assumes anyone who’s caught sneaking around the house is an assassin. He’s pretty jumpy. Then they call in Murphy to clean up, dispose of the bodies. And Murphy saw the necklace and just couldn’t help himself.” She rubbed her forehead. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Lamb’s going to hang him out to dry. Willie Murphy is the definition of low-hanging fruit. He’s got a record, and he looks sketchy as hell.”
Wallace was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. “So you think the girls are dead?”
She didn’t answer. The raw cut along her throat throbbed gently. There wasn’t any way of knowing for sure what had happened to those girls—but after what she’d just been through, the little flicker of hope that she’d been holding on to throughout her investigation was guttering.
They turned left into Veronica’s neighborhood. Here the houses were dark and silent, their occupants still asleep. Somewhere a dog barked, deep voiced and lonely.
They pulled up in front of the bungalow. She suddenly realized she’d have to tell Keith what had happened in a few short hours. That would be a nightmare. Thank goodness for the U.S. Navy. I can at least put off telling Logan. The last thing I need is for my boyfriend to pick a fight with an international crime syndicate.
“You want me to come in with you?” Wallace turned his head to look at her, his brow furrowed. She shook her head.
“No. I don’t want to wake up Dad.” She reached across to pat his arm with a forced joviality. “I’m okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. At a reasonable hour this time.”
“Veronica …” He hesitated, then shook his head. “You sure you’re okay?”
She gave a weak smile. “I’m always okay.” Then, seeing he wasn’t buying it, she hugged him around the neck.
“Thanks again, Wallace. For everything.”
She jumped out of the car and headed up the stairs to her house. He waited until she’d gotten in the door before driving back out to the street.
And for about the millionth time in her life she felt an overwhelming gratitude for her best friend. Because she knew he wouldn’t mention this afterward; she knew he wouldn’t take it as a sign that she was losing her nerve or was in too deep. There weren’t many people in this world who would let you be vulnerable and still believe you were strong.