Vicarious (31 page)

Jesse continues like I didn't even say anything. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is how it felt to be so close to you. How much it
meant
to me. And how to you it must've meant nothing. You apparently never wanted it to happen.” He rests his forehead in his hands.

“Because it
didn't
happen!” If I did that, then God only knows what I've done and forgotten about. Jesse is manipulating me. He has to be. I remind myself of the way everyone looked in his Phantasm ViSE. Like prey.

I will not be prey.

“You're a liar.” I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and grab my backpack from the floor. “I might black out after a shark nearly eats me, but there's no way I would forget something like us … whatever. There's no way I would do it in the first place.”

“Really? Because it seemed like you were going to do it about thirty minutes ago,” Jesse says softly.

I think back to the two of us in bed together, to the way my body called out for his. He's right about that moment and I hate him for it. But he's not right about this ViSE. “What kind of person tries to use someone's psychological problems to manipulate her?” I snap. “But that's how you're wired, isn't it? Everyone is just a collection of vulnerabilities.”

“Not everyone,” Jesse says. “Not you. You really didn't feel anything … familiar about what happened?”

“Stop talking.” I refuse to acknowledge the multiple times Jesse touched me and it felt comfortable, like it was meant to happen.
Or had happened before.
No. That just means he's good at … touching girls. I can't even look at him. “If that were me, the card would have ended up with my ViSEs, not Rose's. Nice try, though. You're very convincing.”

“Winter. Don't leave. Just think about it for a couple minutes.”

“Screw you, Jesse.” I rip open the door to the room and flip one last glance at him over my shoulder. “Oh, wait. I guess I already did, right?”

I barely remember the stairs to the lobby, the cab ride to the airport, the ticket counter, the security checkpoint. I spend six hours at the gate waiting for a standby spot to open up, but it's mostly a blur. The only thing I remember is sitting with my back to the terminal, so I don't have to see the display of snow globes in the souvenir shop across the corridor. Normally I'd want to examine them all, to pick them up and shake them, to buy the one that called out to me the most. Unfortunately, this is one memory I don't want captured in glass. This is one trip I just want to forget.

 

CHAPTER 35

When
I get off the plane in St. Louis, I follow the trail of people in front of me down one level to the baggage claim area. Snatching my duffel bag from the wide silver carousel, I head for the nearest bathroom. I duck inside a stall and pick through my folded clothes until I find my knives. I tuck one in the center pocket of my hoodie and the other into my left boot. At the sink, I splash a little water on my face and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Then I head for the taxi line.

The wind slices between the terminal and the parking garage, cutting through my clothing, chilling my blood. I raise my hood over my ears and pull my arms inside my sleeves, hugging myself to stay warm. Around me, sagging travelers tuck their chins low against the bitter cold.

“The Lofts,” I say when I make it to the front of the line, waving off the cabbie's offer to put my bags in the trunk. But as he pulls away from the curb, I decide I don't want to go home. Gideon might be waiting for me. Who knows what Jesse told him? He'll yell at me for leaving Miami on my own when I could be in danger. He'll put me under house arrest in the penthouse and call it protection.

My chest aches. I've spent years learning to protect myself, trying to make myself invulnerable. And yet I let Jesse close enough to hurt me. He told me himself that he wasn't a very nice guy, that he did terrible things in the name of getting what he wanted. I guess I thought I was an exception to that.

Sighing, I sink back against the cracked vinyl seats. I've got twenty minutes to figure out where to go, but right now my brain is fixated on one thing, and I can't find the strength to lock away my feelings.

Ignoring the talk radio blaring from the speakers, I close my eyes and give myself over to the pain. I think about what it felt like to kiss Jesse, to be held by him. I let the tears fall. How could I have misjudged him so badly? Could he have faked the emotions in our Phantasm ViSE in order to fool me into believing that he cared? Could he have faked
everything
since the day we first worked together? I don't want to believe that.

The cab leaves the highway and turns left onto a two-lane road. Clusters of houses and shops are replaced by trees. We're skirting the perimeter of the Green. A row of gated streets hides an entire network of sprawling estates.

“Wait,” I say. “Let me out here.”

The driver looks at me like I'm crazy. In my jeans and hoodie I definitely don't look like Green material.

“My friend lives nearby,” I explain.

When he pulls over, I grab my bags, slide out into the cold, and toss him a couple of folded bills. Now all I have to do is find Andy's house. As the cab pulls away from the curb, I kneel down and fish my phone out of my backpack.

Andy answers right away. “Winter. Any news about your sister?” His voice is heartbreakingly hopeful.

I need to put him out of his misery. Letting him have false hope is cruel. “Nothing new,” I say. “But are you at home? Can I stop by for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” A pause. “I live at 17 Winghaven. In the Green. You need directions?”

“No. I'm actually in the neighborhood. See you soon.”

I sling my bags over my shoulder, tuck my hands inside the cuffs of my hoodie, and jog to keep warm. My breath makes frosty clouds as I head toward Andy's place.

There's a rent-a-cop parked at the entrance to the neighborhood, but all I get is a raised eyebrow as I stroll by. Number 17 is the fifth house on the left—I recognize it from the backyard-party ViSE.

I knock tentatively on the front door, my knuckles going red in the frigid air. A dog barks. Andy answers, wearing a pair of tear-away pants and a T-shirt. His hair is sticking up in the back like maybe my phone call woke him, even though it's after lunchtime. He studies me for a few seconds before speaking, taking in my red eyes and my luggage. His forehead creases with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally.

“Yes.” I fidget with the strap of my duffel bag. “But we should talk.”

He nods. “Come on in.”

I slip inside and a wave of comfort surges through me. The living room ceiling is vaulted and there's a huge flat-screen TV in the corner, but that's where the grandeur ends. The black leather sofa is bleeding stuffing from one corner and the coffee table is covered with ashtrays and empty beer bottles. Football pads are piled in a recliner and cords from a gaming console snake across the hardwood floor. Something about the clutter makes me feel safe.

“Sorry,” he says. “It's kind of a mess. My parents are out of town. I had some friends over last night.”

A German shepherd lopes into the room.

“Touchdown,” I say. I bend over to ruffle the dog's brown and black fur as I set my bags on the ground. He puts his paws on my chest and tries to lick my face. I turn so that he gets cheek instead of lips.

“That's right.” Andy whistles sharply and Touchdown sits back on his haunches, his brown eyes looking somewhat chagrined. “How did you know his name?”

I probably heard Andy say it on a ViSE, but I can't exactly tell him that. “Rose must have mentioned him at some point.”

“Figures. He always gets more love than me.” Andy pats the dog on his head and then shoos him away. Touchdown sprawls out on his belly in front of the TV. Andy turns back to me. “I'd offer you food, but all we have is beer. I was getting ready to order a pizza. You game?”

“That would be great.” I realize I haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday.

My phone buzzes in my pocket—undoubtedly a text from Jesse. I don't answer. I don't even check. There are only a handful of people who have my number, none of whom I want to talk to right now. I move a rumpled football jersey aside and perch on the edge of the sofa.

Andy's eyes flick toward my vibrating pocket for a second, but he doesn't say anything. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

“Anything is fine.”

He fishes his phone out from beneath a stack of sports magazines and orders a large pizza with extra pepperoni. Before he can put the phone down, it rings. He frowns at the screen. “I've got to take this. I'll be right back.” He disappears into the kitchen.

I huddle on the sofa, my arms crossed over my chest. I tap one foot repeatedly as I try to figure out how to tell Andy that Rose is dead.

A few minutes later he returns with two bottles of beer in one hand and a two liter of soda in the other. “Pick your poison.”

I point at one of the beers and Andy opens the bottle and hands it to me. So much for not drinking. Right now I would take anything to distract me from what happened in Miami. “You know you're contributing to the delinquency of a minor, right?” I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long swallow, embracing the sour flavor.

Andy winks. “You won't tell on me, will you? I've gotten more than enough lectures from my agent lately.” He sets the bottle of soda down on the coffee table and opens the other beer. He downs half of it in one gulp. “So you said you needed to talk to me. What's up?”

Rose is dead.
My mouth refuses to form the words. I decide to start with the easier reason I came here. “You said your parents are out of town?”

Andy's eyes widen slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

“I need a place to stay for a day or two. I'm avoiding my brother.”

“You can stay here if you want,” Andy says. “But will your boyfriend have a problem with it?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” The words stab me in the chest like a handful of needles.

“Oh, right. He's just your coworker.” Andy gestures around him with one hand. “Then welcome home.”

My phone buzzes again. I peek at it but don't answer. It buzzes again. And again. Does Jesse really think I'll answer a call if I won't respond to a text? I silence it completely and tuck it into my pocket.

“Your
coworker
?” Andy raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” I take another drink of my beer.

“So you never filled me in on what the police had to say about Rose's disappearance,” he says.

“Oh. I—” The bottle slips out of my hand and lands on its side on the coffee table. Beer spills out on the wood. Damn it. I don't see any napkins nearby, so I contain the spill with the sleeve of my hoodie. Andy heads for the kitchen again and returns with a roll of paper towels. I blot at the varnished wood.

“Forget the table.” He leans forward. “Did someone threaten you? Did someone you know do something to her? Maybe your
coworker
?”

Oh, he did things to her, all right.
I hide my trembling hands in my lap. “It's not like that. Jesse and Rose were … close.”

“So then how come you never went to the police? I called the station to ask if there had been any news and they had no record of a missing persons report ever being filed.”

I furrow my brow. “No, that's not true. We filed a report with Detective Ehlers. My brother asked for him specifically because a friend said it was someone we could trust.”

The doorbell rings and Touchdown starts barking. I flinch.

“Relax.” Andy vaults up from the sofa again and heads for the door. “It's just the pizza guy.”

Feeling silly, I turn to watch him flash a gold credit card at a kid in a red-and-blue uniform. Andy and the guy share a laugh about something and then he shuts the door. He returns to the sofa and drops the pizza box and a stack of napkins on the coffee table. “So you really talked to a detective?”

I nod. “There's something you should know, though. She's not missing.” I fiddle with the ball of damp paper towels. “Rose is dead.”

“What?” Andy's jaw drops. “How? When?”

“Someone killed her,” I whisper. “They threw her body in the river, but they sent a ViSE of the whole thing to our boss.” My eyes start to water. I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“Winter, I am so sorry. Oh my God.” Andy leans in to give me a hug.

His touch makes me think of the recordings with him and my sister. Even though they were full of drinking and flirting, I could sense how much he cared about her in them and I can feel it now too. “I apologize for not telling you sooner,” I say. “I'm still struggling to accept things myself.”

“Maybe that's why the missing persons department didn't know anything about her. You probably talked to a homicide detective.” Andy offers me a pizza napkin from the coffee table as a tissue. “Do the cops have any idea who did it?”

“Our boss thinks someone killed her over something she accidentally recorded on a ViSE, but no one seems to know anything for certain.” I dab at my eyes with the napkin.

“I'm sorry. That's horrible.” Andy looks down at his lap for a few seconds. Then he says, “Is there a funeral planned?”

I shake my head. “I'm not ready for that yet.” I'll probably never be ready for that, not even if they find her body someday. “I'll let you know.”

Touchdown wanders over and sniffs at the pizza box. Andy shoos the dog away. He and I stare at the pizza for a few seconds, but now that the truth is out in the open, neither one of us can bring ourselves to eat.

“I need to go to the gym,” he says finally. He hops up from the sofa and paces back and forth. “Do you want to come?”