She looks pensive as she sips her gin and tonic.
“Wait—do you think...?” she trails off without finishing her question.
“What?” I breathe, afraid of her answer.
She chews on her bottom lip, eyes warming with sympathy.
And then a flash of awareness courses through me. I know what she’s thinking. I wish I didn’t. She’s wondering the same thing I am.
Is this why I was chosen by The Society?
Because of my access to one of the most powerful businessmen in the city? I blink, my vision tunneling to the smoke that’s trapped under the glass dome between us. For the first time in my life I feel caught in a trap that won’t let go, and I have no idea where to turn.
I wasn’t invited into The Society because of my father’s status.
I was invited because of hiscrimes.
Twenty
Aubrey
“I know, I know. I tried to tell her,” I say into the phone, frustration climbing in my tone. I wait a long moment for a reply that never comes. “Okay—well, I have shit to do. I should go.”
“Don’t forget Saturday,” comes the order through the speaker.
“I’ll be there,” I retort, then hang up. I drop my bag on the table by the door and then kick the heels off my feet. I think of the shock on Ellie’s face tonight when she realized that The Society has set her up to take down her father. What a tough pill to swallow—poor girl.
It took us less than twenty minutes to finish our drinks before we left Apotheke and hit up the dive bar a few blocks away, unnoticed by her father. We split a bottle of cheap champagne between us as she considered her next move. Ignore the directive from Kat and The Society? Pretend it never happened and move on with her life? Confront her father? All seem impossible—once you know something like that you can’t go back. I feel for the girl, but not so much that it distracts me from my own purpose. I can’t let useless emotions like empathy get in the way ofthe greater good, and even if Ellie doesn’t see it now, my way is the best way. She’ll get there—I have faith in that. I’m so close to driving the final wedge between her lifebeforeand the one that will comeafter. I just need a little more time to set things in motion, a little more time to make her see the truth. An idea occurs to me then, and I send a quick email to an old friend who works on the police force. The reply comes minutes later with a pdf file attached—it’s all the information I need.
I’m still awake reading through the file an hour later when Ellie’s text message comes.
I can’t sleep. Up for a nightcap?
Sure, I reply instantly. It’s after one in the morning but I haven’t gotten much sleep since I moved into this building, so I don’t mind. I’m tapping on her door a few minutes later in pajamas, a bottle of red wine in hand.
“Long time, no see, stranger.” I wink when Ellie opens the door.
A faint smile crosses her face before it’s gone again. “Hi. I can’t sleep. I had a nightmare.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” I say as I walk in. “What about?”
Ellie remains silent as I follow her into the kitchen and she takes down two wine glasses. “My mom.”
“Oh.” I can’t hide the shock in my voice.
“I woke up in a cold sweat with what I think is her voice in my head screaming,find me, find me.It’s awful.”
“Do you dream about her a lot?” I ask, as we settle on the couch that overlooks the windows and Columbus Circle.
“Too much, especially considering I have no memories of her. She’s been dead for so long. I feel like my brain is torturingme,” she admits, then sips her wine.
“Brains suck like that,” I offer. “I’m glad you called me; I’m always up for a nightcap. I can empathize with the mom stuff—even before my mom passed we weren’t really on the best terms. I lived a long time without her in my life, by choice. I wished her all the best but she was dead to me long before she actually died, you know? I think I mourned the mother I never had when she passed away, not heractualpassing, if that makes sense. Family is so complicated sometimes.”
“Yeah, add to that a sprinkle of mental illness and the train really goes off the tracks.” Ellie’s laugh is wry.
“No doubt,” I say. “I don’t know if this is the right time... actually, I don’t think there’s ever a right time for this. But I reached out to a friend on the police force—we used to date; he’s my ex-boyfriend and he owes me a solid after he did me dirty when we broke up. So I had him run some searches on your dad, and El—he found some records that were supposed to be sealed. It’s not good.” I unfold the few dozen sheets of paper I printed out before coming over—the most damning reports—and toss them on the coffee table in front of us. “We might need another bottle of wine for this.”
Ellie sucks in a heavy breath before picking up the freshly printed paperwork.
