Dani and Jennifer look apologetic when they finally meet my eye, but they don’t say anything to disagree.In the last ten minutes, I’ve experienced the kind of peer rejection and painful unrequited realizations I thought were reserved for coming-of-age movies with melancholic soundtracks.For the first time since Laurie went through that vent, I wish she were here.
“So you’ll go back to the janitor’s closet?”I ask.I figure Stu would want to take the safest option, the known path.Since he thinks I’m the catalyst for all this chaos and Wes is a liar, I’m sure he also thinks that makes us more disposable.“We’ll try to find the control panel?”
“Wewill go find the control panel,” Stu says, using his knifeless hand to gesture to Dani and Jennifer.“If we find it, or a phone or something, we’ll sound the alarm.Yougo to the janitor’s closet.If you find what you need to start a fire, come back here and set the alarm off.It doesn’t matter who does it first as long as we get the fuck out of here.If we can’t find what we’re looking for, then we meet back in this room and figure something else out.”
Dani looks up at Stu like he’s pulled a glowing exit sign from his ass that’ll lead us out of the massacre, buying the hero-complex shit he’s hijacked from Wes.I want to tell her not to get too excited.It won’t end well.
Jennifer, at least, is unaffected by Stu’s new role.When she glancesat me, I flick my eyes toward Stu and shake my head ever so subtly.
Don’t trust him.
She returns an almost imperceptible nod in understanding that makes me glad women are far more skilled at interpreting nonverbal communication than men.Her gaze shifts to Wes.He’s quiet, tense, admonished by the way I won’t meet his eye.Jennifer tips her head, and I pick up a similar message:be careful.
I nod, even though being warned about Wes makes my gut twist in dissent.
Stu enjoys Dani’s fawning attention too much and it makes him bold.He scoffs after Wes explains how to set off the control panel and offers to go find it himself.He’d let the four of us stick together and go searching for the alarm system alone, if we let him.The idea of Wes by himself still makes my heart lodge in my throat.Even after the lies.Even though my nails have left indents in my palm from how hard I’ve been trying to push down the anger and the hurt.
Stupid, infuriating hero-complex shit that is definitelynotstill sexy… not at all.
Stu shoots down the suggestion.“Just because you say you’re a cop and you know about this shit doesn’t mean we should trust you.You could just as easily disassemble the alarm.”
Wes shakes his head, and I hear a mutter that I think conveys what he’d actually like to disassemble.
“And besides.”Stu shrugs, his arrogant stare locked on where I’m standing, my bloody hands looking like a crude pair of gloves made to match my dress.I look like a debutante from hell.“If it turns out you are the killer, well… this is your chance to have some more alone time with Jamie, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 29
“You think I’m gorgeous, you want to kill me… You want to stab me… You want to murder me…”
—NotMiss Congeniality
I’m silent as we make our way to the janitor’s closet, exuding “don’t talk to me if you want to leave here with your balls on the outside of your body” vibes that Wes seems to respect by staying just as quiet and tense.
We still walk shoulder to shoulder, my side pressed against his as we navigate the corridors.Running away from your ally or giving into the anger just leaves you primed for an attack.I’m so mad I can’t recall any films where that’s happened, but still, I know it would be a bad idea to storm away from Wes and put the kind of distance between us that would allow a blade to find its mark.
Stu’s directions pay off, and when we find the closet, open the door to see it mercifully empty and the light still on, I move in ahead of Wes and make a beeline for the sink that comes into view as he locks the door.
Ineedto get John’s blood off me.It’s all over my hands and mylegs, staining my skin.It feels too sticky and there’s something in the way it’s mixed with my perfume that makes it smell sweet, so when the tap splutters on and water spills over my hands, I can’t help the audible sigh of relief as it turns red.There’s a bottle of industrial-grade hand soap on the shelf closest to the sink and I pump it aggressively into my palm.It advertises removing grease and paint and chemicals, but I’m sure if the makers knew it could handle washing away the blood of a guy you were flirting with before he got stabbed in the shoulder they’d add that to the label, too.
“Jamie…”
Wes’s voice is low, wary, as I scrub at the flakes of dried blood with my nails.There’s a metallic tap of his knife landing on one of the shelves, the heavier thud of the flashlight, then he shifts into the space next to me and his hands delve into the water, brushing inadvertently against mine.I don’t look up from the pink suds.
Earlier, I’d thought it was interesting, admirable even, how he’d managed to carry all his tools.How he figured out his own system despite the stress of the evening.But he’s just been relying on memory.He’s just been compensating for his lack of a kit belt all night.
Wes’s sigh hits the top of my forehead as the water in the sink turns soapy and then clear.I already know what I’m going to say, but still I let him get his excuses out.
Well, almost.
“I know you’re pissed at me right now, and I’m sor—”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?”I reach across him and grab some of the paper towels stacked beside the sink, dipping them into the water and scrubbing the blood on my legs.
There’s a pause before he says, “I did.I just didn’t tell you what I do,” and that draws my gaze up to his.The incredulous look I give him at least garners the “I know that was a dumb thing to say” expression that crosses his face.
“I didn’t want to make myself a target.”His voice is low as I look back down, continuing to rub my skin even though the rosy stain of John’s blood has disappeared.“I didn’t want to make you—anyonea target.If I’d known something like this would happen, if I’d known he would escalate like this…”
He turns the tap off, the sound of the water dripping from our fingers plinking against the tub.“We just wouldn’tbe here.He’s gone entirely off script.I know that’s not an excuse.I know it’s my job to be prepared.But it’s also my job to protect.So, I’ll do anything—anything, Jamie—to make sure the rest of us get out of here.Because you and I both know he’s not gonna stop.”
