“I’m fine,” I say, wishing the door had a peephole. “Got to go.”
As I hang up, another barrage of thumps shakes the door on its hinges. “Lock! I swear to God if you don’t—”
I pull the door open to reveal Carrod in the hallway, face contorted with anger, a plastic bag clutched in one hand, the other fisted ready to knock again on thedoor.
“What?”
“Where’s your fuck-buddy?” He pushes past me, checking the bathroom then turning to me with a face mottled with rage. “D’you know what he’s done? Are you in on it, too?”
“On what?”
Perhaps he reads my genuine confusion because he shoves the bag into my hand and hightails it out the door. “It’s your problem now.”
I grab his collar, dragging him back inside the moment I work out I’m now holding what appears to be a shit-ton of drugs. “What the fuck’s this?”
“Ask Lachlan. He’s the one who planted it in my room. He’s the one who called the fucking security tip line and gave them my name and room number.”
“Don’t be—” I cut myself off, shaking my head, trying to think. “How d’you know security have been—” With another burst of energy, I switch questions mid-stream. “Are they here n-now?”
“They’re on their way,” he says with an evil grin. “Luckily, I have a friend in the main office who was courteous enough to give me a heads-up. Now it’s your problem.”
I try to hand the bag back to him, but he raises his hands and dances out of my reach. “Nuh-uh. They’re nothing to do with me.”
“They’re not Lachlan’s either,” I shout. “He’s not even here.”
“Oh, it’s down to him all right, even if he didn’t do the dirty work himself. Hope you have a nice life, visiting each other in prison.”
My mind freezes, staring at the bag, which I set on the desk. I can’t think where to hide it. I’m not used to this place. I don’t understand where things go or what to do. Who empties the bins or where the security cameras point.
In a movie, they’d be flushed and gone by now, but I’m scared if I try that, it’ll just clog the toilet and lead even the most casual of observers straight to the source.
I back away like it’s a snake ready to strike.
My gaze falls on the set of spare keys next to it. The ones with the pink tag. The set to Kari’s room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LOCK
I glancein the cafeteria but if George has been there, she’s not now, so I head next for my room. A knock on the door for politeness’ sake, then I open the door, scanning the empty space with a puzzled scowl, until I hear water running in the bathroom.
I hope to find George in the shower but she’s standing at the sink, staring into the mirror like it’s a source of existential dread.
“Hey,” I say in my smoothest wouldn’t-you-like-to-head-straight-back-to-bed voice, sliding my arms around her waist and kissing the side of her neck. “Sorry I had to leave.”
She’s trembling and her arm moves awkwardly as she reaches out to shut off the tap. I pull down the edge of her top and see faint purple hovering beneath her skin, the blow rooted so deep it barely discolours the surface at all. The swelling tells another story, one about how it must hurt like a bastard.
The stab of guilt recurs, though it’s Adnan that should be stabbed. He didn’t hurt her on my instruction.
“Kari and I had a fight,” she says, chewing her lip hard enough that it splits open again, bright crimson against the pale pink colouring. “In front of everyone.”
I’m genuinely puzzled. “Where? What about?”
She meets my eyes and I incline my head. Okay, yeah. The latter question is obvious. “In the cafeteria while everyone was eating breakfast. She told me that if I’m still hanging about when you get married, her father or brother would happily rectify the situation.”
“The fuck they will.” I pick up a comb and start working on her hair. It’s tangled and since her bruised shoulder means she’s operating one-handed, it seems the least I can do. “Besides, the marriage is six months away. It might never happen.”
I cringe at the sound, glancing at George to see a mirror of my reaction. There are probably some magic words to make it right but I’m not aware of what they are.
