Officer Reed stands awkwardly on our stoop. “You’ve got a delivery. It looked sketchy, so I came to check it out. The guy ran off that way. I didn’t get a plate.”
He hands Walker an envelope. With a groan, he opens it, a ‘My Sympathies’ card inside, the cover decorated in scattered red roses. The expected photo falls out, Reed scooping it up before I can get there. It’s a blurry photo of Clara in profile, anger crossing her face as she twists to the man half hidden behind her. I recognize the guard she was assigned at the beginning of the year, the one she’s been forced to kill. The one who deserved it, but who Clara invariably mourns.
Stepping closer, I see that scrawled across the guard’s face is a message in red Sharpie, the scent still clinging to the photo: “RIP. Bloody fingers leave marks. Better watch yours.”
Reed holds the photo for a while before handing it to me. “Any message in the card?” he asks Walker, not addressing the scrawled threat/evidence he’d stared at a moment too long.
“Of course not,” he grumbles as we trade card and photo so he can see the same message I did.
“Is this Bryce?” Reed asks.
“Who else?” Walker answers, curses lingering in the quiet hall after he shoves the photo back into the card and both into the envelope. Outside, a group of drunk students pass by, trying and failing to give each other piggyback rides, their laughter way too bright for our anger.
Reed looks at the kids, brows furrowed. “I wish he’d leave obvious evidence. Then I’d have something to bring to my superiors. I could get his deal revoked. He’s been mostly useless as a source. He gave up three names, and they weren’t even the worst offenders we’ve found in the last year. Those have come from Clara.” He looks at me. “Or, I guess, from you.”
“It’s the second one we’ve received since we got back,” Walker says, his gaze heavy on mine. He told me the last one was a photo of the Westerhouse estate gates. Just a heads up he knows where Clara is. This new threat worries me, though. Walker and I only know Clara killed that man because she got a phone to Mattie and sent us that coded note. How does Bryce know? It doesn’t make sense.
Reed sighs. “I’d ask to see the other one, but honestly, there’s not much I can do.”
That’d be impossible. Walker tossed it. “No. Thereisn’t,” I say.
“If something changes, let me know,” he says before stalking down the stairs and across our lawn.
Walker closes the door, pressing his back to it like he can keep the bad news from sneaking into our home. “How?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “That photo isn’t even on his cloud backup. I checked earlier today.”
“Do you think Reed suspects what it means?”
“I hope not. But I’m not the one who can read people. Not like you or Clara.”
He groans. “God, I miss her.”
“Me too.”
His eyes meet mine, and we both know there’s nothing left to say.
Chapter 23
Clara
Trips’ dad asks me to stay with him after Sunday family dinner. Trips gets hauled back upstairs without me. Trevor runs a finger against my lower back as he passes, and I don’t hide my flinch away from his touch.
Another day in paradise.
The evil man’s office is quiet and cool, winter settling in like a cat on a lap, the dead branches of the rose garden impossible to see out the darkened window, even though I know they’re there.
The door snaps shut behind me, and it echoes like a gunshot, my hands trembling as I press my palms against my thighs.I’m not out there. I’m here. There’s no gun in my hands, no tingling in my nerves. What happened had to happen. What’s done is done. All that’s left is the future.
I can pretend I’m fine by the time Trips’ dad strolls up beside me, staring out into the night, the landscape lightscasting grasping shadows of naked trees across the dying lawn. “I thought about your deal,” he says with no preamble.
“And?”
“And if you find me a suitable match by the end of the month, I’ll let you and Archie both have an attendant of your choice.”
“And if those attendants have pink hair or a long blond braid?”
His hushed steps take him to the sidebar where he pours himself yet another scotch that he won’t drink. He doesn’t answer.
