Guy’s voice darkens. “Actually, it would. Starvation’s not healthy. And if you pull a stunt like that, Iwilltie you up and feed you a full meal three times a day.”
“Didn’t know you had a food fetish.” My joke falls flat.
“I don’t like seeing people go hungry. And you wouldn’t joke about skipping meals if you’d ever been starving.”
That’s a peek behind the curtain. Had he starved at some point? Was he starving now? I’m sure he wasn’t right now if the man could afford to deliver groceries and drop off a burner phone spur of the moment.
Guy clears his throat. “I have some planning to do before next Saturday. When it goes down, act normal.”
Next Saturday? “Wait, you’re going to the party?” I didn’t invite him, and I doubt anyone that the McArthur family invited would know Guy.
“Oh, don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m there.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Another disguise? A mask? No way could he waltz in with a Guy Fawkes mask and not get arrested. Or shot. From what I’ve heard, McArthur is a proud card-carrying member and money-taking shill for the a certain gun-loving association.
“Guy, they’ll have Secret Service there. Don’t do anything stupid,” I warn.
“Just act natural, Princess. And try to look surprised when everyone starts freaking out.”
“Guy.”
“Look, the less you know, the easier it will be. Then you won’t have to lie to the police. You can innocently say youknow nothing, you don’t know who did it, and you had nothing to do with it.”
Is he talking about murder? He’s going to murder Representative McArthur next week. And I’ll be in the same freaking room when a murder happens. And I’ll know who did it. It’s like the worst game of Clue imaginable. “I don’t like this.”
“Daphne, do you remember that underage child trafficking ring they broke up about six months ago? McArthur was a part of that. And he walked away without a smudge of dirt on his name and with his smile plastered all over the news. Those kids will never get their innocence back because of him.”
The snapshot of McArthur beaming at the camera like he won some sort of award rather than get off on a pedophile ring charge was the headline across D.C. for a week. Headlines usually don’t last more than a couple of hours here, but the Congressman’s story made international news.
“Look, you know I agree with you. Anyone with half a brain would agree that pedophiles deserve everything bad they get, but you’re sounding preachy, Guy.”
“Well, A-fucking-men.”
My stomach clenches with a sinking feeling. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“You have to go. Your dropping out will look suspicious. Go. You’ll be fine. Act natural. And remember, you know nothing, Jon Snow.”
“Please update your pop culture references.”
His laugh on the other end of the phone warms something in my chest. “Listen, I need to go, and you need to eat. I’ll see you next Saturday. And don’t go looking forme. You won’t find me.”
And with a knock on the door, groceries appear, and Guy hangs up.
An hour later,another knock at my door jolts me up from the dining room table. What now? I’m still halfway through the scrambled eggs and toast I cooked. I swear, if he’s here to force-feed me, I’m going to shove it all downhisthroat.
Yanking the door open, I half expect to see another mask, but Connor’s annoyed expression greets me instead. Lucky me.
“Hey.” I step aside to invite him in. We’re not close. Connor’s never been to my house. But he has my purse clutched in his hand, which contains my wallet, which contains my driver’s license, which contains my address.
“Morning, Daph. You’re looking… clean.” He assesses my washed and still-damp hair twisted up in a hairclip as I shut the door behind him.
“Um, thanks?” What the hell do you say to that?
“I wanted to drop off your purse. What happened last night?” He gives that boyishly charming smile and fake laugh as he forks over the goods. “I’m not used to being stood up.”
“Food poisoning. Never trust gas station sushi.” I crack open my purse and reach for my phone. The battery’s dead. I’d bet half my trust fund that Connor drained the battery trying to figure out my passcode.
Unless he was too busy being balls deep in the cocktail waitress, and let it die overnight while it searched for Wi-Fi.
