“You’re just being nice. Surely the producers can’t fault you for that.”
He met her gaze. It took him a long time to respond. But when he finally opened his mouth—
“Carter! There you are.”
Sierra appeared, black-coated lips twisted into a scowl as she grabbed Carter’s arm and pulled her away so quickly that some of Carter’s drink sloshed onto her wrist—again.
“I need you,” Sierra said, throwing a half-hearted wave over her shoulder at Fitzy. “Go pester another contestant.”
“Great seeing you, too, Sierra!” he shouted after them.
“What’s going on?” said Carter.
“A friendly PSA.” Sierra wheeled on Carter. “Fitzy’s trouble. As your team leader, I’m ordering you to stay away from him.”
Carter blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. If I catch you flirting with him again, so help me—getting murdered in your sleep is going to be the least of your worries.”
14
Beck
“What do you think of your team?” asked Vera. She had hersmartphone propped up on a tripod and was looking into the screen, not at Beck, and he wasn’t entirely sure how she could make such an innocuous question sound like a threat.
“Oh—they’re great,” he said instinctively. But then, after pausing to consider it for a moment, he felt it was close enough to the truth. “Carter’s a dynamo in the fandom, and incredible at math. Adi’s obviously the cool one, and he seems to be into anagrams and word puzzles. And Sierra . . .” He glanced past Vera’s shoulder to where he could see Carter and Sierra together. “She’s the only contestant who’s been here before. She knows what to expect from the game. Anyone who watched last season knows how brilliant she is.”
He figured this wasn’t the time or place to point out that Sierra was still under investigation for murder. It also wasn’t the time or place to point out that being in a room with Sierra was like trying to decode one of the Game Master’s clues. He could tell she was hiding something. But was thatsomethinga soft, squishy interior that longed to be loved and understood? Or was thatsomethingthe fact that she was a psychopath who could at any minute start stabbing people with tiny olive forks, like the one she was holding now?
Wait—where had she gotten an olive fork?
Vera cleared her throat.
Beck jumped. It was hard to concentrate in here. There were too many sounds and, consequently, a horrendous buffet going on in his mouth. The cocktail shakers tasted like Coca-Cola and shaved ice. The buzz of conversations was like chewing on grass. Vera’s voice was tart, like cranberries.
He struggled to remember her question. “Er . . . yeah. We’re getting along great.”
Vera made an exaggerated show of falling asleep. “Are you always such a Gary Stu, or are you playing nice for the cameras?”
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Helsing was an interesting choice for your team name.”
“It was Sierra’s idea.”
“How do you think it would feel, finding your sister dead in a coffin?”
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I . . . don’t have a sister.”
Vera stared at him.
“I’ve got a cousin I’m pretty close to. Does that count?”
Still no response.
“Are we even allowed to talk about this?”
“It’s a free country,” said Vera. “Freedom of speech or whatever.”
