She drops her hand again and glowers at me with a hatred I’ve only seen in the shade of ice blue, staring at me as if I’m stupid while Dread glares at her, the muscle in his jaw thrumming.
“It’s obviously some random fucking model. He was catfishing her. Fake pictures, fake name, fake everything. So was it you,Charlotte?” She spits out my old name like it’s tar. “Did you pretend to be some guy and kill her, just like yourdaddy?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Dread barks, now pushing more in front of her and forcing her a few steps back.
The girl swings her gaze up to him, incredulous at Dread defending me.
Truthfully, I am, too.
“Since when do you defend her?” Then, she points to me accusingly. “You know who she is! That fucking D’Amour blood runs through her veins. The Locksmith or the copycat aren’t all the way here in fucking Colorado, so who else would it be?”
She turns her stare back to me, as if she’s genuinely expecting me to answer.
My chest feels as if it's beginning to bruise from how hard it pounds, adrenaline overloading my system, but I work to keep myself relatively calm. Any type of big emotion will validate her and make everyone think I’m as violent as she claims me to be.
But beneath it all, I’m panicking and would really like to vomit. The cafeteria is still silent and focused on the three of us. A cold sweat blooms across the entirety of my body beneath their scrutiny, and it only exacerbates my nausea.
“I’m really sorry about your friend, but I had nothing to do with it,” I say calmly, injecting every bit of sincerity into my voice as I can. “I’m not sure why you would even think I did?”
She scoffs out a humorless laugh and, for a third time, taps at her phone screen to pull something else up. Then, she’s turning it toward Dread and me.
“Look at his fucking name.”
My brows knit as I lean closer to look at a dating profile, a different image of the model as the profile picture. Written below in bold, black letters is: Charlie Love.
An obvious variation of my birth name.
My blood runs cold, though I work hard not to react outwardly. Internally, my organs are withering away from anxiety.
“Go ahead. Read his bio,” she urges, venom dripping from her tone.
I bristle, bothered by her attitude yet starting to understand why she’s convinced I was involved as I skim over the words.
Name: Charlie Love
Age: 22
Occupation: Car salesman
Interests: Horror movies, Hunting, Collecting
If there was a drop of blood left in my face, it’s gone. I pull back and straighten, repeatedly swallowing in a desperate attempt not to spew vomit all over the table.
Dread, however, releases a bark of laughter, startling the girl. She looks at him like he grew another head.
“You can’t be fucking serious. You think she would be that obviousand stupid?”
She recoils, blinking at him in shock.
“I mean, use your head for a second here,” he continues. “She would have to be the dumbest serial killer alive to create a dating profile with basically her own name and curate it tolooklike a serial killer. And using her father’s old job? Obviously, someone is framing her.”
Now the girl’s face flushes red, but with embarrassment.
“Maybe that’s what she wants,” she argues, clearly floundering. “To make it so obvious, no one suspects her.”
Dread settles a dry look on her. “She has a solid alibi two days ago.” He ticks off his fingers as he speaks. “Class. Work. Me.”
My eyes fly over to him, shocked. Two days ago, Dread crashed my forensics class and then disappeared, and I definitely didn’t see him until the next night when he kidnapped me. I went to work and then went home and crashed. So why the fuck is he lying for me?
