We’d gotten away with it for years. When would our luck run out?
I grabbed her steering wheel, forcing her to look at me. “This is my line, Scout. After everything we’ve been through—everything I’ve done for you—I can’t watch you throw your life away. I won’t help.”
“Then don’t,” she said. Like it was simple. Like our souls and fates weren’t entwined.
She stepped on the gas and the car ripped out from under my hands.
Chapter 35Juliet, the Model
PRESENT DAY
Juliet had never felt an awe as profound as the one that filled her watching the streets of Downtown LA flood with protestors. The blocks were alive with people, the turnout exceeding even her wildest dreams. Either more people hated Gabriel Knox than Juliet had realized, or dangling Scout’s name in the press had created more of an impact than she’d anticipated.
In one of the textbooks she’d used to pass her GED, Juliet had read about Romantic poets in the nineteenth century and their concept of the sublime: a feeling of terrifying wonder, usually in reaction to something vast that made you feel small. That was the only word for what Juliet felt watching the rally begin from her perch on the top floor of the Downtown DoubleTree Hotel. History was vast, and she was only the smallest part of it.
But even small roles could be important. Luca had promised her that.
Juliet checked the time on her watch. She’d been careful to leave her phone at home as instructed. The big hand struck the hour she’d been waiting for.
By the time she made it down the elevator and into the streets, Juliet had stuffed her slicked-back red hair into a black baseball cap and arranged dark sunglasses and a hoodie to hide most of her face. She’d gotten the idea from Scout, actually, from the disguises Scout used to avoid the press.
But no one paid attention to Juliet as she wove around groups of friends, careful to avoid calling attention to herself. It was thrilling to soak up the electric anticipation in the air. The gathering crowdwas mostly women, as Luca had expected. The Green Lions stood for everything from wealth redistribution to radical health-care reform, but Luca had told Juliet over one of their planning sessions that for some reason, it was always women who flocked to them, who were willing to stand up first.
Everywhere, protestors were filming, phones flipped for selfies or held high to capture the size of the crowds. Juliet dodged the screens, keeping her head low. After fifteen fraught minutes, people became scarce, and that was when she caught sight of the Knox Aeronautics Tower, constructed out of a flashy sandstone that made it stand out among the other skyscrapers. Glancing left and right, she swiped the badge Luca had given her through the electronic reader.
The locks on the front doors released with a cool click. This was it. Juliet would cement her place in history. Even small players could change the world.
She shifted her backpack higher and stepped inside.
Chapter 36Isabel, the Assistant
PRESENT DAY
Brooks showed up at my door with a look on his face that was as charged as a live wire, wearing a pressed navy suit so straitlaced and serious that I could no longer deny he was, first and foremost, an FBI agent.
“What’s wrong?” I asked the minute I opened the door. His barely contained energy was obvious in the tense fists of his hands.
Brooks’s gaze swept me from head to toe, taking in my jeans and faded USC Law shirt, which I’d stolen from him years ago. It was embarrassing to be caught wearing it, since I’d thrown it on this morning with Brooks on the brain—I could see it distracting him, his lips twisting to say something sly, but I cut him off. “Brooks, seriously, it’s nine in the morning. Why are you here?”
He tore his eyes from my shirt. “I gave Detective Holloway copies of the photos from the private investigator and explained our theory that Easton killed Georgia ten years ago and has a motive to frame Scout.”
“He hates her,” I said. “Did you listen to the podcast links I sent? He’s made a whole second career out of blaming Scout for Alden’s suicide.”
Brooks rubbed a hand over his dark hair. “Holloway’s not buying it.”
“What? Why?” Had Scout been right not to trust the police?
He crossed his arms. “I think she’s had Scout in her head for so long it’s hard for her to consider another suspect. But I convinced her to bring in Easton for questioning. He flew back from one of Knox’s campaign events this morning. I need you and Scout to come—”
“He what?” A chill ran down my spine. “Easton’s back?”
Brooks frowned. “It’s a good thing. It means we’ll get him in for questioning—”
Dakota might have chosen to live in the Bankses’ haunted Hollywood Hills home, but Easton had moved with his child bride to a flashy estate in Malibu. Scout and I had found the address together. Panic reached its icy fingers through me. “Brooks, I have to go.” I tried to shut the door, but he threw out a hand and caught it.
“What’s going on? And don’t you dare tell me nothing.” His eyes flashed. “I’m warning you, Isabel. I’m not the same man I was ten years ago. I won’t let you run me off.”
Run, my instincts urged, in direct contrast to his words.Now.
