Page 4 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

That she was. Mandy’s brown eyes were wide, radiating warmth. She was all curves and curls, sugar and sweat. Liv could feel herself getting sucked in. She could sense other people in the cavernous room turning toward Mandy, magnetized without even knowing it.

“So in this scenario,” Liv said, “I’ve chased you to the edge of the Grand Canyon and intend to extract your secrets as we float down the river?”

“That’s right.” Mandy’s eyes were shining now. “Until the night of the full moon, when I escape from our campsite and vanish up a side canyon without a trace.”

Liv hooked her arm through her sister’s. “Yes.”

“Yes to you tying me to a cactus and letting scorpions crawl all over my body until I reveal my nefarious plan?”

“Yes, I missed you.”

She always did.

Chapter Four

Mandy woke up before her alarm. The world outside their motel room was pitch-black, her older sister still twisted up in the sheets. Liv went hard on everything, even sleep. For the past few years, Liv’s sister trips had all happened in cities where she was deployed. While it was fun to haggle at kebab stands and hit underground nightclubs with Liv’s embassy friends, sometimes Mandy felt like she was just another efficiency slotted into her sister’s packed schedule.

Which was one of the reasons Mandy had said yes when Babette Botanique had surprised her with two spots on the exclusive prelaunch Essence Quest for their newest product, CareFree. The email from the skin care CEO’s assistant said it was in appreciation for her contributions to CareFree, which, as far as Mandy knew, were minor. But she wasn’t about to question a free vacation and there was no need to tell Liv what she’d done to earn it. This rafting trip was perfect for her and her sister. There was no cell service in the Grand Canyon, no downtime when Liv could squeeze in a work call on a secure line. There wouldn’t even be tents unless the weather looked like rain. They’d spend all day together floating down the Colorado River and hiking up side canyons, all night sleeping out in the desert under the blanket of stars. There were a few things Mandy hoped they’d talk about. But mostly she was excited for the in-between moments, the times that Liv might otherwise turn to her phone, to her ever-urgent emails about Class 2 security threats. Here, she’d have her sister all to herself.

She resisted the urge to jump on Liv’s bed and start the bonding right then and there. But her sister was a nightmare before coffee, and Liv had told her the guide, Thor, would have some brewed at the trailhead by four a.m. So Mandy made herself useful. She slipped into her hiking clothes, hauled up her backpack, and grabbed her sister’s duffel bags. It was a short walk to the trailhead, and she always felt strong in the morning.

When she reached the trailhead, no one acknowledged her sherpa skills. The glow of her headlamp illuminated a shuffling mess of people. A redheaded teenager in spotless white workout gear with a selfie stick was weaving through the throng, talking rapidly at her outstretched phone, practically vibrating as she navigated the groggy adults and their bags.

“Hey, early birds! I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m giving you a teensy peek before I go off the grid for the next week. Seven days without you! I’ll have my nana with me. Nana, wave to everyone!” A tiny woman in worn hiking clothes flashed a hand at the phone shoved in her face before the girl moved on. “Seven days in a secret location. A total internet black hole, and everyone here is really”—the teenager glanced over, and Mandy smiled at her—“old. So old. Total nightmare, but one thing makes it worth it. I’m getting paid to be here! Just kidding. I mean, I am getting paid, but there’s something else special about this trip . . . You’ll see. I’ll film everything, and you’ll get the unvarnished, pure Imogen report when I’m back. Byeeeee!”

She clicked off her phone recording, dropped her grin, and shot a glare at Thor. At his feet, specifically. The guide was standing over a mountain of bags, somehow looking even cuter at four a.m. than he had in the lodge the night before.

“Excuse me, guide man? We have a problem.” The teenager kicked a pile of banged-up yellow rubber bags. “I can’t shoot with these.”

“Look, miss—”

“Imogen,” she said.

“Imogen.” Thor attempted a placating smile. “These dry bags are the best in the business.”

“Not in my business.” Imogen turned and shouted into the darkness. “PK!”

A man in his twenties jogged over, sporting his own pristine athleisure wear and a surprisingly well-coiffed faux-hawk for a predawn hike.

“I can’t work with these,” Imogen said, pointing to the bags.

“Ugh,” PK said. “They are . . . unfortunate.”

“Gingers don’t do yellow,” Imogen said. “It is not on my mood board.”

“I get it.” PK turned to Thor and assumed a saccharine, fake-friendly tone. “What my dear Imogen is trying to say is that we’d prefer to use our own branded luggage covers on the river. I explained this when we booked this trip. Your bosses were fine with it.”

“These?” Thor plucked a thin white duffel bag from an untouched stack on the ground. The duffel had a silver curling B painted on one side. “Might as well be tissue paper.”

“That would be raw alpaca silk,” PK said.

“I don’t care if they’re made of unicorn snot. These bags wouldn’t keep toast dry in the desert. No way they’re going to keep your gear safe.”

“Safety doesn’t boost view counts,” Imogen shot back. “I have a story to tell. An image to project. And your bags tell a very depressing tale.”

“Here I was thinking you might prefer a story where y’all don’t end up whimpering like drowned river rats.”

Imogen was silent for a moment, her eyes clicking from Thor to PK to the bags as if she was doing advanced calculus in her head.