Half-Truths: New York Times Bestselling Author

by Contreras, Claire

  There was another folder within this one that was labeled: MY PICS, with two pictures of Lana by herself. One was a selfie in which she wasn’t fully smiling at the camera. The other was with a waterfall behind her. She was wearing a pretty white dress with spaghetti straps and a huge smile, her long black hair hanging straight over one shoulder, one hand on her hip and the other flashing a peace sign. She looked gorgeous. She’d always been one of the prettiest girls in high school, and popular—head cheerleader, captain of the debate club, involved in the community, super smart. I wondered how she’d faired here. Was she still just as popular or did she just blend in as one does when the pool stretches as big as it did in college?

  After sleuthing for another hour or so, I closed the laptop. I needed to find whatever articles she’d written about the secret societies. I needed to find out what the police had and why this wasn’t in their possession, but that would mean that I’d have to come forward and potentially throw my brother under the bus. As far as I knew, he’d never been questioned by the police because he’d gone home so quickly and they didn’t find reason to ask him anything, but something was off about all of this. Why would he have so many of her things? Had someone sent this stuff to implicate him? Who was sending me those texts and how had they gotten my number? And if Lana was still out there like they were suggesting, why was nobody searching?

  * * *

  I sat across from Hailey, knee bouncing, as we sipped on our lattes. I hadn’t told her everything, but I did tell her about the red cloaked people I saw on the street the other night and the ones wearing black cloaks near my apartment. I left out the part about the card, figuring it probably wasn’t a good idea to say anything about it since I was pretty sure I’d show up the next time I got one, especially after seeing my brother’s.

  “So there are two different societies,” she mused. “I’ve only seen the black cloaks.”

  “They weren’t doing anything interesting, just walking, but even that was weird.”

  “What? The way they were walking?” She inched closer, setting her elbows on her legs.

  “No. The fact that no one said anything about it at all.” I sipped. “Well, one guy did, but everyone told him he was ridiculous.” I set my mug down. “I also heard something else that was interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Someone told me that there’s a rumor that these girls disappear because one of the societies sacrifices them.”

  “Hm. I’m not sure I believe that. Why do so many of them come back? It seems like most of them do, actually. And they all live normal lives.” She sipped her latte as she looked at me. Hailey did that a lot, she just looked at people. Or maybe it was me she was busy staring at. I tried not to focus on it, but I found myself constantly looking away to avoid awkwardness. She set the mug down. “Do you think you’d live a normal life if you were kidnapped?”

  “If I was kidnapped?” I said rather loudly.

  “It’s a hypothetical question, Mae. You don’t have to freak out about it.” She let out a laugh.

  “It’s not hypothetical when people are actually being kidnapped,” I whisper-shouted. “And I’m not sure. Would you live a normal life if you were kidnapped and let go a year later after they did who knows what to you?”

  “I think so.” She shrugged.

  I felt myself make a face, but didn’t comment. What was I supposed to say to that?

  “How’s your brother?” she asked after a beat. “My mom told me she went to a mass for him. I hope he’s okay.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s just . . . well, he’s in a medically induced coma now. He was having a lot of seizures.”

  “Oof. Because of drugs?”

  “No.” I frowned. “My brother doesn’t do drugs.”

  “What were the seizures caused by?”

  Drugs. Shit. An insane amount of drugs had been found in his system when he died. My chest squeezed when I thought about that. Lincoln had actually died and been brought back. And it had been drugs. But he’d said he hadn’t meant to overdose. He hadn’t meant to kill himself. Well, he shook his head no. Still. Drugs.

  “I’m not sure.” I set my mug down and looked at my phone. “I have to go. I’m going to dinner with someone and I don’t want to be late.”

  “Oh, a date?” She stood up as I did.

  “Not a date, no. I’m going to dinner with a friend.”

  “A friend?” She wagged her eyebrows. “A hockey player friend?”

  “What? No.” I frowned. Did she know about Logan? Not that there was anything to know about Logan, but still. “Why would it be a hockey player?”

  “I’m just asking.” She shrugged. “Anyway, let’s do this again soon.”

  “Sure.”

  “And stay away from the cloaks!”

  Chapter Twelve

  I was standing outside, waiting for Max, and freezing my ass off. I had the idea of leaving my jacket open, but there was no use. I should’ve grabbed a scarf before walking out of my room. I looked up to see Max walking over to me, wearing a suit.

  “You look amazing.” He whistled.

  “Thanks.” I made a show of checking him out. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” He chuckled, cheeks reddening. I could tell Max wasn’t used to attention, and as much as I didn’t mind paying him a compliment, I didn’t want him to take it the wrong way, so I was quick to add, “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t a date.”

  “Trust me, I never thought it was.” He smiled.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “This way.” He nodded as he started walking. I followed, grateful I’d opted for wedges and not stilettos. “I was able to score a reservation at a new restaurant that opened a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I hope you didn’t go through the trouble on my account. I would’ve been fine at any pub.”

  “Trust me, this is me selfishly using this outing as a reason to go. They only take reservations for two people at a time and I can’t really pick one friend over another.”

  “Ah, so you’re using me. Got it.” I winked.

  “Not using, just . . . ” He blushed again. “I mean, the place looks amazing and—”

  “Max.” I shot him a look. He clamped his mouth shut. “I’m cool with it. Thanks for picking me up, by the way. Do you live nearby?”

  “A few blocks. I can’t afford your block. I think Nolan lives in your building. Or maybe it’s the building next to yours.”

  “Hm. I haven’t seen him around.”

  “Some of the junior and senior players live on your block.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that.” I looked over my shoulder as if they were all going to magically appear behind us. We were at a streetlight, waiting for the crosswalk signal to change, when I spotted a busy restaurant across the street.

  “Is that the place?”

  “Yeah. It looks nice, right?”

  “It looks crowded,” I said. “But yeah, nice. I don’t think I noticed it when I walked by it before.”

  “Rumor has it, Fitz’s brother owns it.”

  “Patrick? That’s his only brother, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why’s it a rumor? About his brother owning the place? Either he owns it, or he doesn’t.”

  “I guess he was worried about how opening this place would go over after the legal issues he had.”

  “So, who do people think owns it?”

  “Private investors.”

  “Hm. Do you think he did what they said he did? Patrick Fitzgerald, I mean.”

  “I mean, I don’t discredit anything like that. When you have the entire world in the palm of your hands, it’s difficult to say what you wouldn’t be able to get away with.”

  “That’s disturbing but true.” I nodded at that. “Still, I’m surprised he’d keep his name out of this restaurant entirely.”

  “I can’t imagine he’d care whether his name was on it or not.” He raised an eyebrow as he pulled the door open for me. I
thanked him as I walked through. It was just as crowded in here as it was outside. “I’d venture to say it’s going pretty damn well for him.”

  I took my coat off and checked it in the coatroom while Max walked up to the hostess and gave her his name. I busied myself looking around as I walked back to the front. On a table in the waiting area was a bowl of black matches with the restaurant name on it, and on the back, a tiny gold octopus with the numbers 8888. I picked one up and dropped it back down, letting it bounce off the other boxes.

  “You’re too beautiful to be kept waiting.” The voice, low and near my ear, stinking of whiskey, startled me.

  I jumped and turned around to face him, his scent flooding my senses, his close proximity causing me to inhale sharply. I braced myself, but it was no use. No point in denying that he affected me, whether I wanted him to or not. The icy look in his eyes made me take a step back, then another, until my back was pressed up against the wall and I was reminded of the saying between a rock and a hard place.

  “That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Glad you’re keeping track.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “Would you like to join me?” He grinned, one side of his mouth curling slyly.

  “Are you here by yourself?”

  His grin widened. He took a step back and I got a clear view of our surroundings—the three women standing behind him, all watching me curiously. They looked exotic, long dark hair that looked a lot like mine, and near-perfect bodies, as showcased by the tight, revealing clothes they wore. Under any other circumstance, I would see them at the gym or walking in the street and think nothing of them, but knowing they were here with Logan annoyed me.

  I met his eyes, tilting my chin up. “I have no desire to be part of your harem.”

  He was silent for a beat. “Suit yourself, if you want to live like a peasant.”

  “Have fun pretending you’re royalty,” I said as he turned around. “Let me know if it makes you any less lonely.”

  He didn’t face me so I couldn’t see his reaction, but I knew I’d hit a sore spot. Max approached me as I watched Logan and his women walk to their table—right up front by the entrance, where everyone would surely see him.

  “That looked intense,” Max said.

  I shrugged, noncommittal. By the time we were shown to our table, I was starving. We followed behind the perky hostess and were seated right beside Logan. Of course. That would be my luck. The tables in this place were set in a way that it was as if you were having dinner with the entire restaurant—tiny tables with such a small separation between them that they seemed more like a giant table that sat forty people at once. Max stood back as if he preferred the lone seat on the other side. I stood beside him because I did not want to share the booth with Logan. Logan was oblivious because he was too busy leaning into the girl beside him to look up and realize I was standing there. I swore under my breath, blood simmering, as I stepped forward and sat in the booth. I bumped him with my purse as I sat down. At least I had a shield between us, albeit a small one.

  “You were finally seated,” he said.

  Ignoring him, I picked up my oversized menu and focused on it. He was being a jerk tonight. He’d been so nice this morning, letting me sleep in his bed, where he supposedly had no germs. Looking at the three girls he was with I assumed that was highly doubtful. I shook that thought away and focused on the words in front of me—ham croquettes sounded good. Sangria! I could totally go for a sangria right now.

  “I know two things I want.” I set down the menu and looked at Max, across from me. “Do you know what you want?”

  “I know what I want,” Logan said beside me. I turned my head toward him. It was a mistake. Hazy, lustful eyes met mine, making my stomach flip flop.

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “You might be interested in hearing it though.” He scooted over a little. My hand shot to my purse, keeping it upright. My shield.

  “Why are you talking to me?” I gripped my purse. “You have three beautiful women at your table.”

  “But you’re in this one.”

  “Logan.” I gaped at him. “I’m here with someone.”

  “On a date?” His arm moved and suddenly I felt his fingers caressing my knuckles. I tightened them more, hating the way my entire body seemed to come alive to his touch, hating the way I swayed a little toward him. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  “Huh?” I yanked my hand from beneath his reach and confined myself to the small area I was allotted.

  “Hey, Paper Boy,” he said, looking at Max, whose face was hidden behind his menu.

  He glanced over it. “What?”

  “You do know Amelia has a boyfriend, right?”

  “I do not have a boyfriend.” I frowned. “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “Yeah, you do.” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Tall, black guy.”

  “You mean Travis,” I said.

  “I didn’t catch his name.”

  “Well, his name is Travis.”

  “And what exactly is Travis to you, if not your boyfriend? Friend with benefits?”

  “What he is to me is exactly none of your fucking business,” I snapped, picking my menu back up. What the hell was taking this waitress so long? “Mind your harem and leave Max and I alone.”

  “My harem,” he repeated, his eyes alight with amusement. “You really are stuck on that.”

  “And you’re drunk and obnoxious. Please let us eat our dinner in peace.”

  His eyes searched mine for a beat, then two, seconds that flew by, but felt like an eternity when he was looking at me like that from this close. Finally, without another word, he backed up and started eating whatever was in front of him. I exhaled. Max raised an eyebrow. I shook my head in response, hoping he could sense that I was just as annoyed as he was.

  As I scanned the menu, trying really hard not to focus on his presence, one of the girls started laughing loudly, making a show out of whatever he was saying. My hands gripped the paper menu. Finally, the waitress came by and took our orders. When she left, I felt myself ease up a little. Logan stayed on his side of the booth, and I stayed on the other side of my purse.

  Max started talking to me about the job he had lined up in Philadelphia, a newspaper where his older brother worked and he’d managed to interview with. It was pretty much in the bag for him. He hoped to work his way up in sports journalism specifically. I told him about how I really wanted to work for an esteemed journal, writing significant stories, but how my father expected me to join in on the family business and I wasn’t sure how things would ultimately play out.

  “Maybe your dad can buy a newspaper and you can write for the paper.”

  “Oh my God.” I laughed.

  “What? I’m sure he can buy one.”

  “He can, but he wouldn’t.”

  “So you do it.”

  “Me?” I laughed harder, then stopped. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Why not? You can start your own digital paper. It’ll be small for a while, but then you’d expand. I’d write for you.” He smiled. “Gratis.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” I smiled back. “But even if I wanted to do that, I couldn’t. That would take marketing and effort to push out there for people to actually read it and I don’t have money to start one.”

  “You . . . you don’t have the money?” he cocked his head. “Really?”

  “I’m not rich, Max. My parents are.”

  “Spoken like a true rich girl.”

  “But it’s true.” I lifted the Sangria in front of me and took a big sip. People always assumed because my parents had all this money that it meant I did as well. Sure, I got to reap the benefits of it all—I had all of the designer clothes, took trips at the drop of a hat, but it was all measured by how much they felt I deserved at the moment. Right now, with no Travis and attending dad’s school of choice, I could probably buy myself a P
orsche and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Last year around this time, when I wasn’t calling home and they didn’t approve of any of my choices? Well, my credit card was locked after my fifth Uber ride.

  “Anyway, I’m going to finish my double major and see what happens. Maybe I can land a job close to home for a newspaper or something that I do not own and he’ll be less upset about the entire thing.” I sighed. “Or I can win the lottery and not depend on him anymore, but that’s looking unlikely.”

  “How often do you play the lotto?”

  “Never.” I laughed, breaking a tiny piece of bread and throwing it at him as he laughed. Our food came quickly and we both dug in. It was tapas style, so everything we got was shareable and in the center of the tiny table.

  “How’s your brother doing?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

  “He’s . . . the same.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s hard on you.”

  “It is.” I lifted my napkin to dab the side of my mouth. “Honestly? I’m trying not to think about it because when I do, I feel like I’m going to break down.”

  “Well, I’m here.” He slid a hand to my side of the table and set it on mine. “As a friend.”

  “Hands to yourself, Paper Boy.”

  I jumped. Max’s hand disappeared quickly, but he frowned at Logan. “I thought she told you to let us eat in peace.”

  Logan slid closer to me, so close that not even the small shield between us stood a chance. My heart jumped to my throat. I wasn’t sure if he meant to start a fight or not, but I knew that even though he’d been quietly eating his food, he was obviously still drunk. I put my hand on his, pressing down hard. It was futile, my hand was tiny over his, but his gaze snapped to mine nonetheless.

  “Please stop,” I whispered, a plea. I didn’t make it a habit to beg people to do things, but Max didn’t deserve Logan’s wrath, not when he was so nice and he’d gone out of his way to bring me here. I pinched Logan’s hand. I kept my voice low, “Logan. Seriously. Please.”