by Mary Frame
“We’ll have to go to Bodean’s tomorrow and see what our little furry friend has gotten into.”
I frown. “He’s not a bad guy.”
“I would like to believe so, but we can’t know that.”
“He seemed so nervous. The other voice, though, sounded confident. And what he said, about reversing Bryce’s grades? Spilling stuff to his dad? It sounds to me like he’s being blackmailed.”
“Even people being blackmailed have a choice. Whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t have to. He’s complicit.”
“But he has stuff to lose, maybe. Don’t you think?”
“Does that matter when you’re choosing between right and wrong?”
“Oh, come on, you’re the one that’s all ‘it’s okay for Grace to break the law if it’s for the benefit of her and Beast,’ right?”
“I know.” He grins. “I just like to argue with you. Riling you up and seeing you all mad has become a favorite pastime of mine. And I know you enjoy it, too.”
Damn him. I do. “Ugh.” I smack him lightly.
“Ouch.” He rubs his shoulder.
“Oh, please.”
“You’ve wounded me.”
“I will wound you.”
Our eyes meet and lock and the ever-present tension flames to life between us.
I take a breath and step away. “What’s the plan?”
“We know where he’s gonna be tomorrow night, in the office of Bodean’s. So we’ll just get there before he does.”
“And then what?”
He shrugs. “I usually improvise these things.”
“Improvise? Not this again! We need a plan.”
“You can’t control everything, least of all other people. I want to know what’s on this drive and who is blackmailing our friend Bryce. Those are our two main objectives. Whoever this guy is, he’s using other people and other IPs to cover his tracks.”
“Do you think Grace will be there?”
“I don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out.”
Chapter Eleven
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee
—Edgar Allen Poe, “Annabel Lee”
Jude
“What are your intentions with Annabel?”
I move my gaze from the TV, where I’ve been watching Love Actually, and turn to Fitz.
He’s next to me on the couch, leaning back, one arm over the end of the couch, and his posture relaxed except for the tension in his shoulders.
“I can assure you, my intentions are always honorable.”
“Uh-huh. Look, I know you guys are going out tonight. Annabel told me she’s picking you up and I’m not invited.”
“It’s just a friendly night out.”
“Great. Then why can’t I come?”
“I’m afraid it’s more about business than pleasure and you wouldn’t have a good time.”
Fitz rolls his eyes. “I get it. You like her, but I think Annabel likes you, too.”
I lift my brows. “And this is a problem?”
He shifts in his seat, leaning forward and running his palms over his jeans before meeting my eyes. “I’ve been getting the sense that there’s something else going on there. I think you like her and even more scarily, I think she likes you back.”
I shrug. “I don’t profess to know what the fair Annabel feels or doesn’t feel.”
“I know Annabel better than anyone and she puts on a good show, but she’s actually very sensitive and hurts easily.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“Understand this as well: if you hurt my sister, I’ll hurt you.”
I smile. They’re both so protective of each other. It’s endearing. Admirable. “I think it’s more likely she’ll hurt me.”
He nods. “That could be true. She can be meaner than a wet panther.”
There’s a knock at the front door and then it’s opened. “Hello?” Annabel calls out.
I stand up but before I make it out of the living room, she’s already in the doorway and I think my heart straight stops, and in the resulting silence I can do naught but stare.
She’s not showing a lot of skin, dressed in a pale green country dress. The hem falls above the knee, flirting with her thighs, and brown cowboy boots cover her feet. But she’s a cool drink of water on a hot summer day and I want more than anything to drink her up.
“Hey.” She smiles at me.
The rare glimpse of happiness gives me encouragement.
“You look mighty fine tonight, Annabel. You could talk the dogs off a meat truck without having to say a word.”
She blushes. She never blushes. I want to chase the pink spreading down her chest and see where it ends. Her walls are always too high to show such a display of pleasure. And the fact that they’ve been knocked down, even for a moment, is a win.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
I glance down at my plain red flannel, jeans, and boots. It’s not much, but she approves. The problem is getting her to approve of the man inside the body.
“Although . . .” Annabel purses her lips, walking over to me and reaching out. My breath catches in my throat. She unbuttons the top snap on my shirt. “You’re a little too put together for Bodean’s.” She runs a hand through my scruffy hair. Her fingers feel divine and I nearly groan out loud. She’s so close I can see individual eyelashes, and one glance in a general downward direction gives me an eyeful of cleavage.
Eyes up, buck.
Fitz clears his throat and she turns away, apparently done with my impromptu makeover, which is good because I have some adjusting to do below the buckle. One little voluntary touch from Annabel, and I’m a goner in more ways than one.
“Hey, Mr. Darcy.” Annabel hugs Fitz.
“Hey, sis. You kids have fun and be safe tonight, ya hear?”
Annabel rolls her eyes. “As your elder, I think that’s my line.”
“You’re only three years older than me.”
“Whatever, puppy. You ready?” she asks me.
I nod. I just have to grab my laptop and put it in her trunk and then we’re on our way.
Bodean’s is an old barn that’s been fitted with a porch and refurbished into a bar. People spill out of the front, the twang of a guitar and the beat of country music filling the night air as we walk up the wooden steps and inside.
It’s as packed as it sounded from outside. Annabel stays on the perimeter of the crowd while I battle the line at the bar to obtain some refreshments. We don’t want to stick out like sore thumbs, have to make it seem at least somewhat like we belong here.
When I finally have drinks in hand and I’m heading back to where I left Annabel, she’s not alone anymore.
I don’t recognize the gentleman at first because he’s not in his normal Blue Falls police uniform, but as I approach, the moustache and wide smile become more familiar. Officer Rudy.
“Come on now, Annabel, just one little dance.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
An unfamiliar sensation rolls over me. I don’t like him asking her to dance. I know she can take care of herself, but I can’t help the possessiveness from reaching out and curling an arm around Annabel’s waist.
When her eyes meet mine, her shoulders relax and she leans closer, as close as she’s ever willfully gotten, and that’s all the assent I need to hand her the drink I procured.
“Officer Rudy. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I’ve only met the man twice, but I’ve gotten the impression he is someone who craves attention and never receives enough to fill the bucket.
He glances back and forth between the two of us.
“Nice to see you, as well,” he mumbles and then makes excuses of some sort and smiles tightly before disappearing into the crowd.
“He bother you a lot?”
She shrugs. “Not a bother. It’s Rudy. He’s like that to everyone.”
I frown and take a small sip of beer
while assessing the rest of the room.
People participating in the Turkey Trot are identifiable by their turkey gear, some with T-shirts of turkeys, some with feathered hats and wings. Rudy is now across the way, conversing with another lady who smiles and moves away. Apparently he’s getting rejected all around. No sign of Grace or Bryce, or anyone else who appears suspicious.
The music kicks up, “Turkey in the Straw” from the sound of it, and a chorus of cheers fills the space.
The dance floor fills. Now is the time. I nudge Annabel with an elbow and we move along the far wall, where it’s not as crowded, toward the restrooms at the back.
The hallway is darkened, only a bit of illumination coming from the bar and dance area. It’s thankfully empty since nearly everyone is on the dance floor.
A patron disappears into the bathroom in front of us and we wait until the door swings shut before trying the door opposite.
Locked.
“Wait, I got this.” Annabel plucks a pin from her hair and bends over the knob.
“I suppose this is how you got into my bedroom before I purchased additional locks?”
“What? Like it’s hard?” The tumblers fall and she pushes the door open. After a quick glance, we go inside, shutting and locking the door behind us as she flicks on the light.
There’s a ladylike scream.
And standing there, hands on the keyboard, is Bryce.
“What are you guys doing here?” Bryce’s sentence ends on a squeak.
“Babies!” I throw on my alter ego. “We came here to party!” I grin at him like he’s expected and not performing some kind of reprehensible activity. “Are you . . . what are you doing?” The frown on my face morphs into a perfect reflection of confused perplexity.
“Nothing. Just, um. Working. I work here.”
I step closer. “In the dark?”
“I . . . I get migraines.”
Annabel jumps into the conversation. “There’s no need to lie, Bryce. We already know. He told us. We were surprised because we thought you would be here a little later since he said to pick up the item by eight and it’s not even eight thirty. He asked us to check on you and help if needed.”
Annabel is pretending like she already knows everything. Clever. I would kiss her if I thought she would allow it and the circumstances were different.
“Help me with what?”
“Uploading the file.” I move over to the computer where Bryce is standing and watch the screen as the program uploads. I am unable to tell what it is at first glance. The computer itself is an older model Dell. It doesn’t even have thumb drive capabilities, which means there’s a disc in the drive. And whatever it is, it’s taking forever to upload.
Bryce rubs a hand through his dark hair. “But it’s only a few buttons and once it’s done, I can leave. Why would he need you to be here?”
We share a glance and then Annabel bites her lip and gives Bryce a pitying grimace. “He wanted us to come get the goods when it was done. To bring it back to him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. He said something about how you didn’t want to help him anymore, or something? He wasn’t real happy.”
Bryce’s eyes flick to me and Annabel. “Do you know what’s on this thing?”
“You don’t?” I ask.
He frowns. “David only gives me minimal information.”
Pause. David, huh? That’s useful.
“Why do you do these things for him?” Annabel asks.
He glances down, runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I . . . can’t really say. Why are you helping him?”
“We don’t really have a choice anymore.” She sighs. Totally playing on his sympathy. The urge to kiss her returns with a vengeance. “What is he holding over you?”
Bryce’s whole body droops. “It’s not my fault Professor Stewart is a jerk. He failed me because I had a group project and my whole team bailed. David told me he would get me a C. He changed my grade somehow.” He gestures to the computer. “He’s really good at the hacker stuff. But then I owed him a favor in exchange. I did the favor. It was just a pickup and delivery. Simple. I thought that was it and I would be done, but then it turned into one thing after another. I tried to stop, but he told me he could reverse my grades any time he wanted and then he found out about the furry stuff, and that gave him one more thing to hold over me. I didn’t know it would get this far but . . . you have to understand, I can’t fail out of college.”
“What else has he made you do in exchange for his help?”
The disc finally finishes uploading and before Bryce can do anything, I hit the eject button and slip it in my front pocket.
Bryce watches but doesn’t make any moves to stop me. “Usually not much. He has me run errands around town, uploading things like this to different computers. Sometimes public ones, like at the library. I don’t want to do it anymore, though. Some of this stuff could be bad and I wouldn’t even know. It doesn’t feel right. Can you talk to him? Tell him to leave me alone? I thought he was a normal guy, but he’s . . . off. It’s like he enjoys having this sick power over me.”
There’s a jiggle at the door and we all freeze. Bryce slides like a smooth slip of jelly down under the desk.
I move toward Annabel, who’s standing near the door, staring down at it like it might bite.
“There’s nowhere to hide,” she hisses, eyes wide.
Whoever is at the door has a key. The handle turns. She flicks off the light and I press her back against the wall, my arms on either side of her head, moving my face as close as I can without actually making contact, tilting my head toward her neck so close her heat presses against me. To anyone behind us it would appear rather indecent, but in reality, I’m not even touching her.
I breathe in the scent of cherry mixed with a faint whiff of perfume.
Her own breathing is affected, sharp and shallow.
Light floods the room and a voice asks, “What in Sam Hill are y’all doing in here?”
I pull away, turning from Annabel’s flushed face to ask. “What? Who are you?”
Annabel steps out from the cage of my arms and glances around in confusion. “This isn’t the bathroom?” she asks in a breathy voice and then turns back to me and grabs my shirt. “You are so hot.” She presses herself against me.
“This was supposed to be locked,” the man at the door drawls. I recognize him from the bar. Tall cowboy. He yells down the hall toward the bar, “Eliza, did you forget to lock the office again?”
“Fuck you, Ranger, I locked it!” a voice yells back.
“Yeah right,” he mutters. “She always says that.”
I nudge Annabel. “We’ll be getting out of your hair then.”
She hangs on to me like she can barely stand, stumbling over her boots. We make it past the cowboy and out the door without further incident. Once we’re out of sight, she straightens and pulls away. “Should we help Bryce?”
“I think he’ll survive. We can help him most by getting our hands on David.”
Her eyes meet mine. “You know who it is?”
“I think I do. He attends my parties. I thought I recognized the voice.” I glance around. We need to get somewhere else and see what’s on this disc. “Let’s get out of here.”
The bar is loud and the thump of feet on the dance floor echoes around us. She leads the way through a row of empty, narrowly spaced tables.
Then she stops suddenly in front of me.
I wait a few beats, but she doesn’t move.
“Annabel?”
No response.
“Are you okay?” I move to put a hand on her shoulder, but before I can make contact, she drops to the ground.
Chapter Twelve
“Are people so unhappy when they love?”
“Yes, Christine, when they love and are not sure of being loved.”
―Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
Annabel
You know, the floor s
eemed like the best option at the time, but now that I’m staring down at a wooden compilation of crumbs, dirt, sticky beer, and other questionable liquids, I’m not sure if standing and making eye contact with Taylor and Chad was actually worse.
It was a slice of hell seeing Taylor the other day at work and finding out she and Chad are getting married.
But seeing them now? Gazing at each other like the end of some sappy romance movie? I’d rather get a root canal.
Chad was behind Taylor, his arms around her waist, leaning down, saying something in her ear. She laughed and looked over her shoulder at him, eyes bright and happy and mouth wide and smiling.
And then her eyes locked with mine.
So uncomfortable.
Although . . . I wonder if this should hurt more.
I mean, it does, and yet not like it did when I thought Chad should be mine. It hurts because they were both mine. My best friends.
And now they’re not.
And the reality of it is so sad.
“What are we doing? You okay? You need me to carry you?” Jude is behind me, also crouched down. I nearly forgot he was there. Of course, instead of thinking I’m a total freak, he is all gentlemanly concern.
“No,” I say. “I just need a second here.”
“Alrighty then, we can sit here on the floor that smells like piss and beer until you’re ready. Or maybe we’re pretending to be frogs? I can leapfrog you from here or you can go first if you’d like me to turn around.”
Insane laughter bubbles up inside and I turn my head to meet his eyes. Somehow, he’s completely natural, crouching on the floor, his eyes serious despite his teasing words.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s . . .” Can I tell him without feeling humiliated? Unlikely. Although he’s probably the only person in the world I could share this part of me with who wouldn’t judge or scorn or reject me. I still can’t believe all he’s shared with me, trusted me with. How much he’s trusted me not to hurt him.
I could trust him, too.
The thought staggers me into momentary silence.
“Annabel?” a familiar voice says from above, pulling me from my inner revelation. The absolute last voice I want to hear.
