by Tania Joyce
Stabbing pain shot through Gemma’s head and chest. It was as if the worst hangover and nightmare raked through her brain. She’d only been to Vicki’s house a couple times over the years, but had never entered the bedroom—her shrine to Kyle. Short, sharp breaths shredded her lungs. “Oh my God. It’s you. You’re the one who’s been sending the letters?”
A twisted half-smile tugged at the corner of Vicki’s mouth; satisfaction glistened in her eyes. “Like them?”
Gemma fought the tears welling in her eyes. Vicki was her friend. Why was she doing this? “Please.” Gemma begged, fighting the panic seizing her mind. “Let me go. You don’t know what you’ve done.”
Vicki leaned closer, her eyes cold and dark. “I know exactly what I’ve done. I stopped Kyle from making a huge mistake. You’re not going anywhere. Not until I get what I want.” Gemma tried to sit, but Vicki pinned her hand against her shoulder. Her voice, curt and short, sliced through the air. “Stay down.”
Nausea swirled like a boat in a squalling sea in Gemma’s stomach. A cold sweat shivered across her fevered skin. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Vicki spun on her chair and grabbed the trash can from beside her desk. With all her might, Gemma lurched over the edge of the bed and vomited into the waiting bin. With nothing in her stomach, bile burned her throat, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Collapsing back onto the pillow, she didn’t have any strength left to wipe her mouth. “What did you give me?”
Vicki lit and sucked on her pipe, blew a mouthful of rancid smoke in Gemma’s face. “Just a roofie.” She said it like it was an everyday occurrence and placed her pipe on the nightstand.
A roofie?
Vicki grabbed the glass of water and shoved the straw into Gemma’s mouth. “Drink. It’s just water.”
What if the water was drugged? Don’t drink it. Don’t drink it. But thirst won. Gemma sucked down small sips to rinse her mouth, but it did little to revive her dry lips. Her brain rattled for answers. “You drugged me? Why did you do that?”
Surely there had to be a logical explanation. Surely her friend wasn’t a drug-addicted psychopath.
Vicki put the glass down, folded her arms and rested them on the mattress. One thin eyebrow arched like the blade of a scythe. “Because time’s up. I want Kyle. I need you out of the way.”
“What are you talking about?” None of this made sense. Vicki wanted Kyle? She hadn’t been with him since high school. She couldn’t have obsessed about him for that long. “Kyle doesn’t love you. He loves me.”
Red rashes licked like flames up the sides of Vicki’s neck. She spoke through gritted teeth. “No. He. Doesn’t. He loves me. You’ve brainwashed him. Made him forget what we used to have. It’s time for me to get him back. Make him realize I’m the one he’s meant to be with.”
“Vicki, stop,” Gemma pleaded. She tried to move again but couldn’t. “You’re sounding crazy.”
“I’m not fucking crazy.” Vicki stabbed her finger at Gemma’s face. Her words were like a booming bass drum, pounding in Gemma’s head. “You hear me?” Vicki tilted her head. Shards of ice flared deep in her blue eyes. Her voice took on a chilling tone. “But you’ll be out of the picture soon. When my brother and I go to meet our next shipment offshore on Sunday night, you’re coming with. You’ll have a little accident on-board, fall into the river and be gone. When the harbor police find you, Kyle will be devastated. And guess who’s going to be there for him? To console him? Nurse his broken heart?” Triumph rippled through her malicious smile. “Me.”
Gemma’s heart rate tripled, thudding and clawing at her chest. Fuck. Vicki was going to kill her. Oh God. She had to get out of there. Vicki was deranged.
But her body wouldn’t work. She felt as if she weighed ten ton. “Kyle will be looking for me. So will the police and our security.” Why hadn’t they found her already? It was dark outside. Why was it taking so long? She’d been so stupid wanting to go to Leonard’s. Even more of a fool for having a drink with Vicki. She should’ve called Dylan. Waited for Chester. It was all her fault.
A tear slipped across her temple and soaked into the pillow. Her heart ached and throbbed. Kyle would be heartbroken, gutted. She’d missed their wedding. He’d be tearing Manhattan apart trying to find her. Or . . . doubt seeped into her mind . . . or was he thinking she’d left him? Thinking the stresses and threats had gotten too much? No. He wouldn’t think that. Their love ran too deep. It had been a rough few weeks, but she wasn’t a quitter like her parents. They had walked away when things got tough. She’d never do that. Never leave Kyle.
God, I hope nothing had happened for him to think otherwise. But what lengths had Vicki gone to?
She closed her eyes and said a prayer. Kyle. Please. Find me.
The fire in her spirit hadn’t been extinguished. There was no way she’d let Vicki take her down without a fight. She needed these drugs to wear off and she’d be out of here.
Vicki smiled a thin-lipped smile. “Kyle is looking for you. He’s already called. He’s very upset you didn’t turn up to your wedding. Oh yes, dear Gemma, thank you for telling me that in your druggie state. I told him I hadn’t seen or heard from you.” She placed her hand over her heart and her voice took on a sarcastic tone. “I’ve been nothing but a concerned friend.”
Gemma sobbed and curled into a fetal position. She hugged her arms against her chest. Partly to see how well she could move, partly to hide her fear. With her body laced with drugs, she couldn’t get out of bed. Not yet. All she could do was think. She had to think clearly. Strategically. Not succumb to panic. With all their security measures in place, never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d be kidnapped. Least of all by one of her friends. Betrayal cut Gemma’s heart like a knife. But she had to play this right, play into Vicki’s hands. Keep her talking. Somehow appeal to her humanity. “Vicki, why are you doing this? You’re my friend.”
“No.” Vicki shook her head; her black bob flicked her cheeks. “We were never friends. I used you to stay close to Kyle. I can’t stand you. I hate you.” Spite dripped in her voice like venom. “People like you make me sick. You’re so wrapped up in yourself, your success, your high life, you don’t see what’s in front of you. It took you years to even notice Kyle. You don’t deserve him.”
There were many days when Gemma thought she didn’t deserve someone as amazing as Kyle. She was, without a doubt, a better person because of him. Damn it. She’d let her stresses and worries taint and contort the things she loved about him. His protectiveness. His leadership and ability to get things done. How safe and loved he made her feel. How in tune they were—mind, body, and soul. She didn’t have that connection with anyone but him. “Yes, I do.” She licked her dry, cracked lips. Her mind clouded. Her voice trailed toward nothingness. “I love him.”
Vicki slapped her hand on the nightstand. The glass and her drugs jumped under the force. “Stop staying that. If it wasn’t for you, Kyle and I would be together.”
“Me?” Her body grew wearier. No. She shook her head. Stay awake. “What did I do?”
Vicki inched forward to the edge of her chair. “You’ve always been in the way. In high school, when I tried to make amends with Kyle, you told him not to. You said I would cheat again. I never would’ve. I made a mistake, and you’ve made me pay for it every day since.”
“What?” Gemma remembered Kyle being hurt, heartbroken, but he’d been glad it was over. Vicki had wanted to get serious, move in together, get married, have babies. None of those things were on Kyle’s wish list back in their high school days. And . . . she’d cheated on him.
“Just when Kyle and I were getting close again at the end of senior year, you had to go and win that fucking contest, land that record deal. You moved to the West Village with him and Hunter.” She stabbed a finger at Gemma again. “You took Kyle away from me.”
Gemma’s head spun like the reels on a tape recorder. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. “We had to move for our music. We were just f
riends back then.”
“That’s right,” Vicki hissed. “You haven’t loved him as long as I have. I’ve always been there for him. You had to go and get famous. I’ve had to watch and wait while you toured, while he was with other girls, listen to every song he wrote about me.”
Now Gemma knew Vicki truly was delusional. There was no way Kyle had written songs about her. Unless they were the ones about cheating, skanky bitches. Thank God those songs had never made it onto one of their albums.
Vicki’s top lip twitched. “When you got together at your birthday party two years ago, you were only supposed to fuck him for a while, then break up. Not get engaged. Not marry him. I had to act. Had to stop you. You don’t get him. I do. Kyle’s mine.”
Like hell. I’ll take you down, bitch. When I can move. “Vickiiii, enough.” Gemma’s voice slurred; grogginess pressed inside her head. “Where’s my phone? Let me call him. He can come over. We can talk. Forget this ever happened.”
Vicki snarled and shook her head. “I’m not stupid. Your cell phone can be traced. We left it and your bags at the bar.”
Oh no. How would Kyle find her?
“Who’s we?” Gemma tried to see through the fog growing thicker in her mind as she sifted through her memories. She’d gone to Nina’s. Ran into Vicki. Offered to have one drink. Listened to Vicki talk about losing her job. Then . . . blank. Nothing. She couldn’t remember a thing.
“Wow.” Vicki folded her arms and leaned back on the chair. “You don’t remember Anthony coming into the bar? That’s so cool. I’d never used roofies before testing one on you in Vegas.”
Gemma’s gut cinched, yet another low blow. So that was what had happened to her at her bachelorette party? Vicki had been planning this for weeks? Months? Oh shit. Since the first death threat arrived after her engagement to Kyle twelve months ago? Vicki was beyond sick. Gemma’s body shuddered, shivering despite the lack of cold. Being drugged horrified her, but what scared her even more was wondering how anybody would find her? She had to throw Vicki off-guard. Find a cell phone. Plan her escape. “Vicki, I don’t want you to get into trouble. Let me help you. When they find my purse, the police will look for me.”
“I know. But I’m not a suspect. Dear sweet Gemma.” Vicki’s tone turned condescending. “I’ve worked with my brother selling drugs in SoHo for years. We know where the cameras are. Anthony’s license plates are fake. He knows which routes to take. We dress in disguise. We’ve learned how to be invisible. He doesn’t exist; neither do I.”
Gemma closed her eyes. Her throat tightened as if Vicki held her hand around her jugular and squeezed. “How did you know where I was?”
“I’m your friend. I have your cell number. A tracking app. I can find where you are at any time. I’ve been following you since you got home from tour, waiting for that perfect moment when you were alone.”
Gemma clutched the edge of the pillow to hide her hurt at the betrayal. She’d hated it when the paparazzi and fans followed her; she’d never expected a faithful friend to stalk and hunt her down. After this, how could she ever trust anyone?
Drowsiness drooped Gemma’s eyelids. Her body sank deeper and deeper into the polyester sheets. She felt like she wanted to sleep forever. Oh no. The water. Had Vicki doped her again? Fuck. Fight it. Fight it. Don’t fall asleep.
Gemma gripped onto a fine filament of hope. She wasn’t dead yet. But how much time did she have? Sunday . . . there was something about Sunday.
Her bones ached. Her muscles failed her. God, she wanted to sleep. She fought the urge with every ounce of her willpower. Could she get to the bathroom? Lock herself inside? Get a message on something out through the window? Vicki’s place was only two stories. Shivering and shuddering, Gemma glared at Vicki. “Kyle will never love you.”
“Yes, he will.” Vicki never faltered. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Nothing. You’re the only thing standing in my way.”
Gemma’s eyes fluttered shut, tears slipping down her cheeks. “What’s . . . wrong . . . with . . . me? I don’t want to go . . . to sleep.”
Vicki sighed and brushed Gemma’s hair off her forehead; the strokes, soft and gentle. Her fingertips were like ice against Gemma’s skin making it prickle and crawl. “The water you drank is laced with enough sleeping pills to keep you knocked out for days. Enough for me to get you out of here on Sunday. Then . . .” She twinkled her fingers. “. . . it’s ta-ta, Gemma. The world will be better with no you in it. Guaranteed.”
She’s fucking mental. Truly unstable.
Gemma closed her eyes, turned her head, and let her tears soak the pillow. Her brain grew foggier and foggier. No matter how much she fought, she couldn’t beat the drugs.
No. No. No.
I don’t want to die. Please. I don’t want to die.
But there was nothing she could do.
Despite trying to come up with a plan, she’d failed.
This was it. The drugs coaxed her, lured her down into the depths of the unknown.
Kyle’s smile flickered behind her eyelids. She remembered the taste of his kisses, the warmth of his touch, the magic of his love.
Kyle.
I love you. Forever and always.
Her heart broke.
Unable to fight anymore, she drifted toward the darkness.
Chapter 18
The precinct’s meeting room’s bright fluorescent lights hurt Kyle’s eyes. Looking through the glass wall over the open-plan office made him feel like he was in a fishbowl. His head swam and ached from drinking too much whiskey last night. This was taking too long. He should be out trying to find Gemma. His chest had never felt this hollow. It was as if he’d left his heart on the sidewalk downtown when she didn’t show up to get married. Giving Detective Marshall his statement to formally report Gemma missing had crushed him even further.
The last twenty hours had been a nightmare. He hadn’t eaten or slept. Every hour that ticked by slimmed their chances of finding her.
Slouching in his chair, Kyle’s leg jiggled as Marshall’s questioning dragged on and on like Guns and Roses’ “November Rain” stuck on repeat. “When did you notice Gemma missing?” “When was the last time you saw her?” “Does anyone new come to mind who could be a suspect?”
Kyle rubbed his tired eyes. This is such a waste of time. He dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Hunter was in the room next door, giving his statement. Sam and Mick waited on chairs in the corridor.
“Are we done?” Kyle asked. He’d been there for half an hour, going around in circles.
“Almost.” Marshall clacked away on his laptop.
Movement outside the office caught Kyle’s eye. His pulse surged like a tsunami; he felt every rising wave. Taylah! Detectives Jones and Morris escorted her down the hallway toward the building’s entrance. He shot forward on his chair. “What is Taylah doing here?”
Marshall didn’t look up. “Jones brought her in for further questioning following the new lead.”
“What?” Kyle leaped from his chair. “What new lead?”
Marshall looked over the rim of his black-framed glasses. “They think they identified her off the bar footage.”
Kyle rushed for the door and charged into the hallway.
“Kyle. Wait.” Marshall hurried to catch up.
Striding after the detectives and Taylah, Kyle yelled, “Jones, what the hell is going on?”
All three turned. A steely snarl twitched across Jones’s lips. Morris gave him a curt nod. Taylah’s hand shot over her mouth. Her eyes, red as a blood moon, glistened with tears.
“Oh my God. Kyle.” She sobbed and hooked the sleeve of her baggy T-shirt back into place over her shoulder. Her black hair, tied into a ponytail, was a mass of knots. Loose strands framed her cheeks.
Detective Jones clutched his pile of folders to his chest. “Kyle, everything’s fine. Miss Anderson is free to go.”
Kyle’s heart clambered to his throat. “Did you find Gem?”
Taylah rounded her shoulders. Fog clouded her eyes. “Kyle, I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Marshall fell in beside him. “Kyle. Come on. Let’s go finish your statement.”
Kyle wasn’t buying Taylah’s innocent act. Desperation clawed his brain. He stepped toward her. Fire licked through his veins and he stabbed his finger an inch from her face. “What have you done with Gem?”
“I don’t know anything.” Tears welled in her eyes and she shook her head a fraction. “I haven’t seen her since Vegas.”
His gaze bore into her like Superman’s lasers. “Bullshit. Where is she?”
Sam’s hand pressed onto his shoulder. “Kyle. Come on, dude. Let Jones do his job.”
Kyle shrugged Sam’s hand away and straightened his denim jacket. “Not if he’s going to let her walk out of here.”
Jones threw him a frosty glare. “Our analysts identified someone with short black hair from the bar footage yesterday. We went to Taylah’s, did a search and brought her in for further questioning. But nothing ties her to the recent incidents. Her story checks out.”
She was lying. She must have been lying. “I don’t believe you.”
Taylah wrapped her arms around herself. “Kyle, Jones showed me the pictures. It’s not me. I was at work, on day shift at the hospital.”
Kyle pointed toward Jones’s folders, the photocopies of their death threats, and a bunch of printed images that protruded from the sides. “Show me them. Prove to me it’s not Taylah.”
“Fine.” Jones’s eyes drilled into him. “But Miss Anderson may leave.”
Taylah sucked in a jagged breath. “I can stay. I said I’d do anything to help.”
If Jones couldn’t get a confession out of her, maybe he could? It seemed unlikely, going on his past performance, but he’d give it his best shot. “She stays.”
A low growl rumbled deep in Jones’s throat and he jutted his chin toward the meeting room Kyle had come from. “Get in there.”
