If At First (Crimson Cove Mysteries Book 1)

by Tara Brown

  The guard gave me a slight wave from his booth, but I hurried to him, pointing behind me. “I saw someone, back on the lawn when I was leaving. You should check it out.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “No one got past here.”

  “No, but you can climb the walls and fences or come up from the beach. How do you think we have snuck past you so many times?” I shook my head and walked to the road, hoping he would at least check.

  I pulled my cell phone from my clutch, about to dial my dad for a ride when a limo pulled up next to me. My own reflection gave me a chill. The wild look in my dark-blue eyes and the sweat on my brow gave me the appearance of a stranger. My short brown hair was wild from the running.

  Before I had the chance to walk away, the window came down and a smug-looking Vincent nodded his head at me. “Get in, princess. I called your dad already and told him we were headed back to the house.”

  My nose wrinkled and my upper lip lifted in disgust. “I am going nowhere with you.”

  “Let me explain.” He sounded desperate. I turned on a heel and started up the road. The driver kept pace with me as Vincent begged, “Please, Linds. Don't do this now. I finally have the chance, and I’m blowing it by trying to win you over like a normal girl, and you aren’t normal at all. I should have just been honest with you from the start.”

  “Night, Vince.” I continued ignoring him and walked, hating the fact my bare feet were on the street and he had called me not normal. Asshole.

  “Hugo, close the window but keep pace,” Vincent shouted as he jumped out from the slow-moving car and walked next to me, still talking. He wasn't wearing his suit anymore. “I was sent those pictures. They were sent to me with a weird note done like it was written by a kidnapper. It honestly looked like a ransom note. Like kidnapper font?” He sounded confused.

  I paused when I realized that was exactly the same as the letter to Ashton, making Vincent and the car stop dead in their tracks. “What?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, looking sincere and worried even. “Someone sent a few of them to me, told me I had to put the pictures in my bedside drawer or more would come every week and they would get worse. At first they were normal pictures. I threw them out, thinking it was a joke. But sure enough, more came, some even addressed to my dad. I managed to get them before he saw them. The handwriting on the envelopes is always the same. They come from random addresses around the world, no consistency. No rhyme or reason, just disgusting pictures of girls in weird poses. Nothing worse than I have seen online but owning them makes me feel weird.”

  “You are an idiot. Why didn't you pretend to keep them there and then burn them at night?” I tilted my head back, noting the swirling skies and dark clouds.

  He nodded again, looking unsettled. “I did try that.”

  My stomach landed with a thud. “The person sending them knew you had burned them?”

  “They knew. I got worse and worse pictures. So I did the false bottom on the drawer, pretending the handle needed to be fixed, but really I had that done. I usually leave the more harmless ones in the top part of the drawer and the bad ones below when I leave the house. When I’m home I have them all in the false part. So long as the stupid photos are in that part of my room, more don't come in the mail. The moment I move them, worse ones come.”

  “How do they know if the pictures have been moved?”

  He shook his head. “I don't know.”

  “They must be watching us all the time.” I swallowed hard as my eyes trailed off back toward the Miller residence. “Someone was in the yard watching me when I was in Ashton’s room.”

  His lips twitched into a smile. “Hoodie? That was me.” He flinched when he saw my face and pointed sheepishly at the sky. “It seemed like it was going to rain and my jacket’s expensive. I didn't want to get it wet.”

  “Why were you spying on me?” My insides tightened again. I glanced at the car and then his shoes, wondering if I could outrun him.

  “I had to make sure you were safe. I told your—”

  I shoved him. “What were you thinking? You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were the killer.” I stepped back, realizing he could still be the killer. He could be lying.

  “I told your father I wouldn't take my eyes off you. I meant it. Especially since Rachel—” His voice trailed off.

  “This person has been in your house?” I changed the subject, suddenly realizing the person who had sent the letters to Ashton and Vincent killed Rachel.

  He shrugged. “Had to have been. I assume everything is bugged now or I am being watched. I have sensors that check for recording devices.” He pursed his lips with a troubled look upon his face. I had never seen this side of him before this week. It made me think he wasn't the killer, but it didn't make me trust that thought, not one-hundred percent. Reasonably anyone could be the killer.

  “Ashton had one too.” I said it to see his reaction.

  He looked genuinely confused. “What? Security cameras and sensors?”

  “No.” I shook my head as the wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves all around us and cooling the air. “Ashton had a note in his room—a note made to look like a kidnapper’s ransom note. At first the letters appeared to have been glued on, but it was a font.”

  His eyes widened as he appeared to not breathe for several moments before he spoke in a hushed tone, “What did it say?”

  “Leave town or your sister is next.”

  He closed his eyes, no doubt worried about Sage even though they had broken up. He had spent the last three years dating her. “Oh no.” He shook his head. “No, this is bad. This is connected. Rachel getting murdered and me and the weird pictures, and now Ash. Someone is screwing with us all, and it went too far with Rach. What if she was getting the letters too? What if she had figured out who it was?”

  “That's a theory.” I stared down at the concrete, the words getting stuck in my throat and making my voice husky when I spoke, “I think the killer wants the police to believe Ashton is guilty of killing her.”

  “He would never.”

  I nodded. “I know. He was done being with her, but he was truly the kindest guy in the world and would never harm a hair on her head.”

  “He left town then?”

  “I think so.” I shrugged as the wind picked up. “I think it’s going to rain. We better hurry.” A raindrop splatted on my nose, making me wince. A coastal storm was just what we needed to add to the creepiness of the night.

  “What if the person screwing with us is a psychopath?” He sounded lost in his thoughts.

  I glanced up at him, noting the weird expression on his face. “What are we going to do? We should go to the police with what we know. I don't know anything about psychopaths beyond the stuff Lainey and I have read.” I said it before I remembered exactly what I knew and how badly it incriminated my friends and even my family.

  “No.” Thankfully, he shook his head. “That's not a good idea. We don't know who is doing this, but we do know the circle of people it’s affecting is growing. They might have ways of making it appear like one of us did it.”

  I sighed, so tired of the whole thing already and wishing I could just tell him what I had seen that night. “We don't even know if it’s connected. We’re assuming.”

  “The letter in Ashton’s room seems pretty specific, making it likely that the person sending the weird letters is also the killer.”

  I shivered as I hugged myself and confessed something I didn't mean to, “I’m scared.”

  “Me too, princess. But not for the same reason.” Vincent stepped closer to me, his eyes wide and showing an emotion I didn't really trust until he spoke, “I don't sleep. I don't go out anymore, not unless you’re going too. I can’t eat and I can’t stop worrying about you. If something were to happen to you, I would die.” He stepped closer again as the sky opened up on us, making noise as the heavy rain hammered the road and car. “I’m not scared by the idea that someone is watching me and
wants to hurt me. But if they are watching you, I will kill them.”

  I considered pointing out that if I wasn't being watched, his being around me added me to the list of people the killer was stalking. But I didn't. Partly because I assumed I was on that list already, and not because of Vincent. But mostly I didn't stop him because I found myself wanting to believe the words he spoke. I wanted to believe he—the almighty Vincent Banks—liked me. I was a five and he was a fourteen, until he opened his mouth and then he slunk back to a ten. But it didn't even matter; he was Vincent Banks.

  I got a bit lost staring up at him as he looked down on me with droplets of water hanging from his nose and lips. “There is a reason I was always looking at you in pictures. The photographer just caught me in my natural state. I was always looking at you. I still am.”

  With the way the week had been going, it might have been a creepy confession, but it wasn't. I let him step a little closer. I didn't flinch or move away. I didn't sneer or say something that was only half true. I stayed still as his hand came up to my cold, wet cheek and brushed it so softly. I didn't have a reason to let him be nice to me but I liked it.

  “I have had feelings for you my whole life, I can’t remember a time I didn't wish you were my girl.”

  I shook my head in little twitches. “That's impossible. You always make fun of me.”

  “I don't know how to be with someone like you. I know I’m not good enough for you.”

  I had officially lost my mind. I was standing in the rain, swooning over Vincent Banks.

  I thought he might kiss me, but he hovered over me, staring into my eyes for a moment. I wanted him to kiss me. I even parted my lips a little and tilted my head back, but he pulled back, lowering his hand to mine and taking my shoes for me. “I won’t try to kiss you again without your permission.” I was almost scared of what had happened to him, if he had lost his mind from the fearful state we had both been in, but then his grin popped up. “I’ll just wait for you to beg me to do it, princess.”

  I rolled my eyes and climbed into the back of the limo, grateful he wasn't being too sweet. There was a small worry in my mind that I might kiss him if he was.

  I was soaked and cold and ready for bed, but the idea of being home alone was scary. So I turned and said the last thing I ever imagined I might say, “Can you stay at my house with me?”

  He smiled, losing his cocky asshole grin and replacing it with an incredibly sweet one. “I was going to sleep there anyway.”

  I scowled, sort of put off by it but sort of flattered that he had my safety at heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Slumber party confessions

  I stared at the stars on my ceiling, the perfect replicas of the summer sky over the Northeast.

  In the dark his hand crept across my king-sized bed and wrapped around mine. I sighed and smiled, grateful he couldn’t see me. I knew I had a ridiculously goofy look on my face.

  “What are these constellations?”

  I lifted a hand, even though it was lost in the dark room and whispered as I pointed, “Lyra, Corona Australis, Sagittarius, Scutum, Draco, Hercules, Scorpius, and Telescopium.”

  He turned his head. His breath brushed my cheek. “You are the weirdest girl in the world.”

  I nodded. “I know. My mom gave me the telescope when I was five. We had a few years with it before she died. Our plan had been to map all the skies—summer, winter, fall, and spring. But she became too sick so I just left the one we got done—summer. And now I like it too much to change it. I feel like she’s watching me from the stars in the sky, even in here.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Your mom was the nicest lady I ever met. I remember the way she always smelled like cookies.”

  Tears filled my eyes, blurring the stars above me. “Vanilla. She wore Madagascar vanilla.” I turned toward him in the dark, just making out the outline of his head against the white wall behind him. “When you go back to being you, can you not make fun of me for any of this? I don't care about the gay jokes or the other jokes, but this is sacred to me.”

  He moved too quickly, scooting across the bed and hovering his face close to mine. His lips brushed my cheek before I could remind him of his promise. “I have never made fun of you for being sexually confused. I adore that you think you’re gay. And besides, I don't want to ever go back. I’m sorry Rachel is dead and Ashton and Sage are being threatened, but I don't want to go back. No matter what.”

  I leaned into his face and closed my eyes. “I feel exactly the opposite. I wish this week had never happened.”

  He laughed weakly. “I won’t ever wish that,” he whispered and held me. Somehow in the dark of the summer night he had managed to transform into a different person. A person I had never met. A person I couldn't consider as a possible killer.

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep, feeling completely safe with the last soul on earth I would have envisioned myself ever trusting.

  When I woke, it was with a start. I sat up, brushing my hair out of my face and blinking, trying to make my eyes clear.

  I was alone and instantly aware of it. Vulnerability crept up on me as I recalled everything that had happened. Vincent walked out of my ensuite wearing nothing but a pair of my baggiest shorts, which were way too short for him. I turned my face away in horror. “What are you wearing?”

  He looked down. “I needed a shower. I smelled bad. These were the largest pair of anything you owned.” He hopped onto the bed as I flung blankets at him, forcing him to cover his tanned body and six pack. He laughed. “Sorry, jeesh. This is the first time I’ve ever had a complaint.”

  “While wearing women’s shorts?”

  He laughed harder. “No. I rarely wear women’s shorts.” He stretched out, pulling the covers to his belly, leaving his chest and arms out. I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding him altogether. I imagined this was what a one-night stand would feel like. Waking up awkward and uncomfortable and wishing you were either alone or at ease with each other’s bodies.

  “When did your letter show up?” I asked, trying to piece the puzzles together and desperately needing a new subject.

  “About three weeks ago. I got home and there was a letter on my bed. But the staff never put my mail there. I thought it was strange. Then I opened it and confirmed it was indeed weird.”

  I turned, covering my mouth with the blankets but still trying to talk. “I think Ashton got his in his room too. He had crumpled it and put it in the garbage, packed clothes and left, by the looks of things. I can’t believe this person goes right in your bedrooms.”

  “Must have. I don't think there is a single other explanation than that.”

  “Too creepy.”

  He stared at me, giving me his stupid grin. “Wanna kiss yet?”

  I laughed. “I have morning breath, I will use it if I have to.”

  “You don't scare me.” He challenged with his dark-green eyes.

  “I have to get up—”

  “LINDS!” Lainey called from the hall, cutting me off. My eyes widened, and I was about to shove him from my bed when the door opened. Lainey stopped in the frame with Sierra hovering behind her. Both of their jaws dropped.

  Vincent waved, offering a smile. “Morning.”

  I shook my head immediately. “It’s not what it looks like.” I waved my hand, motioning for them to come in. “Just come in and close the door.”

  Vincent fixed the covers so he wasn't as exposed.

  “He has shorts on. I have full pajamas on.”

  Sierra started laughing but Lainey looked horrified. Her expressive face hid nothing.

  I pulled the covers over my face. “I swear to God, nothing at all even close. We haven’t even kissed!”

  “Scouts honor.” He mocked me or the situation or both.

  I opened my eyes to see Vincent with his right hand in the air. I shoved him and got up, flinging back the covers to prove I was fully dressed.

  Lainey stepped in, but I think Sierra pushe
d her. They walked to my small sofa and sat in the window, both red faced and silent.

  “I was scared. The whole thing is freaking me out, and I didn't know when my dad would be home. I asked Vince to stay. He did. He was in boxers, but he showered and all I had were those shorts.” I nattered and seemed awfully guilty because of it.

  Sierra shrugged. “I feel like we’ve all woken up next to Vince.” She winked at him. The act bothered me but Vincent shook his head. “You wish.” He lay back, clearly not moving from the bed anytime soon.

  Lainey gave me a look like she wanted to talk. I sighed, adding him to the party. “Vincent got some of those letters too. The ransom ones. He and Ashton both got them.”

  Sierra looked dubious. “He’s pulling your legs to get them apart.”

  “No. He really got them.” I laughed but shook my head as Lainey choked on a laugh.

  Sierra’s eyes drifted to where he was. “What did it say?”

  He didn't look impressed, but I suspected he knew he would have to trust them if they would ever trust him. “That I had to keep some damaging photos in my room at all times. If they weren’t in my drawer, I would continue to get much worse ones.”

  “And you tested the boundaries of that?” Lainey asked quickly.

  “I did.” He nodded, looking at Lainey like he didn't know how to take her.

  She wrinkled her nose. “And you—wanna date Linds?”

  He nodded again, looking even more pained.

  “Maybe the pictures were meant to be there so Linds would find them and think you’re disgusting.”

  I winced, realizing she had outed me for the snooping. Something I had outed myself for already, but I hated that we might all talk about it.

  “Because she snoops in my room every time she comes and does the lawn and gardens?” Vincent asked nonchalantly.

  Lainey shrugged. “It’s possible. Who else would snoop in your stuff?”

  “You do snoop in everyone’s shit.” Sierra nodded.