Wild Sky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Whoa,” I said, because that was not the kind of door that normally needed a dead bolt. It looked like a simple closet door.

  In the kitchen, Rochelle was still squawking about the broken glass as Garrett banged around and made noise about finding a broom.

  From Milo’s camera, we saw his hand reach into view as he tried the knob, but of course the dead-bolted door didn’t open. It was securely locked.

  Dana didn’t budge. I think she’d stopped breathing.

  Milo whispered, “Jilly.”

  Using two knuckles, he knocked lightly on the door.

  “Jilly,” he whispered again. “Are you in there? Knock back if you can hear me but can’t speak.”

  Dana and I sat silently. I was holding my breath now, too.

  “Jilly?” Milo was still whispering, but his tone had become agitated. Or excited.

  Had he heard something?

  I realized suddenly that the noise from the kitchen had dropped a few decibels, and when I looked over at that side of the screen, I saw that Rochelle had left the room.

  “Rochelle’s gonna find Milo,” I started, but I stopped speaking when Milo’s hushed voice rang through the speaker.

  “I think…” he whispered. “At least I’m pretty sure I heard a noise—”

  And then, just like that, the image of the door blurred and moved as Milo whipped his body to the left.

  Rochelle stood there, arms crossed, her face looming huge and horrible in front of the camera lens.

  I swallowed my scream.

  “Oh! Hey,” Milo said. “I’m sorry, I was just…”

  “The powder room is back this way,” she said, pointing behind her. And then her eyes turned molten with desire—which was truly creepy as she continued with those micro-expressions of near-snarling rage. She uncrossed her arms and took a step toward Milo. “Unless you’re looking for a bedroom, handsome. They’re upstairs. If you want, I can show you. Give you the hundred-dollar tour.”

  “Ew!” I recoiled in my seat, like I would have if I’d accidentally placed my hand on a stove. It was instinctive.

  When I glanced over at Dana, I saw that she had done the same.

  But Milo didn’t back away from Rochelle. “I’d like that,” he said in a low voice that triggered something dark and primal inside me. Mine. That was the way he spoke to me and only me. Or at least that’s what I’d thought.

  My vision actually blurred a little as I watched Rochelle reach out and place a hand on the bare skin of his arm to pull him away from that locked door. I could see her fingernails. They were long and bloodred.

  Talons. It was the first word that popped into my brain. Right after Get your fucking hands off of him. It was possible I’d said that out loud, because Dana glanced over at me.

  “Easy,” she warned me, her eyes back on the screen. “She’s dangerous, and Milo knows it. Let’s keep her happy.”

  Yeah, but how happy? That one I kept to myself by clenching my teeth.

  Meanwhile Rochelle was working to steer Milo down the hall, away from that bolted door. But I could tell, by the way the view through the camera lens blurred, that Milo was resisting her pull.

  “Actually,” Milo said, still in that low, flirtatious voice, “I’d love to start the tour here. A mysterious locked door…” He turned to the door again, and Rochelle’s hand slid off his arm. It would not surprise me if later I found claw marks on his skin.

  “It’s nothing,” Rochelle replied, impatience lining her voice as she came back into view and blockaded the door with her body.

  She could’ve been holding a smoking gun. Her stance, pinned against the locked door, was just as incriminating.

  “Jilly has got to be in there. Or else something bad is,” Dana muttered.

  I nodded silently. I couldn’t look away from what I was seeing on that little screen.

  “That’s disappointing.” Milo’s voice was low and intense. And intimate. I tried not to squirm. Yes, Rochelle was beautiful, but in a really horrible way. Like Dana had said, Milo was putting on an act. Wasn’t he? “A mysterious locked room in the home of Coconut Key’s hottest, most beautiful woman, filled with…whips and chains and other…toys?” He leaned in toward her, just a little, to whisper, “Be still, my heart.”

  “Oh my God,” Dana said aloud, laughing a little. “Miles, you bad, bad boy.”

  I still couldn’t speak, but I’d made a noise that I again tried to turn into a laugh. Milo was acting. I knew he was acting—or at least my logical mind knew it. My heart and my gut, however, were gripped by an insane wave of jealousy. It was possible that I might throw up. This might be hilarious with a little time and distance, but here and now? No. Nope.

  Dana was still muttering and even tapping at the split-screen window that showed us the kitchen. “Come on, Calvin, what are you and G doing? It’s time for you to rescue Milo.”

  I spared them the quickest of glances—it looked like Cal and Garrett were going through piles of mail and papers that were scattered across the counters and the kitchen table.

  On the other half of the screen, Rochelle had been standing with her back against the locked door, arms splayed to her sides like her body had been nailed in place. But at Milo’s suggestive words, she turned the desperate stance into a seductive one. Her eyelids closed halfway and she gave Milo a come-hither smile.

  “I wish,” she whispered back. “But no. I rent this place, and this is the owner’s closet. There’s nothing exciting in there. Sheets and towels, bathing suits and flip-flops. Sunblock. They lock it up—as if I’d want to use their stupid stuff.” Rochelle’s nose crinkled with distaste, but then she smiled again at Milo and reached out to touch him. “I’ve got plenty of rooms upstairs that lock. And plenty down here that don’t. Let’s just get rid of your little friends.”

  I couldn’t see where Rochelle’s hand had gone, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture her running her fingers through his hair. And again, Milo didn’t move back. Instead he made a sound of pleasure, a quiet little Mmmm that was low and throaty. I was definitely going to be sick.

  “Actually,” he replied as Rochelle propelled herself off the door and moved in closer to him—on the camera she became grotesque and swollen—yes, that was her boob she was pressing into the lens, “there are rules for these things. I want to take you out to dinner first. Somewhere nice. Then we can come back here and…find a locked room or two.”

  I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like there wasn’t even air in the car anymore. My boyfriend had just asked out a fortysomething-year-old Destiny addict who also happened to be dating my former worst enemy’s dad. I bit ferociously at a nail, my heart pounding out of my chest. I knew Milo was playing Rochelle. Like Dana had said, she was dangerous. He was making her happy. He wasn’t really going to take her to dinner, was he? Or, Lord, was he? Maybe he was planning to do that so we could use the time to search the house, get into that locked closet…

  I didn’t want him going anywhere with her. And I was literally sick to my stomach from watching this. Rochelle was still standing much too close, but then, thank goodness, she stepped back and I could see her face again.

  She pouted. “Tonight’s no good, baby boy. I have…plans.” Her talons had landed on Milo’s arm again, and this time when she steered him away from the locked door, he moved with her. “Can we make it tomorrow night? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow is perfect,” Milo said. And then the view changed dizzyingly as Milo twirled the bouquet around before setting it down on some of the stacked clutter in the hallway, just outside the playroom. He somehow managed to aim the Minicam at that dead-bolted closet door, way across the room. But whatever he’d put the bouquet on top of must’ve been low to the ground because the only thing Dana and I could now see of Milo and Rochelle were sneakers and high-heeled s
andals.

  The two pairs of feet were facing one another.

  “Good,” I heard Rochelle tell Milo in a low, throaty voice.

  I gnawed at my nail, held my breath, and listened.

  “Very good,” Milo answered. His sneakers scootched closer to Rochelle’s sandals, so that their toes were almost touching. I hated to think about anything else of theirs touching too.

  “If he kisses her—” I started in a shaky voice, but then I realized I wouldn’t know if Milo had kissed her unless I asked him. And suddenly not seeing was worse than seeing. And I heard an echo of his voice as he told me, I just need a little space.

  Was this what he meant?

  The silence coming through the flower-mic was excruciating. I tasted blood and realized that I’d bitten my nail to the quick.

  “’Til tomorrow,” Rochelle said softly.

  “I’ll pick you up. Seven p.m. sharp,” Milo responded.

  Without looking at me, Dana reached over in the car, grabbed my hand—the one with the now-annihilated nail—and gave me an It’s okay squeeze.

  And even though I trusted Dana, I felt in my heart that everything in my world had turned to complete and utter not-okay.

  The worst part about it? I knew that it was probably going to get worse before it got better. And I also knew that whether it truly would get better was one great big, fat, giant if.

  Chapter Nine

  “Jilly is in that closet. She’s locked in there. I’m certain.” Milo didn’t bother with a hello or how are you as he swung open the passenger door to Garrett’s car and leaned into the front seat. The expression on his face was as intense as his tone was urgent as he looked across me to Dana.

  “Did you hear her in there?” she asked. “Did she answer when you knocked and called her name?”

  Milo shook his head. “No, but—”

  Dana cut him off. “Miles.” She handed the tablet to me with an “Eyes on,” command, then opened the driver’s side door. She gestured to Milo with her head, like Come ’ere before stepping out and leaning her elbows on the top of the car.

  Milo barely spared me a glance of apology as he straightened up as well, leaning his own weight across the passenger side of the car roof.

  Seriously? I couldn’t see either of their faces from where I sat, as Dana said, “Rochelle is definitely hiding something in that closet. Whether or not that something happens to be Jilly? It’s debatable.”

  “Debatable?” Milo shot back.

  “Yes,” Dana said. “Look, I know this is…” She sighed heavily and started over. “You got that third camera in the perfect position. We’ll know immediately if Rochelle goes anywhere near that closet…”

  I was still sitting shotgun inside Garrett’s car, which also meant that I had become officially sandwiched between Dana and Milo as they bickered over the top of my head. On the tablet, the kitchen camera gave me an excellent view of Rochelle as she uncorked a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.

  My heart was still pounding sixteenth notes inside my rib cage. I tried to focus on Milo and Dana’s conversation, but when I looked to my right, the only parts of Milo that I could see were his pants and sneakers.

  It was close to the same view I’d had just a few minutes ago, when Milo and Rochelle had stood in front of the flower cam and conspired to…rendezvous.

  On the tablet, Rochelle took a delicate sip of her wine and then smiled, as if anticipating tomorrow’s “date” with my boyfriend.

  Garrett’s car suddenly felt way too small. I needed fresh air. I needed to focus my thoughts on anything other than Milo—on a date—with a drop-dead gorgeous, big-bosomed Destiny addict.

  I pushed my way around Milo and out of the car, still clutching the tablet.

  “Excuse me,” I said out loud.

  The two-second touch between Milo and me was enough for me to read his thoughts.

  Goddamnit, Goddamnit, God—He must’ve realized I was picking that up, because he quickly switched to Sorry, Sky… But I was already out of the car and away from him.

  He reached toward me, as if to catch me and reconnect, but this time I was the one who didn’t want him to know what I was thinking and feeling. Mostly because I wasn’t sure exactly what I was thinking and feeling. It’d probably be good to figure that out for myself before I broadcast it to him. So I backed away.

  But then I realized that his reach for me had been autopilot. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand back fast. And as soon as he did that, I stupidly wanted him to follow me.

  But he didn’t.

  And then Garrett interrupted. “Hey! Everyone touching my car! Watch the paint, wouldja? I mean, that’s an eighty-thousand-dollar vehicle right there!”

  Cal wheeled himself toward us, too, keeping pace with Garrett. The two of them looked weird side-by-side like that—as though they actually were friends or something. But this was just an additional notch on today’s bizarre-belt. We’d all been flung into the deep end of the strange pool—and yes, I knew even without Calvin to tell me, that I was mixing my metaphors. In fact, as I stood there clutching a tablet upon which played a video feed of the woman who’d recently hit on and possibly sucked face with my boyfriend—I glanced down to see Rochelle settling onto the couch, glass of wine in one hand, TV remote in the other—I could feel the panic that came from water closing over my head.

  At Garrett’s demand, Milo and Dana both stood up straight and stepped back from the car, each of them crossing their arms over their chests like belligerent bookends. I wanted to reach out for Milo—to beg him to reassure me that he hadn’t enjoyed playing Rochelle. And, oh yeah, to also reassure me that’s what he’d been doing—playing her. Right? Right? But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I leaned against the back of Garrett’s car and stuffed my hands into my pockets.

  Milo, however, had refocused his mental energy on Rochelle’s locked closet. “It is imperative that we pick the lock to that door as soon as possible.”

  As pitiful as it sounded, Milo was my locked door. And despite my repeated efforts, these past few days felt a lot like I was getting that door slammed in my face by the same person who was supposed to want to let me in.

  Calvin rolled up. “Maaay-an, that was some crazy shee-it.” His eyes were wide as he pulled his chair up next to Dana. “Did you guys see all of that?”

  He grabbed the tablet out of my hands and started rewinding the footage eagerly. Everything Dana and I had seen had been digitally recorded so we could review it if we needed to. But best of all, with those cameras left in place, we no longer had to lurk outside Rochelle’s house, wondering what was happening inside. We’d be able to view the wireless feed from as far away as the comfort of Calvin’s playroom, which was our unofficial headquarters, on account of my house being off-limits because my mom was insane.

  “We saw everything,” Dana replied. “And there is no lingering doubt in my mind anymore. That woman is a D-addict.”

  Dana was right about one thing—Rochelle was definitely addicted to Destiny. But we hadn’t seen quite everything, had we? I glanced at Milo quickly before pulling my hand out of my pocket and chomping on a nail.

  “And I’m just as certain that Jilly is locked in that closet!” Milo’s voice actually wavered as he spoke. “That’s why it’s imperative that we—”

  “We heard you the first time, Miles!” Dana barked.

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered, just loudly enough for Milo to hear me. Of course, I immediately regretted it. One corner of Milo’s mouth twitched, and he gazed at me for a moment with raised, helpless eyebrows—a silent Et tu, Brute?—before crossing his arms more tightly across his chest and looking away.

  “Milo is right.” Cal added his two cents, even while he kept his nose to the tablet on his lap. “At least about checking that closet. We need to find out what
’s in there. Look-it that deadbolt. Whatever the wicked witch has locked up in there, it can’t be good.”

  Garrett, meanwhile, had given up on lecturing about the value of his car and, instead, hopped up onto the back hood. He looked pretty freaked. “So, what does this mean for Rochelle? If she’s an addict, is she just gonna… What?”

  “She’ll continue to lose whatever small portion of a soul she still has left, turn into a full-blown sociopathic narcissist—assuming she’s not one already—and then die a horrible death. Most likely taking other people out with her if she’s anywhere near them when she jokers.” Dana recited the words, careful to keep any lingering emotion from her tone.

  Garrett swallowed hard. “Um? Wow. That’s…harsh.”

  Milo nodded vehemently. “All the more reason for me to go keep Rochelle occupied so that you guys can get to Jilly. Let’s do this before she’s too far gone! If I went back there, knocked on the door…? She’d let me in.”

  What? “You want to go keep Rochelle occupied, right now?” I was incredulous “How? Upstairs, with the hundred-dollar tour while we sneak in and break into the closet—”

  “Not you,” he said. “Dana. And I wouldn’t let her—”

  This time I cut him off. “She’s a Destiny addict, Milo! And a creeper! She wants you! Do you know for sure that she doesn’t have any powers? Because if she does, she’ll use ’em all to get what she wants. And oh yeah? Also? She’s a Destiny addict! You know damn well she could joker at any second—especially if you don’t give her what she wants! And—news flash! You’re not a G-T! It’s not like you can just screw the Destiny out of her!”

  I’d shocked everyone—myself included.

  “Sky!” Milo took a step toward me and grabbed my shoulders. I tried to shrug away—I was back to not wanting him anywhere near the too-noisy inside of my head—but he held on tightly. He moved so fast, I didn’t have time to even try to blanket my thoughts.

  Is this why he wants space, he wants space he said he wants space; she’s a Destiny addict and she touched him and I’m pretty sure that she kissed him or maybe he kissed her and it’s not okay not okay not okay he wants space is this why not okay he wants space—