Beautiful Sinner

by Sophie Jordan

  Of course, she should. It was Friday night and she did not relish spending the weekend stuck in this closet. Her mind quickly strained to remember how long a person could survive without water. Would she even make it until Monday when the building opened again? God. She could just imagine that headline. Sweet Hill Alum Found Starved to Death in Closet. Not happening.

  Telling herself she would come up with some explanation for whomever opened the door, she started pounding, calling through the barrier, “Hello! I’m locked in! Anyone out there? Can you open the door please?”

  She knocked until the side of her fist throbbed. After a few minutes, she took a break and let her forehead drop against the door in defeat.

  No one could hear her. No one was out there in the halls. Everyone was either in the auditorium or worse. A cantaloupe-sized lump formed in her throat. Maybe they had all left. Maybe the building was truly empty.

  Her family would think she had left. Gabriella and Nana Betty had caught a ride with Tess, after all. They were probably all heading to the restaurant for dinner.

  “No,” she groaned. Her stomach grumbled. Great. She was hungry, too.

  How had this happened to her? Tess had her phone. Damn it all. How could she have let her sister take away her phone? Now she was locked up minus a way to communicate with the outside world. And no food or water.

  She slapped her hand weakly a few more times against the door, almost falling forward when the door was wrenched open.

  “Oh!” she cried out, catching her balance on a nearby shelf and staggering back several steps in the closet. She looked up. “You!” Her stomach quivered. Suddenly she was wishing she faced Natalie and Meredith again. Bullies would be better than this.

  Better than him.

  Five

  “What are you doing in here?” He looked at her with mild curiosity as he stepped inside the closet, clearing the threshold, his big body wedging the door open. “Is someone else in here with you?” He peered around at her surroundings. “Or do you just enjoy closets?”

  “No one is in here with me,” she said hotly, backing away. What did he think of her? That she snuck off at her niece’s school function to make out with a stranger in a closet?

  “No?” He angled his head, and then she realized that her answer just made her seem even odder. If she wasn’t in here for sexy times, then why was she in here all by herself?

  “I was avoiding someone, if you must know.”

  “Ah.” He nodded his head slowly. “A hiding spot.”

  She flinched, not liking the word hiding, however accurate it might be. It had a cowardly connotation to it, and standing this close to Cruz she felt self-conscious enough without appearing weak, too. This was a man who didn’t know a thing about weakness. Not after what he went through. There was only strength and endurance within him.

  Her gaze flicked over him. The guy had staying power. Her cheeks burned at the double meaning behind that thought.

  Not that kind of staying power. Of course, she wouldn’t know about that . . . about him. She could only guess. Fantasize.

  She shifted her weight beneath his scrutiny, backing up another step and bumping into something that gave way behind her. Then she was falling, gravity sucking her down. “Oh!” Her hands flailed, desperate to grab onto something.

  He lunged forward, seizing her arm.

  Then fear of falling fled as she watched the door swinging for home behind him.

  Noooooo.

  It happened in slow motion. He grabbed hold of her just as the slam reverberated in her ears. She heard a prolonged cry and realized it was coming from her as the door slammed shut into place, just inches away from them.

  She squirmed free of him and lunged forward. She gripped the knob. Maybe this time it wasn’t—

  Nope. It was locked again.

  Growling, she yanked and pulled and attempted to turn the stupid knob.

  “Yeah. Pretty sure that’s not going to help.”

  Turning, she glared at him. “You locked us in,” she accused.

  “You might have mentioned when I first opened the door that you were locked in here.”

  She pointed to herself, refusing to accept that logic. She’d been confronted with him. Clearly that had rattled her head. “Don’t blame this on me!”

  He arched a dark eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed with her. “Okay. I’ll just blame the door then.”

  “Do you have to blame anyone?” she shot back.

  Ignoring her, he moved to the door and ran his hands along it. He touched the hinges, assessing.

  After a few moments of watching him, she asked hopefully, “Can you get us out of here?”

  He looked back at her grimly. His expression was answer enough.

  “Well.” She crossed her own arms over her chest. “We’ll just have to call for help. Someone will hear us. You heard me,” she reminded.

  “I don’t think there are many people left in the building. I spotted everyone heading to their cars from the second floor. I was heading back to the cafeteria when I heard you through the door.”

  “Heading back? Where were you?”

  He paused a beat. “Just walking the halls.”

  Walking the halls. More like avoiding the cafeteria like she had been. She made a snort of skepticism. Maybe he had his vulnerabilities, after all.

  “What’s that?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That sound you made? You want to say something? Say it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

  “Right.” Shaking his head, he went back to studying the door. Dragging his hands through his hair, he cursed. “Fuck. Didn’t imagine I’d ever be stuck in a box again.” He looked back at her in disgust. “With a relative of Shelley Rae Kramer.”

  Of course. That’s the only way he saw her. Shelley Rae’s cousin. A random girl who sat behind him in high school. He didn’t know her as a friend or classmate.

  Sighing, she pushed past him. “Excuse me. I have to try at least.” That said, she started pounding on the door. “Helloooo! Can anyone hear me? I’m locked in the closet.” With a guy that radiates heat and has no concept of personal space.

  She didn’t know how long she pounded. Until she couldn’t feel her hand anymore. Until he moved off somewhere out of her vision, where she couldn’t feel the heat of him quite so much. That was some relief, at least.

  Tired, she stopped beating the door and turned to face him.

  “Done?”

  “Don’t you have a phone?” she snapped.

  “Don’t you?” he returned.

  She nodded. “Of course. My sister has it. What about you?” She looked him over as though she could glimpse a phone on his person.

  “I don’t have one.”

  She blinked and stared. “What do you mean you don’t have one?” As in at all? No way.

  “I. Don’t. Own. A. Phone.”

  Who doesn’t own a phone? She inhaled sharply through her nose. “Why?”

  He shrugged impatiently. “I’ve gone without one for this long—”

  “Because you were in prison,” she snapped as though that would help the point sink in. “You went without a phone because you were in prison.”

  “I know where I was,” he bit out. “Don’t need reminding of it.”

  His eyes were cold as he glared at her, and she realized that was worse.

  Worse than when he’d simply looked through her all those years ago.

  Worse than when he was all heat and passion and intensity in the boathouse.

  Coldness from him was worse than any unkindness she’d ever been dealt from others. God, she’d always wanted him to look at her. Notice her. She just hadn’t anticipated he would look at her with . . . dislike.

  “Of course. Sorry.” She leaned back against a shelf. Several inches separated them, their shoulders parallel to each other. No more staring face-to-face and that was probably for the best
. She’d annoyed him. “I don’t guess you’d forget that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Phones have really . . . advanced since you went away,” she offered.

  “Really?” Sarcasm edged his voice. “I hadn’t noticed how everyone has one glued to their hand every hour of the day.”

  “And you still don’t want one?”

  He sighed. “Seven years I was locked up, inaccessible to people. Kind of used to it. I don’t need to be in constant touch with anyone.”

  Several moments passed, the silence throbbing between them. “What are we going to do?” She glanced up at the window set high in the wall. It was rectangular in shape, not very large.

  “You won’t fit through there,” he said, following her gaze.

  She flinched, all the old reflexes kicking in. Immediately, she felt like he was making a crack against her size, although she shouldn’t take it so personally. A ten-year-old wouldn’t fit through that window.

  “I know that. Just looking at the light. It’s going to be dark soon.”

  Then she would be trapped in here.

  In the dark.

  With him.

  Her breathing hitched. He must have noticed because he asked, “You okay?”

  “What? Me? F-fine. Yes.”

  “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

  She heard the wariness in his voice . . . as though he was worried she was going to have a panic attack. “No.”

  “So is it the prospect of staying locked up all night with me then? That would make a lot of women nervous in this town.”

  “No. I’m not nervous about that,” she lied, not bothering to point out that she was not like most women in this town.

  “I get it. I’m Cruz Walsh. You’re Shelley Rae’s cousin. Seems pretty obvious you’d be nervous.”

  “Why should that make me nervous?” She laughed lightly and damn if the sound didn’t ring nervously even to her ears.

  It actually didn’t bother her. Sure, she couldn’t bring him home for Sunday dinner, but there was no chance of that happening anyway. He would never want to go to dinner with her. She had never been his type. And that was okay. He wasn’t her type either. She was an adult now. She’d moved well past crushing on the town bad boy.

  “C’mon.” He looked at her with ill-concealed annoyance. “You don’t need me to spell it out. Your family wanted my head on a platter since the day I was arrested.” He shrugged. “I didn’t blame them. They needed someone to blame.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, recalling that time in her life. It had been ugly. She had been away at the time, out of college and working in Fort Worth, but she’d still felt it—felt her family combusting from afar. She’d come home for the funeral. It was every bit as awful as a funeral for an eighteen-year-old girl could be.

  She’d steered clear of the trial. All of her family had attended. She stayed in Fort Worth. She didn’t need to be there, too. She couldn’t have sat in a courtroom as Cruz was sentenced.

  “But you’re not responsible for what happened to Shelley Rae,” she added.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll never be good with them.” He shrugged like it didn’t faze him.

  She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but that wouldn’t be true. He was forever tainted in her family’s eyes and there was no changing that. She wouldn’t change that.

  “Do you want to be? Good with them?” she clarified, turning her head to stare at him, curious for his answer.

  Curiosity was ingrained in her nature. She wanted to know everyone’s story and the more interesting the person, the more she wanted to know. That’s why she became a reporter. In the back of her mind, she heard Cody’s voice: You’re not writing for your high school paper anymore, Gabs. You’re supposed to be a real reporter. So prove it. Prove you’re good enough for this paper.

  Her chest squeezed uncomfortably. Easier said than done when she had history with the subject. Also, Cruz didn’t know she was a reporter. She should probably disclose that. It was the ethical thing to do.

  Except she was not doing a story on Cruz Walsh, so she didn’t need to confess anything to him.

  Great. She was playing the justification game now.

  “I guess I should say I care, but if I cared what others thought of me . . .” His voice faded and he finished with a shrug. “Well, my life would have turned out a lot differently.”

  “Why are you still here?” God. She couldn’t help herself. She told herself she wasn’t digging for a story. She wasn’t peeling back the layers on Cruz Walsh. He had simply always fascinated her.

  He glanced around the closet, his big shoulders flexing under his shirt in a way she just didn’t get to see these days. At least not on any of the men in her orbit. Cody had been slim. She’d always felt self-conscious about that. As though she might crush him with her weight.

  She’d never crush Cruz. He was big and strong. She almost felt small beside him. Good thing the light was fading fast in the closet. He wouldn’t be visible for much longer and then her senses wouldn’t be so overloaded with him.

  “Uh. We’re trapped,” he replied.

  “No. Here. In Sweet Hill.” She was pretty sure he knew what she meant. He was simply deflecting. He didn’t want to talk about himself. She knew that much already since he’d turned down countless interviews. “You could have started over anywhere else.”

  “I don’t remember you being so chatty.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t remember me very well.” When she ran into him in the hall earlier it had taken him a while to even place her in his memory. He had to ask to clarify her name.

  “I don’t,” he said gruffly. “Only a little.”

  “I talk more now,” she acknowledged after a few moments, trying not to let it bother her that he could barely remember her. It was kind of hard to be a reporter and not talk to people. “People change,” she added.

  He studied her then, his hard-eyed gaze inscrutable. Finally, he answered, “My family is here. And it’s the only home I’ve ever known. Changing towns won’t change anything that happened. It won’t change me.”

  She sucked in a breath. Wasn’t that what she had always thought? Always hoped. Changing towns. Moving far away. She’d thought it would change her. Save her. Keep her from being Flabby Gabby.

  She stifled a pained laugh. And yet today she had been called that again. Twelve years later and she felt like she was in high school again.

  Suddenly the similarities between the night in the boathouse and this one struck her hard. Her head whipped around in the darkening space. Here they were again. Alone in the dark. Soon-to-be dark anyway. Sure. They’d both done a lot of living in that time, but right now she felt as young and vulnerable as she did then.

  Except this time there would be no escaping out the door. She was trapped with him. The reminder spiked dread deep inside her. She’d be stuck here for days. Days.

  She advanced on the door with renewed zeal and resumed pounding on it. “Anyone out there? Hello! I’m locked in here.”

  “I think they’re all gone,” he said after several moments, his voice calm. Too calm. As though he feared he was dealing with someone unhinged.

  She turned back around and slumped against the door. “How long until starvation sets in?”

  “We won’t starve.” Exasperation tinged his voice.

  “What about water? There’s nothing to drink in here.”

  “It won’t be pleasant in here . . . together.” At that word, he sounded truly aggrieved. He didn’t want to be in here with her any more than she wanted to be locked in here with him, and that was a mortifying reminder. After all, he hardly knew her. She was just a girl he went to high school with. A nobody. “But we should be fine until Monday.”

  She couldn’t help wondering if he would be annoyed if he had gotten stuck in here with Natalie. Probably not. They’d probably pick right back up where they left off and resume their old habits. Once
a fuck-buddy . . .

  Natalie had been lying through her teeth. She totally remembered hooking up with Cruz, and Gabriella didn’t doubt she would hook up with him again given the chance. She’d never had a problem going behind her boyfriends’ backs before. Gabriella doubted she’d suddenly developed any scruples in that regard.

  She closed her eyes for several long moments, marveling at how she could be in this situation. This morning she’d cleaned Nana Betty’s house, worked a shift at The Daily Grind and then headed to her niece’s ceremony expecting to end her night at Applebee’s with her sister scrutinizing her dinner choice. Any time she ordered anything other than a salad, Tess lifted an eyebrow and said something snarky.

  Instead, she was trapped in an eight-by-ten space.

  When she opened her eyes again it was darker. The light spilling through the small window was a deep indigo blue now, only slightly lighter than the air in the closet.

  His face was cast in deep shadow, reminding her again of the night in the boathouse. “We should try to make ourselves comfortable,” he suggested.

  She nodded jerkily. “Right. No sense standing all night.”

  “Let’s see what we can find.” He started examining shelves.

  She followed suit, moving around a podium and digging through a box. “Here’s a drop cloth. It should offer some comfort from the hard floor.”

  She dropped the cloth under the window, spreading it on the floor as he continued rummaging around.

  She lowered herself to the floor. “So. How are you enjoying your newfound freedom?” She winced. If that didn’t sound lame. Like she was her mother asking the neighbor how she was enjoying the new azaleas she planted in her garden.

  Or even worse. It sounded like she was leading up to an interview. Cody would be proud. She could almost hear his voice in her ear, telling her to seize this opportunity. Be a reporter. Don’t let this chance to interview the elusive Cruz Walsh go to waste.

  “Oh. Is this where we do small talk?” he asked from across the space, moving a ladder and setting it aside so he could better explore the shelves behind it.

  “It’s something to do. We have the entire weekend, after all.”