The redhead stood dripping in the shallows, her arm around one of the rented surfboards. Crystal blue ripples lapped at her calves, making the calm sea look more like a giant bathtub than an ocean. A few of the other sisters were out far enough to paddle, laughing at their own inept attempts to catch the twelve-inch-high waves sliding in toward shore.
“The water feels fantastic!” Roxy added encouragingly. “You really ought to try it.”
Sydney hesitated, one hand on the backpack at her side. But with Ashley out of the picture and the entire sorority on the beach, no one was going to steal the prototype. Tossing the free end of her towel up to cover her pack, she stood and stretched, digging her toes into the warm white sand.
“I might give it a go,” she said. “If you promise not to laugh.”
Roxy shook her head, her long hair shedding sparkling drops. “No deal,” she said, chuckling. “Why should you get special treatment?”
“Do you want to try it, Francie?” Sydney asked.
Francie glared disapprovingly from her towel. “No.”
Roxy dragged the wet surfboard up the beach and dropped it at Sydney's feet. “Your turn. I'm whipped.”
Sydney was reaching to pick it up when the ring of a cell phone made her freeze. Her SD-6 phone was in her backpack.
“Oops! I think that's mine,” said Roxy, restarting Sydney's heart. She retrieved a phone from her straw beach bag, holding it an inch from her wet ear. “Hello?”
“So, you're really going in?” Francie said to Sydney, taking advantage of the break. “I think you're crazy.”
“Come on, Francie. If I were going to die of a concussion, it would have happened last night.”
She had meant her remark to be funny, but Francie's scowl deepened. “I don't even know who you are lately.”
Sydney cast a nervous glance at Roxy, but the sorority president had turned her back on them. “No. . . . That's crazy,” Sydney heard her say in a low voice. “What's going to happen now?”
“Francie,” Sydney said, trying not to whine. “Can we please forget about last night? We're only here for two more days. Can we please try to have fun?”
“You don't think I'm trying?” Francie snapped.
Sydney lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can we at least not argue here?”
Francie shrugged and looked away across the beach.
Roxy hung up the phone. “You're not going to believe this!” she cried, turning back to face them. Her eyes were huge, her face flushed pink with excitement.
“What?” Sydney asked, sensing something big.
“Ashley was arrested at the Honolulu airport this morning. She's in jail!”
Francie gasped with astonishment. “For what?”
“Smuggling drugs!” Roxy reported breathlessly. “Can you even believe it?”
No, thought Sydney. I can't.
13
Sydney sped toward the jail in her rental car, still reeling from the news of Ashley's arrest. It seemed impossible that this wasn't just another cover story—but it was one that didn't make any sense. Why would Ashley ruin herself within the sorority? Unless she had no intention of ever coming back . . .
Because she can't come back now, Sydney thought. Not after this.
Whatever else might happen, Ashley's days in Alpha Kappa Chi were over.
“I knew it!” Keisha had exclaimed as soon as all the sisters were gathered to hear the story. They'd stood in a tight little group, dripping on the warm sand and staring wide-eyed at one another.
“You did not,” Roxy had protested.
“Okay. I didn't know that exactly,” Keisha had admitted. “But there was always something wrong with that girl. She was never really one of us.”
“You're right,” Katie had agreed. “Not Alpha material.”
A murmur of consensus had run through the girls, most of whom had seemed more titillated than shocked by Ashley's spectacular fall.
“But wait until people at school hear this!” Kira had said worriedly.
“Oh, wow!” Lee Ann had moaned. “That's going to be ugly.”
Even Gretchen, Ashley's supposed friend, had shaken her head with the rest. “I always said there was something weird about that girl. I mean, not that she and I were ever very close.”
“The main thing now,” Roxy had finally broken in, “is damage control. Ashley did what she did, and she has to live with that. It's up to us to make sure she doesn't drag the sisterhood down with her.”
Her pronouncement had been met with frantic finger snapping, signaling agreement. People had started shouting out so many ideas for polishing the AKX image that Sydney had gotten the impression the girls were kind of looking forward to the scandal.
“Is it just me?” Francie had whispered, pulling Sydney to one side. “Or do they seem . . . happy?”
“It's definitely not breaking anyone's heart,” Sydney had whispered back. “I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't much like Ashley.”
“But she's their sister,” Francie had said, upset. “I mean, they let her pledge. They initiated her. Doesn't that mean anything? We don't even know her side of the story!”
Sydney had nodded. “I see what you're saying.”
If the sisters didn't support Ashley, there was no reason to believe they'd ever stick by Francie. Or Sydney.
“I'll tell you what,” Sydney had whispered, seizing the opportunity. “I'm going to cut out of here. I'll say I have a headache or something and catch a cab over to the jail. Just to see if it's really true, or if Ashley needs our help.”
She had expected Francie to argue, but her friend had seemed relieved. “I'll go with you.”
“No,” Sydney had said quickly. “Stay here and back up my headache story. The way everyone's acting right now, I'd rather they don't know where I'm going.”
“But it's not right. Why not send Gretchen? Or Roxy?”
Sydney had shrugged. “Ashley and I . . . at least we're honest with each other. I just want to know what's really going on.”
“When will you be back?”
“I have no idea. But it could be late, all right? Will you promise not to panic?”
Francie had smiled. “You really are a good friend. Do you know that?”
At least Francie preapproved my alibi this time, Sydney thought, driving the last mile to the jail.
After that, it had been a simple matter to sneak up to her hotel room, change into jeans and running shoes, and hide the prototype inside the potted silk orchid by the window. She didn't feel totally safe about leaving it behind, but that option seemed smarter than carrying it through jail security. Besides, with the case tucked down inside the big pot and the fake plant and moss replaced perfectly, no one but a pro would ever find it. Even if the call to Roxy had been faked and Ashley wasn't really in jail, it didn't seem likely that she'd venture back to the hotel.
Sydney parked the car and walked into the police station, ready to hear that Ashley had never been there. But she was. And after a lot of fast-talking, Sydney was taken to her cell.
“Ashley?”
It was shocking to see the girl on the other side of the bars. Ashley sat on the edge of a hard metal bunk, her pale skin sallow. Her head was in her hands, her hair an uncombed mess, and when she lifted her tear-streaked face, Sydney realized for the first time how much makeup she usually wore. She looked so much younger, scrubbed clean like that. Young and vulnerable.
“You must be happy,” she greeted Sydney in a choked voice. Her tone was shaky but not surprised, as if she'd anticipated Sydney's arrival. “Come to gloat?”
“Actually, I'm kind of stunned you're here. Roxy told everyone you were busted for smuggling drugs.”
“Yeah, I'll bet you were real amazed,” Ashley said sarcastically, turning her face away. “Probably could have knocked you down with a feather.”
But Sydney ignored the comment, hearing something besides the words.
“I knew you had an accent!” she said, trying
to place the new twang in Ashley's voice. “That snotty Bel Air thing you do? I never bought it. You'd better tell your handler you need more work.”
Ashley looked Sydney's way again, her expression incredulous. “My handler?”
“Or whoever coaches you in accents. Because I have to tell you, yours sucks.”
“Great.” Ashley's eyes welled up with tears and this time she didn't try to hide them. “What difference does it make now anyway? No one's ever going to talk to me again. I'm out of AKX forever. I'll probably have to change schools.”
“Huh?” That seemed like the least of her problems to Sydney.
“You're right,” Ashley said bitterly, her accent unraveling further, into something from a poverty-stricken region of the South. “By the time I get out of prison, everyone who knows me will have already graduated.”
Sydney leaned against the bars, nonplussed. The way Ashley was carrying on was the last thing she'd expected. She was talking too much, for one thing—even a rookie spy knew to keep her mouth shut and wait for her agency to sort things out. On the other hand, she'd seen Ashley's acting before. Was the girl still working some sort of scheme?
“Let's be honest,” said Sydney. “Graduating was never really your goal.”
Ashley shot her a look of pure loathing. “I'm just poor white trash to you, aren't I?”
Sydney didn't answer, amazed.
“You're just like all the rest, judging a girl for the things she can't help. So what if I sold drugs? I never wanted to. When your momma's living off her ‘boyfriends' and your daddy's as worthless as mine, then you can judge me. How else was I going to pay for college? How else could I have ever joined the Alphas?”
Ashley dashed her tears away and shook her head defiantly. “I don't care. Whatever they do to me now . . . at least I was somebody once. I was Ashley Evans, and believe me, that's a helluva lot better than Claralee Barker.”
Sydney needed to sit down, but there wasn't a chair. She gripped the bars harder, to steady herself.
“You changed your name?”
“Like you didn't already know that,” Ashley sneered. “I changed everything. Every little thing money could buy. My name, where I came from, how I looked, the way I talked . . .”
The defiance suddenly left her, and she broke down in ragged sobs. “I couldn't change who I was, though. I guess I'm stuck with that.”
“So that package you had last night . . . ,” Sydney ventured after a minute.
“Would have kept me in cash for months. And all I had to do was mule it back to L.A. No more nickel-and-dime calls in the middle of the night. No more hanging out in—” Ashley cut herself off abruptly. “Shouldn't I have an attorney?”
“Not to talk to me.”
“Oh, right. Because you're not going to tell anyone.” Ashley managed a cynical smile. “Whatever. You're just doing your job.”
“My job?”
“Listen, there's one thing I do want to say.” Ashley's voice shook. “I'm sorry I hit you on the head. I just . . . panicked. I never did anything like that before, and . . . you probably don't believe me, but I'm not a violent person. Sometimes people just have to . . .”
Her head went back into her hands. “Whatever,” she repeated.
She seemed stripped bare, devoid of all hope.
“If this is the apology part of the program, what about what you did to me on the boat?” Sydney asked.
“You mean when I said Francie fell overboard?” Ashley raised her face wearily. “I was drunk. I really thought she did.”
Sydney had been referring to the attack on the Eagle, but now she forgot that, distracted. “You . . . you did?”
“It's not impossible,” Ashley said defensively. “There was a big splash. Roxy heard it too. In fact, she's the one who asked me if someone was missing.”
Ashley sighed heavily. “I'm going to miss her most of all. Roxy was always so nice. I mean . . . a few things she said, I think she probably knew, but she never came out and accused me. Not like Jen, who was always threatening to turn me in if I didn't stop. She tried to act so understanding, but she didn't understand a thing. How could she? A few of us went to her parents' house once—heart-stoppingly, mind-numbingly rich. And Jen took it all for granted. You could tell she'd had everything she'd ever wanted since the very first day she was—”
“Wait. Jen knew you were selling drugs?”
Ashley shrugged.
“So you killed her.” Sydney's voice came out flat, an accusation.
“What? No!” Ashley's horror seemed genuine. “God, no. Jen died of an asthma attack.”
“But you wanted her dead,” Sydney said, less certainly.
“You're crazy!”
She was starting to feel crazy. Nothing fit.
“I'm not talking to you anymore,” Ashley announced, her old haughtiness returning. “It's one thing to be a narc, but if you're going to accuse me of murder . . .”
“You think I'm a narc?”
Ashley laughed bitterly. “It's a little late to play innocent. Besides, you're not going to catch anyone else in AKX. No one else is dealing, and if they were, Roxy would have warned them too.”
“Roxy . . . Roxy warned you about me?” Sydney felt like she was working a puzzle without the box top. “About me being a narc?”
Ashley smiled, a little smugly. “Maybe she liked me more than y'all thought. Or maybe she didn't like you as much. You really thought she was your new best friend, didn't you? Let me tell you something: Roxy's smarter than that.”
The truth slammed into Sydney's brain, obliterating everything else.
Roxy.
No.
Roxy!
If Ashley was truly only a small-time poser, that meant someone dangerous was still in the sorority. Someone Sydney had never suspected.
Roxy's the one who put me on to Ashley's disappearing acts. She's been pitting us against each other right from the start.
And Roxy's the one who invited me to pledge. If she . . . if she killed Jen . . . she'd be watching for someone like me to turn up.
Still, if she's been on to me all this time . . . That was Roxy on the Eagle!
“I have to go,” Sydney blurted out, turning away from the bars.
Roxy had played her like a pro—and she'd never suspected it for a second. The funny, outgoing redhead had completely won her over. Won her friendship, her confidence, her trust . . .
And I left the prototype at the hotel!
Sydney sprinted down the hallway to her hotel room, expecting to see it destroyed again. More of the puzzle was becoming clear to her every second. She was now certain it was Roxy who had searched her room, timing her act so Ashley got the blame.
And I went running to her about it! Sydney felt sick as she remembered Roxy's wide-eyed attempt to involve hotel security. She knew I wouldn't want that. She knew everything!
Sydney fumbled with her room key, her hands shaking. She threw her door open, prepared for the worst.
Everything was exactly as she'd left it.
Huh?
She stood paralyzed in the doorway, unable to understand. Why hadn't Roxy gone for the prototype?
Stumbling forward, she scanned the room, searching for any sign of tampering. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Crossing to the potted orchid, she yanked up its silk flowers.
The prototype was gone.
She did it. It's Roxy.
Only a well-trained spy could search a room without leaving a trace. If Sydney hadn't spoken to Ashley, if she hadn't figured out what was going on, she might not have noticed the loss for hours—more than enough time for Roxy to meet her contact and hand off the device. The whole thing would have been over before Sydney ever suspected her. She might never have suspected her. . . .
Dropping the orchid, Sydney ran to the elevator, then charged into the staircase when the car didn't appear. She hurtled down the sixteen flights, bursting into the lobby with a wild look on her face. She found Keisha on the
outdoor terrace, flirting with some guy.
“Keisha!” she exclaimed, breaking into their conversation. “Where's Roxy?”
Keisha pointed back through the lobby, toward the front of the hotel. “She left to go shopping fifteen minutes ago. What's the matter with you?”
Not pausing to answer, Sydney raced through the lobby, out to the street in front of the hotel, and looked frantically up and down.
Roxy had the prototype and a fifteen-minute head start.
And Roxy had disappeared.
14
Clothes flew in all directions as Sydney attacked Roxy's hotel-room closet. There was no attempt at subtlety in this last-ditch search effort—desperation drove her every move. Crazed by the realization that she had lost a nuclear prototype to an unknown enemy, she had broken into Roxy's room without even trying to be sly. Only luck had kept people out of the hallway while she was picking the lock.
Abandoning the closet, Sydney yanked open the top drawer of the dresser. All Roxy's clothes had been left behind, suggesting she fully expected to return. The first drawer was crammed full of bathing suits; the middle one held shorts and tank tops. And in the bottom drawer, behind the pajamas and sweatpants, was a shoulder-length blond wig. Sydney lifted it out for a closer look, grimacing as another mystery was solved.
It was Roxy I chased that night at Pearl Harbor! She must have worn this whenever she spied on me, so if I happened to spot her I'd think she was Ashley.
Sydney tossed the wig away in disgust. The ploy had worked perfectly. After all her specialized training, she had still let her personal dislike of Ashley completely cloud her vision. Worse, she had trusted Roxy simply because she was nice.
Because she seemed nice, Sydney corrected herself, still coming to terms with the realization that she didn't know the first thing about the girl.
Leaving the dresser, she ripped the bed apart, then checked the drapes, the bathroom, the wastebaskets. She didn't even know what she was looking for. Just anything, any little clue that might tell her where Roxy had gone . . .
A hotel pen rested on a pad beside the phone. Sydney tore off the top sheet of paper and ran with it to the window, looking for impressions created by writing on the missing upper sheets. Among the doodles and curlicues, she made out seven numbers.
Sister Spy Page 12
