Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  She walks off in a huff.

  Alejandro doesn’t watch her leave. He’s watching me, the shocked expression still on his face. “You don’t even remember having sex with her? How can you not remember? I mean, did you see her?”

  “Look, I thought by having sex with girls—a lot of girls—it would erase what Frank did to me. That it would erase the pain. And maybe it did for a while. But that was all a lie. I didn’t realize it till I started dating Amber.” I look him squarely in the eyes. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Alejandro. Don’t let Frank win.”

  Alejandro glares at me. “I’m not telling anyone what happened, so don’t even go there.”

  I open my mouth to say something but slam it shut as a man approaches our table. The smell of garlic lingers on him.

  “Marcus Reid?”

  “Cop or reporter?” I grunt.

  Alejandro’s gaze jumps from me to the man and back, a million questions written all over his face.

  “I’m a reporter with the Chicago Post. I want to ask you about—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you want. What I want is for you and the rest of your idiotic friends to leave me and Amber alone.” I stand and grab my books, hinting to Alejandro to do the same.

  “It will—”

  The look I give him causes him to step back. “Do I need to report you to security?”

  “No.” He says something else, but Alejandro and I are walking away. Now more than ever, I need to play ball.

  “What was that all about?” Alejandro asks.

  “It’s nothing,” I grumble.

  He stops abruptly, his eyes dull with fear. “It wasn’t nothing. Did he want to talk to you about Frank?”

  I glance around, checking no one’s within earshot. Fortunately my threat about security was enough to keep the reporter from following us. He’s skulking in the opposite direction. “No. It’s about Amber.”

  “What about her?” The fear turns to concern and protectiveness, and my heart swells that he feels that way, even if he doesn’t know her very well.

  “She was kidnapped last year by a stalker and badly hurt. Now his sister claims Amber wrote love letters to him, and everything he did to her Amber wanted. The media’s been twisting things around.”

  “That was Amber? ¡Meirda! I heard my parents talking about it. They said her name should never have been mentioned. Now everyone knows she was raped.”

  I cringe at his unspoken thoughts. “The reporters haven’t said anything about her being raped. And just because Amber’s name was leaked doesn’t mean yours will be.”

  He narrows his eyes. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because Amber’s name was released when she went missing. The media stopped using it once she was found, ’cause she was a minor, but her name was already public record. Your name won’t be.”

  “But if I tell the cops what happened to me, people might figure out what he did to me.”

  “They’re not gonna figure it out.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he says in a voice loud enough to gain us a few curious glances.

  I want to give him the answers he’s looking for, but I can’t. I can’t be sure the media isn’t going be sniffing around, searching for their next story.

  Alejandro walks toward the exit, his next words soft, spoken more for his benefit than mine. “That’s what I thought.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amber

  Marcus checks his phone, his body pressed against mine on the narrow dorm bed. I already miss his warm lips on my neck, and almost groan my complaint. But he’s been waiting for a text from Tammara for several days.

  “Tammara finally responded. She’s back in town.” He replies to her. Thirty seconds later she responds. “We’re on. She’ll meet me at my apartment in half an hour.” He pushes himself off me and the bed, and holds his hand out to me. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t think she’s gonna be too thrilled to see me.” Especially once she learns that we know she was the one who sent me the fake letters from Paul last semester. Especially once she finds out they aren’t the only fake letters we want to know about.

  “I don’t care if she’s thrilled or not.” Marcus’s mouth spreads into my favorite sexy, one-sided smile. “You’re there to protect me from her.”

  “Smoky will protect you.” I lean in and briefly kiss Marcus. “He likes you.” Which is saying a lot. Smoky doesn’t like too many people. Not after Paul abused him to keep me in line.

  We leave my room and I turn to lock the door.

  “Amber Scott?” a powerful male voice rumbles behind me.

  I swivel to find two cops approaching with Becca, the R.A. My body tenses and I look wildly between her and Marcus. They don’t know what’s going on any more than I do, but I need the confirmation everything will be all right.

  Except they can’t do that. It’d be a lie. I can tell from the way the two cops regard me that once again I’m the criminal not the victim.

  “Yes?” The word comes out as a squeaked whisper.

  “We have a search warrant for your room and backpack.”

  “What for?”

  The bulky cop doesn’t answer. He hands me a folded piece of paper. I open it and read. According to it, they’re looking for any items that are sexual in nature linking me to the letters I supposedly wrote to Paul. They’re also looking for letters written to Paul from me, or letters he may have written to me. The latter I gave the cops when he was stalking me, but Paul never signed them.

  “You’re wasting your time,” I say, handing the paper to Marcus. “I don’t have any of those things. And I have a roommate. You can’t search through her stuff too.” I know nothing about search warrants, but doesn’t Brittany have rights? She’s done nothing wrong.

  Like I’ve done nothing wrong but they’re treating me as if I have.

  “The warrant is only for your personal possessions,” the smaller, bald-headed cop says. “The places we can search are outlined in the warrant.”

  “But shouldn’t she be here at least?

  “It’s not mandatory.”

  I open the door and stand to the side with Marcus.

  “Which is your side of the room?” Bald Cop asks. I point to it.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Amber,” Marcus says. “You’ve done nothing wrong. But you should call your lawyer and your mom.”

  I nod and pull out my phone. I call Mom first, since she’ll know what to do. Like Marcus, she tells me everything will be all right. I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s police procedure. I have a feeling she’s not telling me everything, but I have to trust her. She knows more about this stuff than I do.

  “Should I call Sheryl and tell her?” I ask.

  “She already knows.”

  Huh? “How can she already know?”

  “The police are here, too, and at Grandma’s. They’re searching for more evidence to connect you to the letters.”

  “But there is nothing to connect me to them. I didn’t write them.” Panic writhes in my voice and my stomach is a pit full of unsettled snakes. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Which means you have nothing to worry about, Amber. They have to do their job, or else it puts the court case at risk if procedures aren’t followed to the letter. They don’t want to give the defense any opportunities to win the case. You have to trust the police to do their job. They want Paul Carson locked away as much as you do.” So, pretty much what Sheryl told me. “There’s something else I should tell you. The pipes froze in the courthouse. Which means the trial has been delayed.”

  “Delayed?” I’m not sure if I should be relieved or upset. Or both. “Till when?”

  “They pushed it back to March thirteenth.” So instead of the nightmare being over in two to three weeks, I have to put up with it for another six or more weeks. I’m not sure if I can.

  Sensing what I need, Marcus caresses the back of my hand with his thumb, grounding me before the
numbness can creep in. He raises his eyebrow in question, but waits for me to get off the phone before asking what’s going on. I fill him in as Bald Cop searches under my bed with a flashlight.

  He reaches under and pulls out several magazines, a DVD and a small whip. The writhing panic grips my stomach hard.

  “I don’t enjoy doing this, Amber. But it’s for your own good.” A sharp slap snaps through the air and an equally sharp pain slices my upper back. I scream.

  “Screaming will only make things worse.”

  “Kitten, you’re safe,” Marcus’s voice breaks through the distant sounds of the whip tearing my body apart.

  I blink the world back into focus and find myself on the floor, tears spilling down my face. Marcus is crouched beside me, brushing my cheeks dry.

  The cops are watching me with a mix of concern and confusion and curiosity on their faces.

  “I had a flashback,” I say through a Sahara-dry mouth. I didn’t have one in the adult store. Why now?

  Marcus helps me to my feet. I lean against him, needing him more than ever. He’s always reminding me how strong I am. And I am to have survived what Paul put me through. But there are times I don’t feel so strong.

  “I have no idea where it came from.” The words rush from my mouth.

  Bald Cop holds up the magazines with half-naked women on the cover dressed in leather and holding what I’m guessing to be sex toys. “And what about these?” he asks.

  Shaking my head, I step away. “They’re not mine.”

  “Are you saying they belong to your roommate?” Bulky Cop asks.

  “I don’t know who they belong to. I just know they’re not mine.”

  Becca shoos away two juniors who live next to Jordan’s room. They ask her what’s going on. I don’t hear her reply. But it doesn’t matter what she says. Everyone knows who I am. They’ve heard about the letters and the lies about my sexual preferences. The cops searching my room will only fuel the rampant rumors.

  Bald Cop searches through the magazines and pulls out pink paper similar to the ones I saw at the police station when I was questioned. “What about this?” He holds it for me to see.

  It’s my writing, like with the other letters, but I never wrote it. “It’s not mine.”

  He bags the evidence. I can’t even lie to myself and pretend it all belongs to Brittany, because why would she have that letter in the magazine? She’s an artist. She’s not a forger.

  Once they’re finished searching the room and my backpack, they leave. All they found are the magazines, DVD, letter and the whip. But that’s more than enough to damage my story in the court’s eyes.

  “I don’t get how those things got in my room.” I flop onto my bed, grab my pillow and hug it to me. Marcus sits next to me. “I seriously don’t believe they’re Brittany’s.”

  He fires off a text to Tammara, telling her he’ll be late. “Which means someone else entered your room and planted them. Did you leave your door unlocked?”

  “No. Brittany and I always lock it. We’re both kinda paranoid that way.”

  “Even when you’re going to the bathroom?”

  I want to say yes, but there have been times lately where I’ve been less strict about it. When I first moved in, I automatically locked the door even when I was in my room. “But who would plant the stuff in my room? It’s not like anyone can simply walk into the building. You have to get past security.”

  “Unless you live here.”

  “Which means it has to be a joke. No one has a reason to hurt me.” Except that doesn’t explain the letter. Even if it was a joke, how would the person have forged it? It can’t be that easy to do, otherwise anyone could do it. “But the only person trying to discredit me is Paul’s sister.” A thought smothers me and my mouth drops open. “Paul never mentioned a sister. Maybe she’s a student here. She could be living in this building.”

  Marcus tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness of the moment helps settle my stomach, a little. “That’s what we need to figure out.”

  We head to Becca’s room and knock on her door. She opens it and blushes at seeing me.

  “Those weren’t my things the cops found,” I hastily explain. “Someone hid them in my room and I’m trying to figure out who.”

  She nods, the movement barely there. I can’t tell if she believes me. “That’s why it’s important to keep your door locked when you’re not in your room. I hounded people all last term to remember that.”

  “Is there a Rosemary Carson living in the building?”

  “I can’t give out that information. It’s confidential.”

  “How so?” Marcus asks. “It’s not like everyone keeps their name a secret.”

  I tilt my head to the side and give the most pleading look I can muster. “Please. All we’re asking for is a yes or no. That’s all.”

  Becca thinks about it for an excruciating moment then nods. “All right. Give me a few minutes.” She retreats into her room and shuts the door. After what feels like an hour, she re-emerges. “There’s no one here either with Rosemary as a first name or Carson as the last name.”

  The air rushes from my lungs as if someone heavy sat on them. “Thanks,” I manage to say. It would have been easier to prove Paul’s sister is framing me if she lived in my building.

  Marcus and I hurry to his car. On the way to his apartment, I call Mom and tell her what happened.

  “I’ll talk to the D.A. and Sheryl. They’ll at least look into the possibility of a link between Rosemary and the university, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. All I know is that she’s a waitress in Chicago.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, and you can’t go looking for her either, Amber. Nor can Marcus. If you do, you could make things worse than they already are. You have to trust the police and the D.A.”

  I groan. The police don’t have a great track record of protecting me as far as I’m concerned. Otherwise, they would have discovered Paul was the one stalking me a year ago and would have put an end to it before Trent and Michael were murdered.

  But that was the Crossfields police. Hopefully the Chicago police do a much better job.

  I glance at Marcus. If the Crossfields police had a great track record of protecting me, Trent would be alive and Marcus and I wouldn’t be together. But would things be any different between me and Trent to what they were a year ago, when he planned on us having a future together—and I lived one day at a time? Unable to fully commit because my father walked out on his family. Unable to fully commit for fear of history repeating itself. Things aren’t much different between me and Marcus, except he hasn’t talked about us being forever. Not like Trent had.

  Chase isn’t at the apartment when we arrive. Just as well since he and Tammara don’t see eye to eye. Never have, from what Marcus told me.

  I wrap my arms around Marcus’s neck. “So, what do you want to do now?” I ask, desperately needing a distraction from what happened at the dorm. We have a few minutes before Tammara is due.

  The building buzzer screeches through the apartment, and disappointment floods me. She’s early.

  “Someone’s eager to see you,” I say. “I’m guessing she has no idea I’m here.”

  Marcus presses the button to unlock the main entrance. “I didn’t say you weren’t going to be here.”

  I roll my eyes. “The woman’s been after you for months now. You seriously can’t believe she’s stopped wanting you.”

  He shrugs. Apparently he does.

  I swear Tammara sprinted up the stairs, because a minute later there’s a knock at the door. Curious if my theory’s right, and to prove to Marcus he’s the kind of guy girls have trouble letting go, I hide in the bathroom. He flashes me a panicked look as I close the door, chuckling.

  The apartment door clicks open and I lean my ear against the bathroom door.

  “I’m glad you called,” Tammara purrs and I roll my eyes, again.

  “We need to talk,�
� Marcus replies somewhat stiffly.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  A soft thump near the door, like someone bumped into the wall, leaves me frowning as all kinds of unwanted images pop to mind.

  “Tammara, you have things wrong.” Panic and desperation strangle his tone.

  Deciding that I’ve proved my point long enough, I open the door. Marcus’s back is against the wall, his hands on her shoulder like he’s going to push her away. Only a few inches separate their bodies. Her head jerks toward me and deep lines form across her forehead.

  “Hi.” I say it cheerfully even though the desire to yank her off him by the hair courses through me.

  “Hi,” she replies, tone flat, and steps away from Marcus.

  “We might as well sit for this.” I gesture toward the living area.

  Tammara looks at Marcus. He nods in response, his eyes locked on hers. I walk around them and take my usual spot on the couch, legs curled to the side. Marcus joins me, forcing Tammara to sit on the recliner. She’s wearing black pants, which will be covered in gray fur once she stands. It’s Smoky’s favorite seat.

  Marcus threads his fingers with mine. “We know what you did, Tammara.”

  She huffs, her eyebrows pinched together. “You had me drive all this way to tell me something I already know. In case you’ve forgotten, we had this conversation before Christmas.” When Marcus told her he knew that she had drugged him so she could take photos of her kissing him and send them to me. She thought I would dump him and then she would become his girlfriend.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then can you be more specific?” If Tammara were a poker player, she’d have no trouble winning every hand. Her expressions are perfectly tooled to hide what she’s thinking. Something she learned from her politician father.

  “I’m talking about the fake letters you sent to Amber before Christmas that you pretended were from the psychopath who kidnapped her. The letters that threatened my life and then Amber’s.”