by Sofia Daniel
The boys exchanged glances. I wasn’t sure if they agreed that I was in a fight with an unbeatable enemy but I continued talking. “Mr. Burgh thinks I should retreat, but the Liddells will keep coming after me.”
Kendrick closed the menu and strolled to the armchair on our left. Beside it, a phone sat on a glass coffee table. “There’s a lot of money at stake,” he said. “I think it’s the reason the Liddells keep Father Neapolitan close.”
My shoulders slumped at the thought of my supposed biological father. The man despised me and would probably side with Lady Liddell to have me killed.
Kendrick picked up the phone and my stomach rumbled in anticipation of food. From the way the sun hung low in the sky, it felt like four in the afternoon. I ordered soup from the express menu, and the boys ordered minute steaks.
The food came quicker than expected, brought in by a short waiter, who settled the covered dishes on the suite’s dining table. Kendrick signed for the food and walked the waiter to the door.
“Were you at the shooting?” the waiter asked as he stepped into the hallway.
“Not exactly,” Kendrick replied.
“It’s all over the TV.” The man rose to his tiptoes, trying to peer over Kendrick’s shoulder. “One of the schoolgirls was driven mad by grief and shot at another girl.”
I slid further into my seat, avoiding the waiter’s gaze.
The door clicked shut, and Orlando switched on the television to reveal a reporter with frizzy red hair standing next to Elizabeth on the academy’s front steps.
“Miss Liddell,” she said in a smooth Glaswegian accent. “How are the students coping with this awful tragedy?”
“Myra was in my year.” Elizabeth wiped away an imaginary tear. “We barely spoke but everyone believed her to be harmless.”
“Other students tell me you were close,” replied the reporter. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Elizabeth’s faux-distress dropped for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced with a narrow-eyed determination to discover who had been telling tales. “When Myra’s mother died, I reached out to her to offer counsel. You know, as a christian.”
The reporter raised a brow. “Some say you helped Myra Highmore come to terms with being a lesbian.”
“I will continue to pray for Myra’s soul,” Elizabeth said with a bite to her voice.
“Let’s hope the young lady in question gets the help she needs,” replied the reporter. “This is Morag Davonna from Scotland News, with Lady Elizabeth Liddell, daughter of Lord Liddell, Archbishop of Scotland. Over to Rossalyn for the weather.”
I shot out of my seat. “Fucking bitch!”
Orlando reached for my hand. “Lilah—”
“No!” I snatched my hand away. “Myra was a stupid cow, but no force on earth is going to convince me that Elizabeth wasn’t behind her actions.”
Kendrick rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “Of course, she was.”
Words weren’t enough, and neither were platitudes that they would help me get even. This trio had been part of the problem. For goodness knows how long, they helped dispose of the girls who fell out of favor with Elizabeth and had even tried to do the same to me.
I spun around, leveling Maxwell and Orlando with a glare. “You two were going to contact those girls you got expelled.”
Maxwell frowned. “None of them will reply to our texts.”
Orlando raised his shoulders. “They despise us.”
“Give me their numbers.” I clicked my fingers. “Maybe I’ll have better luck.”
“You’re not thinking of clearing Myra’s name?” asked Kendrick.
“The enemy of your enemy is still your enemy.” Maxwell stood and placed his hands on my shoulders.
Maybe this was his attempt to stop me from exploding, but I couldn’t relax until we had a plan in place. That wretched Elizabeth was already on national television, distancing herself from the shooting to everyone who would listen.
I stared up into Maxwell’s silver eyes. “If I can dredge up enough dirt on the Liddell family, I might be able to get them to hold off their attacks until I work out what they’re trying to hide.”
“Come on, then.” He slung an arm over my shoulder and guided me to the suite’s huge dining table. “You can write them an email while you eat.”
A long breath whooshed out of my lungs. Progress, at last.
Hello,
You don’t know me, but I joined Templar Academy last September. Elizabeth Liddell has been harassing me since the moment I joined. At the end of the autumn term, she planted flour in my room, saying it was cocaine and got me dragged out of bed half-naked by the drug squad.
Over the Christmas break, we had a fight. She wrestled me into the snow and kissed me on the mouth. Did she ever try that with you? After I rejected her, things turned even nastier. She has trashed my room, came after me with the most bizarre accusations, and got her mother to send Myra Highmore after me with a gun.
You don’t have to reply to this email, but if there’s any information you can share about Elizabeth and the Liddell family, it might help me to stop them from ruining other girls’ lives.
Let’s get this bitch,
Lilah Hancock
Orlando rubbed the tip of his nose over the shell of my ear. “Do you think that will work?”
I shrugged him off. “Right now, I’m willing to try anything.”
He pulled back his chair, placed his hands on my shoulders and dug his fingers into my tight shoulder muscles. “You’re still so tense.”
“I won’t be able to relax until I put down those rabid dogs.” I dipped a hunk of garlic bread into my tomato soup.
My phone buzzed, snapping my attention away from Orlando’s questing fingers. I glanced down at the screen to find Gideon’s name flashing.
I put him on speakerphone. “Hey—”
“Lilah, did you see Elizabeth on television?” he asked.
My lips formed a tight line. “I can’t believe she’d disown her so-called best friend. Actually I can—”
“Scotland Five,” he said, his voice rising with panic. “Are you watching?”
Kendrick picked up the remote control and turned on the television. A moment later, he found the channel. Elizabeth sat on the sofa of a cozy living room, holding a handkerchief to her face. Next to her on the sofa, Lady Liddell wrapped an arm around her spawn and murmured words of encouragement.
“How incredibly brave,” said the television presenter, an elderly woman with gray hair styled like the queen’s. “Thank you, my ladies, for exposing such a danger to our children.”
The credits rolled, leaving us staring at my phone. My pulse fluttered in my throat. Gideon wouldn’t have interrupted his steamy weekend with two studs to tell me Elizabeth was distancing herself from Myra.
“What did she say this time?” I asked.
“Myra’s family released a statement telling everyone that Lady Liddell gave her the gun,” said Gideon, his voice dripping with disgust. “They say there’s a recording.”
“Okay…” I turned to Maxwell, who shrugged. Anything that incriminated the Liddells had to be good.
Gideon blew out a long breath. “They’re trying to obscure the issue by saying Mr. Burgh abused Elizabeth. They’ve even produced a birth certificate on television, claiming that the headmaster fathered you with his own daughter.”
Chapter Seven
Cold shock radiated out from my heart and spread across my lungs and chest. I stared at the smartphone’s glowing screen, letting Gideon’s words filter through my skull. The hotel room suddenly felt too cool, too vast, too quiet.
Back in the sanctuary, when Lady Liddell cornered me with that ridiculous paternity test, she told me there were plenty more copies. Now that there was concrete evidence of her using Myra as a tool for my assassination, the wretched old bag wanted to distract everyone with allegations of child abuse.
“Lilah?” Gideon’s voice projected out of my p
hone.
“She’s still there,” said Maxwell.
I pushed back the dining chair and stood. “We’ve got to go back to the academy. Someone’s got to speak up for Mr. Burgh and say it’s not true.”
Kendrick raised his smartphone. “I’ve just checked Twitter. Someone up at Templar says he just walked out with a pair of uniformed policemen.”
A breath caught in the back of my throat. “He’s been arrested?”
Orlando wrapped an arm around my middle, engulfing me in his strong, hard body. “You know what these gossips are like. If they marched him out in handcuffs, they’d make it sound like the police brought in a SWAT team.”
Maxwell stood. “Mr. Burgh probably just decided to help them with their inquiries.”
“It’s likely that they took him to Glasgow,” said Gideon on the other end of the line. “The police in Templar can’t cope with anything more serious than lost property.”
“Thanks, Gideon,” I rasp. “Will you keep me updated if you find out anything else?”
“How did you know to look on that channel anyway?” asked Orlando.
Gideon paused. Without being able to see his face, I couldn’t tell if he took that question as an implication that he was somehow connected with Elizabeth. He wasn’t, of course. Gideon wasn’t the underhanded type, but my insides stirred with curiosity. I’d never known him to be religious, and why would he watch TV when he was staying with two smoking hot guys?
“My parents are in London,” he muttered. “Mother watches that show whenever she’s in the UK. She called, asking if I knew any of the people involved.”
“Oh.” I turned to Orlando, hoping he was satisfied with that reply. Right now, I didn’t want my sort-of boyfriend arguing with my best friend.
“Thanks Adewale,” said Maxwell. “We’ll take Lilah to the police station.”
“Shall I come and meet you?” Gideon asked.
“Thanks for telling me, but no,” I replied. “Try to enjoy your weekend.”
Gideon said goodbye and hung up, leaving me staring at Kendrick from the other side of the dining table. He stared down into his smartphone and scrolled down the screen with his thumb.
The entire left side of my head pounded so hard that I had to squeeze an eye shut to process the pain. Right now, I couldn’t face reading through tweets about those false and disgusting accusations.
“Any more news?” I asked.
“Security staff has locked up the headmaster’s house, pending investigation,” he said without looking up. “Mrs. Campbell is confining everyone to their rooms right now. It looks like she wants to hold an emergency staff meeting.”
Orlando helped me back onto the dining chair and rubbed my tense shoulders. Maxwell sat beside me and took my hand. Even Kendrick glanced up to offer me an apologetic wince. I wanted to make a rousing speech, saying we’ll destroy the Liddells and life will return back to normal, but it won’t. Even if they found out Elizabeth was making it all up, accusations like this have a way of sticking.
My mind rolled back to a guy in Richley, who lived on the same road as my junior school. Everyone called him a flasher, and people used to throw crap at his front door for sport. Two older girls said they caught him wanking off in the park, and from that moment he was branded a pervert. What did they call him again?.
Dirty Des.
Years later, the girls fell out, and one of them told the truth. They’d broken into his house to steal weed and walked in on him wanking in his own living room. The truth didn’t matter, because the lie was more salacious, the name still stuck.
Because of the Liddell’s, people will always wonder if there was a grain of truth in the accusations against Mr. Burgh.
There’s no smoke without weed, as everyone said in Richley.
“When did he leave with the police?” I asked Kendrick.
“Just now.”
“Let’s get there before they arrive, then.”
The boys convinced me to take more painkillers so I could get through the next few hours. Only the strongest drugs could take away what was going on inside my head. The medicine doctors prescribed me was a step above the over-the-counter bullshit that could only smooth out the sharp edges.
It left me with a hot and dull and pounding concussion, even after choking down that garlic bread and drinking tons of water. But at least I could finally face the world.
Even though the police station was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel, the boys took the limo. We arrived outside its glass exterior, finding its waiting room already crammed full.
Maxwell opened the door, and the shouts and roars of the crowd engulfed my senses. Most of the people taking up the space were dressed in club wear, looking like they all came out from either a nightclub or a concert hall. Fresh pain flared across the left side of my head, causing me to stumble back into Orlando.
“Are you alright?” He held me around the waist again.
“I can’t go in there.” My insides cringed as I said the words. I’ve faced murderous dogs, dining rooms full of mean girls, and squared up to drug lords. A boisterous room shouldn’t turn me into a trembling mess.
Orlando flicked his head. I guess that was a silent sign for the twins to go inside and tell the police I wanted to see Mr. Burgh.
My heart sank as he walked me back to the limo, opened the door, and tucked me inside like I was made of thin glass. To anyone watching, this looked like I was scared to face my demons or there might be some truth in the allegations. The Liddells’ shit had nothing to do with my current state. It was that bloody concussion and a skin-prickling sensation that someone was out there, aiming a gun and this time, wouldn’t miss.
“Are you alright?” Orlando rubbed my hands between his. “You’re freezing.”
“Crap painkillers,” I muttered.
“You know that none of us will stand for what’s happened to Mr. Burgh, right?” He pulled me against his chest and ran his warm hand up and down my forearm. “What we said about helping you with the Liddells also applies to your granddad.”
“Thanks.” I placed my hand on his muscular thigh and let my heavy eyelids close.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed between falling asleep and being woken by coaxing words and a gentle hand.
“Ken just said the police are ready to see you,” Orlando murmured into my ear.
My eyes snapped open. I pulled myself off his warm chest and stared into his hazel eyes. With the street lights drifting in through the limo’s darkened window, his irises looked like warm caramel.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” I murmured.
Orlando kissed the tip of my nose. “It was my pleasure. I hope it goes well inside.”
My stomach tightened at the loss of his presence. Part of me wanted to ask Orlando to sit next to me, but I shook off that thought. Last September, I’d been brazen enough to call the police after stabbing Sammy and exposing his hydroponic weed farm. I hadn’t done anything wrong this time, so I could face the police. Besides, they only allowed guardians or solicitors in the interview rooms.
Maxwell and Kendrick escorted me into the now empty station, and a layer of tension rose from my shoulders at the absence of that noisy crowd. The pounding in my head receded to a dull pulse, giving me the strength to face what was probably going to be a hostile officer desperate to protect the Liddells.
The receptionist, a mousy-haired woman with a bowl cut, raised her head and buzzed me through a side door. I stood at the open entrance, glancing from one twin to the other.
“I appreciate this,” I murmured. “Both of you.”
Kendrick nodded. “While we were waiting, I made a list of the most vocal students on twitter. If we can let enough people know that these allegations are a distraction from Lady Liddell’s criminal activity, the police might decide to drop the charges.”
Maxwell leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. “We’ll wait for you”
I wrapped my arms around his neck an
d clung onto him as though it might be our last time. Maxwell hugged back, his masculine scent filling my nostrils. By now, Elizabeth and her mouth could have elaborated on their lies and implicated me in this mess. I could be walking into an arrest.
“Miss Delilah Hancock?” asked an impatient female voice.
I released the embrace and turned to find a female police officer with jet-black hair tied back in a bun. Her strong features gave her the look of a young Paloma Picasso but without the dramatic makeup.
“This way.” She turned on her heel and continued down a magnolia-colored hallway.
After a whispered goodbye, I followed her. We rounded the corner, passing signs that lead to the custody suite, and walked past the interview rooms.
The police woman opened the door to the coziest interview room I’d ever seen. It had the same drab walls and tiled ceiling, but consisted of two IKEA sofas arranged around a low table. At the back was a tinted glass wall that I could bet my life concealed a camera.
My lips pursed into a thin line. This wasn’t where they put the suspects or even the witnesses. This must be a special room for victims of crime. I turned around with a protest on my lips, but Detective Chief Inspector Cromar stepped behind the police woman.
“Thank you, WPC Pala.” He placed a thin hand on her shoulder and fixed me with a predatory stare. “I’ll question Miss Hancock.”
Chapter Eight
Constable Pala glanced from me to the Detective Chief Inspector, her brows drawing together. My shoulders drooped. Even if the woman suspected her superior officer was a creep, she couldn’t help me. Nor could she turn to another officer and ask. Constables were the lowest ranks in the police force, and DCI Cromar was three levels above her.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped.
Cromar’s brows drew together. “I understand you’re upset about recent revelations.” He gave the female constable a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please bring two cups of tea and a plate of chocolate digestives.”
