Deceived (20 page)

“Is that why you’re calling me Priscilla? We all have new names for this? Why Nicholas, though? Blech.” She stuck her finger in her mouth and pretended to vomit.

I couldn’t take it. I started to giggle again. This time it trickled out.

“Hey, and also, someone stole my bag and returned it inside my apartment? What’s that about? You guys aren’t very good at this game. Did you make it up?”

“Nicholas
is
my name,” he growled.

I snorted. I threw a hand over my mouth and nose, cursing my awful timing.

“Brian was an alias. I’m a United States Marshal assigned to a case that brought me here.” His eyes slid from the rearview to mine and back.

I had to give him credit for fortitude. I would’ve given up. I did give up.

Pixie sighed and put her phone in her lap. She leaned between the two front seats, one elbow on each headrest. “Okay, what’d the intruder take?”

“Nothing.” His voice was low, slow, unhappy. “He wanted to show me he could get to you, to prove he’s in control.”

“What’s this?” She pulled my tiny pumpkin from behind the seats. It had a steel kabob spear through it.

I let out a gasp. I didn’t need an explanation.

Nicholas gave another sidelong glance. “A warning.”

What kind of person would hurt a little pumpkin? My eyebrows gathered together for support. I didn’t think it looked like a warning. It looked more like a threat to me.

“Pixie,” my voice cracked when I spoke. “He’s serious. This is for real.”

Silence filled the car as the Jeep wound through the mountains.

“The man I’m looking for was in your apartment tonight. He’s dangerous. He’s a sociopath, and he knows where you live. He broke the light on your stoop and closed your blinds. He waited for you.” Nicholas’s eyes sought Pixie’s. “When I went to drop off Elle, I noticed. I went back, but he was gone. He left the pumpkin for me.”

“The bag beneath your purse is yours. I wasn’t sure what you’d need. I did my best to think of everything I’d want, if I were in your position. The rest will be sent to you once you’re reestablished.”

My eyes widened. Could he be serious? She had to leave right now? He had tossed some random things into a duffle bag. She had to be thankful for as much and just go? My stomach fell. The same feeling I had when an elevator dropped a few feet before the door opened. I hated this for her.

“The story will be that there was a small fire in your apartment. You received minor injuries. Your parents brought you home to finish your senior year. They don’t know you’re coming. We aren’t certain if you are or are not safe. If it’s determined you’re in danger, you won’t be able to tell your parents where you’ve gone.”

I shot him a horrified look. I couldn’t imagine what might be going through Pixie’s mind.

“There’s a solid chance you’ll be safe. As far as I could tell, the two of you spent very little time together outside the apartment. It’s unlikely the Reaper will see you as a point of contact in the future. In which case, you’ll be able to contact your parents and anyone else you choose in a few weeks.” While I thought that through, he looked at me. “No one from Francine Frances.”

The urge to vomit hit like someone pulling my stomach out though my belly button. The Reaper. That was the name of the man who’d killed all those women a decade back. I’d read about him at the library. Nicholas knew it. I swallowed bile and cracked the window for air. My face burned. My neck and cheeks stung. The Reaper had been in my apartment. He had watched us, followed us, and was close enough to Pixie to take her bag. He was right outside my bedroom door. I let my head fall back against the headrest and allowed the night air to wash over me. Gone went the previous images of a dorky peeping Tom on campus. My eyes sought Pixie’s in the mirror.

Her pale white face looked even whiter in the dim interior glow. “You said I’m going home?”

“Back to L.A.”

“You’re from L.A.?” My head popped up and then fell back, sick, against the headrest. I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t have told me something like that. She knew how badly I wanted to go somewhere exactly like L.A. I could’ve asked her a thousand questions these past months.

Her lids grew heavy. “Yeah. It was great.” She groaned.

I forgot.

She hated her previous life.

“Here. This will help.” Nicholas tossed her an envelope from the driver’s-side door.

“Ahhh!” Her squeal pierced my head.

I covered my ears against the assault. Jeez. Were hound dogs howling in the distance?

“Are you kidding?” She bounced all over the backseat and then attempted to hug him around his neck, while he drove, at night. I grabbed the wheel. He peeled her arms away.

“I’m in. When? How?”

“I applied for you this summer. I sent recommendations from your teachers at Francine Frances and samples of your work from the portfolio you keep on campus. They loved your work and offered early acceptance. It’s an open invitation. You can begin immediately. Campus housing is set aside. The academy will send your transcripts and diploma in a few weeks. You must know you’ve had enough credits to graduate for a year.”

My mouth hung open. Did I know anything about this girl? About Nicholas? “How long have you been watching us? How long before we met?”

“A while.” The answer came without thought. An automated response. Our eyes met, and he cleared his throat. “You never left the apartment. I started with Pixie.”

“Wait. So, you’re not a student? What are you again?” Finally, she tried to catch up.

“I’m truly sorry for the deception. I mean that, but it was necessary. I’m here to monitor a threat, but it seems Elle’s the only one who’s actually seen him. I’m failing.” He drummed his thumbs against the wheel. My heart clenched. He blamed himself for her upheaval. He should’ve been proud of himself for keeping her safe.

“You’ve seen him?” Her voice hiked a few decibels.

I rolled my head to the side and nodded her way. “He was in our apartment when I got out of the shower.”

She swallowed.

“You said I might be safe in L.A.? Does that mean I might also be in danger there, all the way across the country? What kind of threat are we talking about here?”

“The worst kind.” Nicholas stole a glance in the rearview and then looked at me. “And, I didn’t say ‘might.’ I said there’s a solid chance you’ll be safe. That constitutes a big difference in my world.”

“Oh, sure.” Her tone turned to disbelief. “Why exactly would I be in danger all the way across the country? Why am I in danger here? How do the two correlate?” Her questions gained momentum.

“I’m sorry. That’s classified.”

I twisted in my seat to say something but couldn’t find any words. She sat back and pulled her giant bag onto her lap and wrapped her arms around it like a teddy bear. “Did I do something?”

I felt another “that’s classified” coming on, so I spoke up. “This person, he’s barely that. He’s a monster. He’s crazy and evil and he tortures women. I read about him in the papers when I was doing our Sociology paper.”

I glared at Nicholas.

He’d failed to point out it was the same man who hunted on our campus. That little tidbit would’ve been nice to know. “According to the paper, the killer was in his early thirties when I lived in D.C. Reports speculated he’s an educated white male, of average build, average looking. The articles said he was probably wealthy, or grew up around money, which allowed him to not seem out of place when he approached his victims. The girls he took always came from upscale areas. He picked young, smart, good girls. He found them at prep schools, country clubs, and sports events where they competed in lacrosse, golf, tennis, and equine events. Of course, everything was based on speculation. The police hadn’t caught him, but one FBI agent in D.C. claimed to be close to identifying him.

“The media nicknamed him the Reaper for the way he treated his victims, and warned women to avoid men who fit the description. The FBI promised to apprehend him. They were close, but they never got him. Instead, the agent in charge and his family were killed in a car accident. The case fell apart without him. It was something made for the big screen, one of those things that don’t really happen. Except they do.” I shook my head. Classified. A serial killer on campus, and they told no one. Yeah. There would’ve been a mass exodus. Possibly a couple hundred lawsuits.

I hadn’t realized how often I’d thought of the Reaper since I read the articles. Details and facts from the stories flooded back to me.

“You’ll be in witness protection until we can determine that the threat is minimal or resolved.” He took a short breath. “This requires a great amount of restraint on your part. Can you understand? Your life might depend upon it.”

I considered the tone in his voice, assured but soft. He seemed to hate to say the words.

When I turned again, Pixie locked eyes with me and nodded. “So, do people do this a lot?”

“You mean, are you alone? No. Absolutely not. Some people do this with no provocation. It might make it easier to think of it that way, as if it was your choice to start fresh.”

I twisted my head and struggled to see her better in the dark. She lifted a finger in my direction. “Processing.”

I understood. Until recently, I’d spent a large portion of my days processing. Lately, I’d dropped it cold turkey. I replaced the bulk of my obsessive thoughts of failure and remorse with ones of Nicholas. Hopeful thoughts. Now this.

The Jeep slowed and he hit the blinker. We waited for a logging truck to pass then made a left onto a small asphalt road. A metal chainlink fence stood on either side of the road leading to a small lot. Lights illuminated the white-lined asphalt and revealed the nature of our location. We were at a small airport I didn’t know existed. The lot was tiny, reminding me of a flight school more than a functioning airport.

“This plane will take you to Hopkins International where you’ll be briefed on anything else you need to know.” He pointed out the window at an aircraft the size of a shoebox. Then he reached across me to open the glove box. He handed her an envelope filled with money and some other documents I couldn’t make out.

With one hand on the wheel, he angled the Jeep into a space near the building and shifted into park. Nicholas stepped out of the car and made an arm circle. A minute later a man approached. He wore a suit and nodded to Nicholas, who looked like any jock at my old high school.

“Take your time,” he said. The two men moved out of earshot.

I opened my door and walked on wobbly knees to the back of the Jeep. Nothing made sense anymore.

“I can’t believe this,” Pixie whispered, closing her door and joining me behind the Jeep.

“I know what you mean. I would’ve liked to stay with you this year. You’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve had in years, probably the best friend I’ll ever have.” I laughed nervously as a tear spilled over one lid. She threw her tiny arms around me and pulled me close.

“You’re the best friend anyone ever had. I’ll write you the minute they say I can. Promise.” She sniffled in my ear. “You can visit. You’d love L.A. It’s amazing and warm and noisy, all your favorite things.” Pixie wiped her eyes and vibrated in place.

“I promise. I’ll come the minute I’m allowed.” I blinked back tears.

Her whole existence evaporated from under her.

What would I do? In the past half-hour she’d learned a murderer had stalked her, stolen her bag, and let himself into our apartment. Something like that had to require therapy. At the drop of a hat, boom, off to start a new life, possibly without telling her parents. It was more than I could process. Too fast. This man, the Reaper, had followed me looking for her. Good thing I hadn’t spent more time with her outside of school. It might’ve been what kept her safe for so long.

“I’m going to UCLA.” Shock flashed under the awe. “I’m going to college, like now, right now!” She started to bounce again. I let her go. She had no attachment to her family. Art was her life. She hated the Midwest. Now, she’d live her dream. A fresh start. No parents. I guess there was an upside, for her. Plus, she loved the drama, the change. She embraced things that scared everyone else. I hoped she’d find an anchor in L.A.

Nicholas stood a few feet away, waiting. She released me and moved to him. A moment later, Pixie boarded the plane. The guard drew the stairs in behind them. I waved goodbye to a tiny oval window behind the pilot and hoped she saw me. Just like that, she was gone.

Nicholas’s arm wound through mine. He pulled me to him and we watched the plane disappear across the sky. I turned instinctively and buried my face against his broad chest. The gun beneath his jacket bulged.

He patted my hair softly and brushed it away from my eyes. “Elle, I’ll protect you.” The sincerity in his voice stung my eyes.

The confusion in my heart killed me. I believed, now, that he wasn’t the one stalking our school. His signals left a lot to be desired, though.

We walked back to his Jeep. He took everything out of it before heading toward the building. I followed silently. I had no words, so I went through the motions. I’d catch on when things became evident. No more investigating for me.

Inside, he traded in the Jeep keys for others. We walked back into the lot, and he loaded everything into a small SUV while I followed along in a vegetative state. “Are you wondering what happens now?”

I nodded.

“You’ll finish your senior year as planned. You’ll go along with the story about the fire. Tell people you’re staying with a relative off campus.”

“What?” I gasped. “No witness protection for me?” My joke flopped.

He froze, and it reminded me of another question. One that had come to mind earlier, when I had been too nauseated to speak.

“Do all Marshals relocate people? You already had a new life ready for her, just in case?” It didn’t make sense. Did he have a new life ready for every girl at our school? Impossible. I reasoned the danger was specific to Pixie and probably classified.

The look he gave me sent chills over my skin. I couldn’t fathom what it meant, but I knew it was bad. My eyes darted away from his face, from the look. There was a long silence.