Lost In Lies (15 page)

              “I’m sure it won’t be that hard,” I wink, touch his chest, and stroll past him to the door.

              Justin chuckles, opens the door sweetly, and leans down to kiss my cheek as he whispers, “Hostess is going to get the ball rolling. Showtime.”

              Giggling, I toss a hand at him as we walk in, “Stop it. You’re too sweet.”

              “I know,” the cockiness is meant to be unappealing to keep me not too interested.

              The hostess presses her lips together, “My name is Kristine. How may I help you?”

              “Dinner for two. Under Willard.” The name causes my stomach to churn. Her hands type something onto a small computer as he coos at her, “Beautiful name, by the way.”

              She blushes and touches her cheek before waving a finger over to another girl. “Please show them to their table. 123.”

              “This way,” a tiny blond girl signals.

              Justin tips his hat at her, strolls past, and follows the waitress behind me. We’re led around the restaurant to a very special table lit by candlelight toward the back of the restaurant, where we have a beautiful view. The two of us sit down and are presented with menus before being informed our server with be with us momentarily.

              I look around and admire the very high-priced Italian décor around the place. Without so much as looking up from his menu, Justin mutters through gritted teeth, “See the waiter standing closest to the bar?”

              I give my face a gentle touch and sigh, “Mm hm.”

              “Goes to school with Nick. Also plays on the same fencing team as him,” he turns the page slowly.

              “You know he fences?”

              “Yes. I take it you know that too.”

              “I do. Is he any good?”

              “Remarkable.”

              “Better than you?” the question brings his face up, which is adorned with his famous grin.

              “Not by a long shot.”

              I giggle at his smile just as the waiter comes to greet us, “Good evening.”

              We greet him in response. Justin orders beverages for both of us, and he watches the waiter until he’s out of clear sight, “Our waiter is in Nick’s art history class. Attends every party Nick throws thanks to his best friend, Chris.”

              “Dubs?”

              “Real name is Chris Myers,” he places the menu down.

              “I like the name Dubs better.”

              “They’ve grown up together. Their parents were friends, their grandparents were friends, their great-grandparents were friends. Their friendship is one that was plotted out ages before they were winks in their daddies’ eyes. Chris’s family doesn’t have as much money. Parents are high-priced attorneys who just so happen to represent the Mathews.”

              “So, you’re telling me that I should stay in Dubs’s good graces?”             

              “No,” the correction is followed by the delivery of our water. Justin orders seafood pasta for the two of us, making sure to touch my hand softly, giving it a gentle rub and me a sweet wink. Once Max, the waiter, has disappeared, he finishes, “You make sure you know the kind of guy Chris really is and make sure he stays in your good graces.”

              “Meaning?”             

              “Chris has a terrible drinking problem…”

              “Seems common in best friends nowadays…”

              “And often, Nick has to be the one to swoop in and save him. It’s like a pressure point in Nick’s side. Instinctively, he swoops to his friend’s rescue every time.”

              “Sounds familiar.”

              “His other point of weakness is his ability to flake out.”

              “Like today at the game.”

              “Right. I had a feeling that he was that kind of guy, so I put it to the test. Dubs claims he will always be there when Nick needs him then flees when a female is involved. This is like Superman’s kryptonite for their friendship. It kills Nick to be in that position, but he just can’t seem to stop himself from forgiving Chris’s bad decisions. At least not yet.”

              I nod, picking up my water glass, and sigh, “Why can’t you call him Dubs?”

              “Dubs is not a name. It’s not even a word but a mere vernacular for those who choose not to be cultured, which is sad in a society where culture is needed now more than ever.” The words bring out a soft smile from me.

              The two of us shift topics to something less heated because we’re being watched. He attempts to keep his cover intact by wooing me through listing the expensive cars he has, the fact his credit card has no limit, and whatever other gibberish he can come up with to make himself look better than Nick. He does a great job of boring me since the guy I fell in love with loves jazz music, classic art, and famous literature and spends little brain power on which MTV show should definitely get another season.

              About halfway through our salads, Justin pushes his food around and mumbles, “I want you to excuse yourself to the ladies room. I’m going to pretend to make a phone call to another female. Send the alert out you might not be the only one I’m interested in. Get the grapevine communicating. I’ll call you when to come back. Don’t answer.”

              I put a smile on my face and dry my lips before stating loudly, “Excuse me. I have to use the ladies room.”

              He nods me politely away, and I head to the ladies, which is across the building in the back. I saunter past the hostess who first greeted us and who still seems to be monitoring my behavior. Feeling uncomfortable knowing that I’m being watched and judged like some sort of prize goldfish in a bowl, I rush into the restroom and into a stall, hoping for a moment of peace.

              After a few deep breaths, I manage to gain my composure and step out of the stall—immediately surprised by what I see. My entire body stiffens as my eyes glance around the bathroom, expecting to see reinforcements.

              “Came by yourself?” I squeak.

              “What? You think I’m incapable of handling a situation alone? Like you?” Lola’s voice growls as she bounces her crossed ankle up and down.

              Rolling my eyes, I shake my head, “What do you want? Other than to ruin my date with the one man who will never love you the way you do him?”

              “I could say the same about you, hon,” her attitude matches her trashy cocktail dress, and she hops off the counter. “Let’s get to the point. Give me your phone.”

              “There are easier ways to get my boyfriend’s number…”

              Her fist swings, which is when I dodge, feeling her clenched fingers whiz past my face. Without enough time to think of another move, I’m ambushed by a swift but strong punch to my ribs. Feeling the pain, I grit my teeth  just as her knee impacts into my stomach. My body fails in its attempts to stay upright. Collapsing to the floor, I feel another blow to my ribs as I screech out in pain, my yelping echoing off the bathroom walls. Her pointed, red heel presses down on my neck, locking me in place as she leans over to snatch my purse out of my hand.

              “Worthless,” she grumbles, riffling through the small clutch. “I know Lingtenburgs with more fight than you! And you know what? They’re so passive that they’re almost extinct because they don’t wanna harm the plants they need to survive!”

              Unsure of what a Lingtenburg is, but certain that I’m not as pathetic as she’s describing, I make an effort to snap back. But she covers my mouth with the point of her shoe, making sure to place the heel on my throat.

              “One wrong move, one more word, and I’ll end your life here. I don’t care what Alex thinks you’re worth,” her hand drops the bag beside my face, though it bounces and lands off to the side. She yanks my SD card out of my phone, slips it into hers, and hums as all the information transfers over. When she’s done, she glances down at me, “One snap of your neck and all my problems would be solved.” My phone drops down on the floor beside me and shatters. With a twisted smirk, she waves, “Until next time.”

              Lola removes her heel and struts away, attitude as high as the slit on her dress. Gasping for breath, treasuring air in a way I never have before, I gently touch my neck, unsure of the damage she’s done to my body but very certain of the damage she’s done to my phone. Slowly, on my hands and knees, I pick up the pieces as tears touch my cheek. Stabbed yesterday. My neck nearly broken today. One more day like this and I just might end up dead. Pulling myself up to the mirror, I stare at my reflection. Who am I kidding? I can’t be a Lost Boy. One day and I’ve nearly been killed on three different occasions. I can’t really fight, I can’t really hold a weapon, and more importantly, I can’t protect myself. Lola’s right. I’m worthless.

              I run my hands under the automatic sink and let the ice-cold water graze them. Gently, I touch the side of my neck where the imprint from her shoe resides, hoping the cold will counterattack the heat from the mark. Leaning closer, I notice it’s an actual burn. How did she get shoes that can go on fire? Did she have to have them special delivered from hell? Does she have Satan’s Famous Footwear on speed dial?

              Once I’ve regained enough composure, with my shaky hands, I put the phone back together as best as possible and turn it on. Although most of the screen is too shattered to see anything, I manage to send Justin a text informing him to pay for the check and meet me outside because we have a problem. With another deep breath, I put the phone back in my clutch and try to use a little bit of makeup to cover the mark, failing miserably. Anxious, I hustle out of the bathroom, keeping my face down, and head to the front of the restaurant, where Justin is impatiently pacing close to the hostess desk.

              I try to place a faint smile on my face, though it does no good as his eyes zoom in on the mark on my neck. Quickly, he drapes his jacket around me in order to block the view, before using his arm to usher me out of the building. As soon as we’re down the road a block or two, he stops, noticing how shaky I am, and wraps both his arms around me.

              Burying my face in his jacket, I begin to cry before muttering, “She wanted to kill me! She could have! One more push, Justin, and that would’ve been it! I’ve been shot at, stabbed, my neck almost broken…”

              He rocks me back and forth while rubbing my back. “I know. I’m sorry. I promised to always protect you. To be there. I didn’t know…”

              “I know,” I whimper. “She could have…”

              “But she didn’t,” he whispers in my ear and kisses the side of my forehead. “And she won’t. Alex won’t allow it.”

              “But she said she didn’t care what Alex said! She…”

              “She was bluffing,” he assures me. “She doesn’t stay in line with him, and he’ll end her. He needs you the same way Peter needs you. Nothing’s going to happen to you, baby.”

              The two of us hang in silence for a moment before I pull away and look into his eyes, “I want to go back to the hotel. Now.”

              “All right. I’ll walk you to the lobby then fly up,” he turns my body and escorts me to the hotel. “What’d she want?”             

              “My phone.”

              Justin lets out a deep exhale, communicating something that’s very clear to me. I’m about to be in more trouble with Peter than I already was.

Chapter 6

              The racket of the shower shutting off disturbs what was otherwise a peaceful moment of rest. After the uncomfortable outing, I went straight to bed in an attempt to sleep away the fear of death, but somehow, I couldn’t get to sleep until about an hour ago. You know, it’s not like that was the first time I ever faced danger, but it was definitely the first time I felt death was a real possibility. Even being stabbed didn’t compare to Lola extending the hand of death for me to take. Rubbing my neck where her heel made a print, I try to force my eyes closed. The bathroom door creaks open.

              The sound of dripping attempting, but failing miserably—to be quiet crosses my path as Justin heads toward the dresser. Without hesitation, I sigh, “Enjoy your shower?”

              His lips form into a smile, I imagine, as he clears his throat, “I was trying to let you sleep as long as possible. I know you didn’t get much last night.”

              “Yeah, well. It happens, right?” Waiting for him to confirm it, I ask again, “Right?”

              Not receiving a response, I open my eyes to see Justin floating just above me, towel wrapped around his waist, his freshly washed body glistening in the peak of morning sunlight, looking like one of those marble, carved statues of Greek men. My jaw slips open, enticed by the sight and frozen out of speech.

              “Right,” he whispers the word softly. “Still thinking about last night?”

              “A little.”

              “Che Guavara said, ‘We cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it.’” The words ring in my ears, raising a question I’m not even sure I know the answer to. Justin lowers his body so it is only breaths away from mine and whispers, “I’d die any moment, at any time, on any day…for you. To save you. To protect you. Never forget that.”

              Without warning, my lips tip up to touch his, and his body collapses on top of mine, a moment of relief rushing through my veins. His newly dried skin feels soft and refreshing as it presses against mine. My hands helplessly wander down his back to the top part of his towel, which is getting looser by the moment. The feeling of his warm tongue is enough of a wake-up call for any girl. Justin’s hand inches the side of my shirt up when the door to our room opens, “Ah, really?”

              The two of us glance over at Eiden, who is shielding his face with his hand, “Do you have to do that right now? Can’t you get a room or something?”

              “We were kind of in it,” Justin’s aggravation makes me giggle as I roll him off of me.

              “Oh, right,” his slip up causes him to grit his teeth before an awkward silence descends.

              After waiting for Eiden to speak again, Justin anxiously huffs, “Did you need something?”

              “Oh, right!” Eiden shakes his head as his eyes wander over my barely covered upper half, which Justin quickly tosses the blanket over. “Meeting. Downstairs. Four minutes.”             

              “Got it,” Justin dismisses him, and he quickly exits the room. Hitting his head on the back of the pillow, Justin turns to me and smiles, “Better get dressed this time.”

              “Right,” I wink before following him out of bed.

              Once the two of us are dressed, me in a light-gray top and dark, loose-fitting jeans with my hair pinned to the side in a low pony and Justin cloaked in his khaki shorts, white polo, black tie, and of course the trademark fedora, we head downstairs. Peter is relaxed in his chair, cup in hand, Belle in his lap. Aiden’s on the couch and Eiden’s in the other chair, precisely where they were the day before. It’s strange that, for people who don’t stay in any spot for too long, they definitely have their spots behind the scenes. Maybe since there’s no regularity outside of this, this is the only stability they can depend on. Hell, maybe even they need a little stability.

              Taking our spots, Peter wastes no time jumping down my throat, “Ah, the failure.”

              “Shut up,” Justin immediately rushes to my defense, giving his tie a pat. “It wasn’t her fault.”             

              “What’s the big deal?” I toss my hands in my air. “She let me keep my phone. We still have all the data if you didn’t finish uploading it.”

              Aiden begins, “I did, but…”

              “You really don’t get it?”

              I roll my eyes at Peter’s patronizing tone. “No.”

              “They had no idea what we were after before she got a hold of your phone. Now, not only do they have the exact same layout information we do, because of the pictures you just had to have, they know exactly what piece we need next.”

              Feeling a little bit of panic set in, I lean back on the couch. Justin slides a hand on my thigh to console me, “It wasn’t your fault. But, Peter’s right.”

              “Of course I am.”

              “The Dark Watchers now know what it is we’re after. We’re going to have to steal this thing faster and better than them.”

              “About that,” Aiden holds up a finger. “I haven’t quite figured out all the tricks, bells, and whistles on what’s protecting the bottle.”

              “Why not?” Peter snaps, raising his cup, as Belle starts to grow a small grin.

              “I, um, well I…”

              “Spit it out, tech twin.”

              “I met up with a girl last night.” His confession grabs everyone’s attention.

              “Really?” Eiden seems surprised.

              “Yeah. Nothing major. Met her in the gift shop, asked me for ice cream.”

              “She’s really cute,” Belle tosses out as I smile, unsure I’ve ever seen Aiden even remotely interested in dating.

              “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Peter flips out. “We’ve got less than a week to get that perfume and get the hell off this rock planet, and you’re taking time out to date? Has everyone forgotten what this is all about?”

              “It’s not the hockey-pokey.” My comment gets a snicker out of all of them, except the angry, alcohol loving leader.

              The anger in his voice causes us to erase our chipper smiles. “It’s not a game! We’re not here on vacation. We need that piece, and we need it now!”

              Sensing the seriousness in the situation, Justin leans forward, “Well, I don’t know if I can steal it or need to make a forgery until Aiden’s got the information. While he gathers that information, Eiden, go by and pick up reinforcements; Peyton, occupy the kid; and Belle, you can deal with Dubs.”

              “My pleasure,” she bites her bottom lip and winks at Justin.

              “Your pleasure?” Peter sounds upset.

              “Yeah, it’ll be nice to be around someone with a slightly happier disposition,” she hops out of Peter’s lap, pulls down her pink crop top that’s exposing her sparkling midriff, and adjusts her black miniskirt to be a bit shorter for show. Heading to the door, she calls back, “Enjoy your morning, gents.”

              Hiding my smile that she upset Peter, I redirect my attention back at him as he rises to his feet, “I want this done in the next three days.”

              Eiden and Justin head to the front door, while Peter goes to hibernate in his room. Noticing me staying behind, Justin speaks up, “You coming?”

              “Shortly. I’ll see you around?” The question makes him chuckle.

              “Not if I see you first.”

              “You always see me first.”

              “Precisely,” he shoots me a wink before catching up with Eiden.

              Once the door is successfully shut, I turn to look at Aiden, who almost looks terrified of me, “Can I ask you a favor?”             

              As he opens his laptop, he shrugs, “Sure.”             

              “I was thinking last night and got this gut feeling like my father knows this is where we have to hit next. Will you do me a favor and check his phone records and movements just to see if there’s been any suspicious activity?”

              “How would I know if it’s suspicious?”             

              “You tracked the man for months. I think you know.” He nods. Strolling to the exit, I glance back over my shoulder and smile, “And by the way, good for you, Aiden. Hope you had fun last night.”

              “Thanks,” he bashfully says, diverting his attention back to work.

I walk across the lobby, greeting the desk clerk, slip out the front door, and head to Nick’s apartment, making sure this time to keep an eye out for shady characters that are most likely Dark Watchers on my trail.

              Arriving, I head over to the elevator, ride all the way to the top, greet the armed guard, who seems to remember my face, and knock on the only door on the top floor.

              After a moment of waiting, an unexpected familiar face appears around the door with a less-than-pleased look. “Hello, Peyton. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

              “Hello, Arnett,” I greet him in return. “I wasn’t expecting to see you either. Tutoring again?”

              “Just finishing up practice,” he ushers me in reluctantly.

              “Fencing?”

              “Water polo,” he pats his forehead with a white towel draped around his neck. “What are you doing here today?”

              “Lunch date,” Nick cuts through our conversation, headed my direction, his bottom half covered in a towel, another towel busy cleaning the water out of his ears. “Sorry, practice got started late. Do you mind letting me change real fast?”

              “Go ahead,” I shrug sweetly. “I don’t mind waiting.”

              He winks at me as Arnett clears his throat, “How much of human life is lost in waiting?” After a moment, the smile is wiped away, and Arnett turns to me, “Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

              “Guess I should hurry,” Nick’s attempt to lighten the mood makes us both smile.

              I sit on the couch while Arnett leans against the wall, his attention focused on me. There’s tension in the room, and I’m not sure exactly why, but for some reason, he’s staring at me like he knows something I don’t. Clearing my throat, I cross my ankles and twiddle a strand of my hair while listening to the clicking of his shoe. I observe the shape of his frame, how it’s athletic; it appears as if he used to play sports once upon a time, most likely water polo. His square face, his almond-shaped eyes, and the striking way his face is assembled makes me feel as if I’ve seen him before. 

              Arnett touches his right pocket, which is where I see the striking pin from the picture. It’s a diamond shape with the letter P looped with the letter S. “Peyton, didn’t know you were still in town.”

              I merely nod and drag my attention up to his eyes.

              “Going to be staying long?”

              “For just a few days.”

              “So nothing permanent?” The words are said with aversion. Not waiting for my response, he continues, “You just plan on moving from city to city, luring guys across the country into falling for you before taking something from them and breaking their hearts.”

              Knowing better than to show any signs of panic but realizing that I’m staring at someone who is most likely a bit more of a speed bump than I thought, I press my lips together, “I don’t get to make plans.”

              “I didn’t catch your last name. What was it again?”

              “Dar…” I cut myself mid name and then finish with, “vin. Darvin.”

              His eyebrows raise, and he nods slowly, “And your parents do what again?”

              “They have a don’t ask, don’t tell kind of job,” I insist. “Government. So no, I don’t plan to do what you said, but sometimes, with their line of work, things happen.”

              “Interesting,” his voice mumbles. “Nick tells me you’re an art history fan.”

              Thankful for the change in subject, I sigh. “I am. I’m basically an expert.”

              “An expert Peyton is one who knows more and more about less and less,” Arnett's stab at me causes me to chew on my bottom lip. Wow. Does he just hate for Nick that bad. “At least that's what Nicholas Butler said.”

              “Interesting quote.”

              “Ever heard of the painting Sous Clef?”

              The name strikes my heart and tenses my body, a natural reaction I can’t stop. Carefully, I nod, “One of my favorites.”

              “It was reported stolen a couple days ago.” The last words slide off his tongue slowly as if baiting me, stabbing at something I care about, looking for a slip. “Can you believe that it was stolen?”

              “You sure they didn’t just misplace it?”

Arnett lowers his gray, bushy eyebrows.

“I’m sure. They even replaced it with a forgery.”

              “Wasn’t a good one, was it?”

              “Exquisite actually,” he corrects me. I feel like he knows something, just not how to prove it. He tempts me again, “It’s like someone who has been painting since birth, child of a painter maybe. Hey, do you paint?”