The Girl Who Wasn't (29 page)

“
Um, an hour?”

“
Let’s drive.”

He turns the key and the engine roars
to life. It is loud unlike any vehicle I’ve been inside and I stare
at the dashboard as it reverberates with the growl of the engine.
“Where did you get this car?” I ask.

“
My security guy’s cousin.
It’s vintage. Don’t mock.” Obadiah reverses and pulls left, down
the slanting loop that will take us out of the garage.

“
Where are we
going?”

“
Nowhere,” Obadiah says with
a shrug. “I just want to keep moving. In case.”

“
In case what?”

“
Remember your
daughter-of-a-statesman stalker from the party last
week?”

“
Yes.”

“
Well, I don’t know what
sort of scam she’s pulling but I checked, and that girl died like a
week ago. So she’s either a really badass apparition or she’s
scamming.”

“
Scamming who?”

“
That’s the million-dollar
question. Fast-forward to yesterday and I’m coming out of a shop in
the west end and I see her.”

“
See who?”

“
Dead girl. Annalyn. Only
she doesn’t look very dead to me. Or very apparition-y. So I
followed her.”

I stare at Obadiah, partly worried,
partly awed. Ida would never have the guts to do something so
dangerous alone. “Where did she go?”

“
Not home, I’ll tell you
that. I followed her as far as I could but she went deep toward the
outskirts and, well, a senator’s son can’t exactly waltz through
that part of town.”

I picture the dilapidated buildings,
the vacant stares of the sidewalk residents, and I know that he
isn’t wrong. Walking down there wouldn’t be safe. “What about Anna?
No one messed with her?”

“
Nope. It was weird. They
barely noticed her. Almost as if they knew her.”

“
You think she’s been there
before?”

“
Honey, I know it. She lives
there.”

“
What? How do you
know?”

There is hesitation in his voice the
size of a brick wall. “Because the redhead told me?”

“
You spoke to
her?”

“
Relax, nothing happened.”
He looks over at me as we idle at a red light and pokes himself in
the ribs. “See? Still here. Still in one piece.”

I sigh. “Tell me what
happened.”

The light turns green. The car rumbles
as he depresses the pedal and barrels forward.

“
First, it must be said that
I could’ve spied successfully if I’d wanted to. I just didn’t want
to.”

“
Obadiah.” My tone is a
warning.

“
She caught me peeking in
the window.”

“
And by ‘caught,’ you
mean…?”

“
Tackled from behind and
after much struggling where I had mostly the upper hand she
detained me.”

“
She could’ve hurt
you—again!”

“
Right, but she didn’t. We
had a most interesting talk, actually.”

He isn’t looking at me when he says it
and I can’t stop my mind from racing. What does he know? What has
she told him about the Imitations? About me? More importantly, why
did she let Obadiah walk away after finding her?

“
I can’t believe you talked
to Melanie and she let you go,” I say distractedly.

“
Why do you call her that?”
he asks.

The question jars me. “Who?”

“
Both. How do you know the
redhead’s name? And why do you refer to Annalyn as
Anna?”

“
I …” I can’t answer that
yet. “What did you two talk about?”

He shoots me a look and I know what
he’s thinking. I’m not fooling him. “She wants to come
in.”

Of all the things he could’ve said,
this is the thing I expect least. “What?”

“
She said she knows you have
Daniel—”

“
How does she know
that?”

“
No idea.” He cuts me a
sharp look. “Maybe the same way you know her name?” I scowl. “So
it’s true? He’s the one behind it all? Including the fresh bruises
around your throat?”

My hand goes automatically to my neck.
My scarf has slipped.

His voice becomes gentle. “What
happened?”

I tell him the story of Daniel
attacking me in as few words as possible. Not because I’m in a rush
but because the more description I use, the more my mind conjures
images that shake me in a way I can’t afford to feel right now. I
am careful to leave out the parts about the other Imitations.
Telling one person in twenty-four hours is my personal truth
limit.

Daniel’s attempt to murder me and his
successful murder of Gus is enough of a story, though, and when I’m
finished, Obadiah is sufficiently horrified. It reminds me so much
of Ida’s fragility.

“
Raven, I’m so sorry,” he
says.

“
I’m all right,” I assure
him. I hate the way his heartbreak shows on his face, like hers. It
makes me want to fix it all—then and now. But I can’t. Or maybe I
can and I haven’t figured out how. So I do the only thing I can:
change the subject. “What else did Melanie say?”

Obadiah takes a deep breath and blows
it out, as if expelling the last ten minutes of conversation. “She
knows Daniel’s been found out, that she’s next on the hit
list.”

“
What’s a hit
list?”

He gives me a sideways glance. “She
knows you’ll come after her next,” he explains. I can’t argue that.
Even if Titus didn’t want her, I do. Or at least the information
she holds. “She wants to come in willingly, on her own
terms.”

This is either the break we need or a
twisted trick. I want to ask Linc if he’s getting this but I don’t
dare give away my earpiece since it would involve giving away who’s
on the other end. That’s not my risk to take. “What are her
terms?”

“
No one can know her
connection to Annalyn, or any
others
, as she put it.” He uses one
hand to air-quote the word. “I have no idea what that means but she
said you would.”

I nod that I do. His mouth tightens and
for a moment, he looks ready to demand an explanation. He doesn’t.
I have a feeling we’ll circle back. “What does she get out of it?”
I ask.

He shrugs, both hands back on the
wheel. “And therein lies the mystery. She wouldn’t say.”

“
Ask him where,” says Linc’s
voice in my ear. I jump at the unexpected disruption.

Obadiah looks at me like I’ve lost it.
“You okay?”

“
What’s the address of the
place where you found her?” I ask.

He rattles it off. “Got it,” Linc
says.

“
But you can’t go there
alone. Promise me you won’t do anything crazy like that,” Obadiah
adds.

“
I promise.”
Nothing like that. Just your ordinary brand of
crazy from here on out.

Obadiah makes a left turn. From here, I
can see the parking structure and beyond that the shopping mall.
We’re back.

“
Are you coming to the show
tonight?” I ask.

“
I don’t know. Are
you
going to the show?” he
asks incredulously.

“
It’s my cover for meeting
with you. I have dinner with some charity first.”

“
Oh, right. Hungry kittens
or something. My dad will be thrilled to know.”

“
Obadiah, you’ll be careful,
right? Melanie’s dangerous, she’s—”

“
Don’t you worry about me.
My spying days are behind me.” He gives a rueful smile. “Sort of a
one-and-done experience, if you know what I mean.” He pulls into a
parking space and cuts the engine.

I turn to Obadiah. “Thank
you.”

He scowls. “Don’t do that.”

“
Do what?”

“
Act all nice and
appreciative. I know there’s something you’re not telling me so I
want to make it clear: I did this for you so you owe me. And I will
collect.”

Nothing about Obadiah is
remotely sinister or scary. However, the promise of telling the
truth
is.
I can’t
refuse now, not after everything he’s done. “Deal.”

He breaks into a smile, as if he knows
he’s just won something huge. “Deal,” he echoes.

Chapter Sixteen

Dinner is decadent and loud. I am one
of twenty guests of honor the charity has invited and it is clear
from the moment we arrive that I am there solely for the publicity
it brings. Paparazzi line the entry, their cameras clicking and
flashing like a bad percussion beat. I keep hold of Linc’s arm as
he leads me through the throng.

His suit, which Maria altered as best
she could, is a little long in the sleeves but tight across his
shoulders. I suppose it should look awkward but I like the way his
chest is pronounced in the layered charcoal and white. I focus my
thoughts there instead of on the catcalls and demands of the
photographers.

Per Linc’s instructions, I don’t answer
a single one of their questions, nor do I make eye contact. I smile
and look at each one without really seeing them. My high-necked
coat swishes at my ankles as I step around each outstretched
hand.

“
Why do they love Raven so
much?” I whisper to Linc.

“
Three reasons. She’s wild,
crazy, and beautiful. She has enough money to get away with the
first two. The third makes them hate her a little bit.”

“
But why pay so much
attention?”

“
Because, angel. They want
to see her fall.”

When we reach the glass doors, three
security guards with the restaurant’s logo on their shirts part to
allow us passage and then quickly close ranks to keep out the
rest.

Inside, the staff is bustling and the
girl at the desk casts nervous glances at the crowd gathered
outside the doors. “Right this way,” she says without even asking
our names.

We pass the main dining room and I can
feel curious stares, but the hostess continues her trek and I am
grateful when she stops at the door of a private room that holds a
single table. Several others are already seated. They smile a hello
at me, glance curiously at Linc, and return to their
conversation.

Linc chooses seats as far as possible
from the others. Considering the length of the table, until more
guests arrive, we are in relative privacy. The massive banquet
table has been laid out with fine china and more silverware than I
will ever need in one sitting.

“
Wow,” Linc says, surveying
the room. “This is being put on by a charity?”

“
Yes. Senator Whitcomb
sponsored it.”

“
What kind of charity can
afford this sort of setup?”

“
It’s for an animal shelter,
I think.”

Linc shoots me a look and I know we’re
thinking the same thing. It’s a safe bet the charity in question
will never see a dime of whatever money is raised
tonight.

Guests begin to arrive and I am
introduced to more names than I can remember. Linc is reserved,
speaking only when spoken to. Which isn’t often. This crowd would
much rather hear themselves talk than listen to someone else.
Senator Whitcomb is the only one who tries to draw Linc into the
conversation.

“
You work with Mr. Rogen, is
that right?” he asks halfway into the third course. Several of the
guests halt their conversations to listen.

“
Yes, sir, that’s right,”
Linc says.

“
And what’s it like working
for such a visionary?”

“
Well, sir,” Linc says
slowly, “I can honestly say it’s like nothing I’ve ever
imagined.”

Senator Whitcomb smiles but there is a
gleam in his eye that doesn’t match his expression. “I’ve no doubt
about that, son.”

Abrupt laughter by another guest
diverts his attention and conversations resume without us. I reach
underneath the table and squeeze Linc’s hand. He squeezes
back.

By the time dinner ends, my head hurts
and whatever piece of Authentic Raven I’d mustered is gone. I can
feel myself scowling as we make our way back to the car.

“
You okay?” Linc
asks.

“
So much hot air,” I
mutter.

He doesn’t reply except to help me into
the waiting car. When we’re seated and moving, he opens a side
panel along the wall and pulls out a long-necked bottle. He pours a
glass of the clear, fizzing liquid and hands it to me.

“
What is this?”

“
Champagne.”

I open my mouth to protest, thinking of
my experience in the coatroom with Taylor and all it led to, but he
presses the glass into my hand. “It’s just one glass. And we still
have the fashion show to get through. It’ll help,” he
says.

I take a sip to appease him. The
bubbles feel funny in my stomach. “When can we take a look at that
address Obadiah gave?” I ask.