Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I look right at her nose and think of punching it. Instead I pull a long breath in through my nose. Let it out. And try not to yell when I say, “I am telling you, he talked to me the other day. Just ask Nanette or anyone who was there. I don’t get why you don’t seem to know this!”
Derinda’s face softens. “You love him, so you want him to get better. I love him, too, but palliative care is the best we can do for him now. We must also be prepared for his condition to…deteriorate.”
My heart feels like it stops. “They said that?”
“It’s too soon to tell, but...”
“Did someone say not to expect anything? That he won’t wake up?”
She shakes her head. “But with what happened…”
“With what happened, you’re just giving up? Sending him somewhere that’s a day’s drive away? That place in L.A. is not the best. Not even close! He won’t get well in that hellhole!”
Her eyes go cold, and I can tell I’ve crossed a line. “You have no idea what’s best for him—”
“I think I’m the only one who cares what’s best for him!” I whirl around and dash down the driveway before she has a chance to slam the door.
I DRIVE TO a park and spend the next half-hour crying again, reliving every detail of that night. It doesn’t help. There’s one detail I can’t reason away, I can’t forget, I can’t ignore, and that’s this: He was upset—because of me—when he left. It doesn’t matter that he had upset me, too. I hurt Cross bad enough to make him climb onto his bike half-drunk, and even if it was his choice, even if he made the wrong one, I was the precipitating event. I was the catalyst. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get over it.
9
Hunter
PRISCILLA IS HAVING Libby followed. That means when I follow Libby, I have to be discreet. The last thing I need is Priscilla knowing that I know what she’s doing. It would ruin everything. And I’m beginning to think there’s really something here.
According to my guy, Priscilla has visited Michael Lockwood twice in the last week. The rumor was she’d fired him in a fit of rage—no one knew what over. So why visit? In the meantime, my bank girl found a Swiss account in Michael’s name with more than $2 million. That’s a lot of money for an unemployed video production tech. How does it connect to Sarabelle? I’m not sure, but I have a terrible suspicion.
In the meantime, I’m fucking Priscilla, and when I have a spare moment, watching Libby’s new watchers. Of course, I’m also watching Libby. Like now.
Bright and early on a Sunday morning, I’ve followed her to Napa Valley Involved Rehab, where Cross Carlson enjoyed seven weeks of the best care money can buy before his family moved him to a county dead-end. I watch her walk in with a notebook, see her greeted at the door by a nurse. Half an hour later, I see her fly back out the door and sink into the grass, sobbing into her hands. I have to cross my arms to keep from opening my car door and going to check on her.
Priscilla’s spy doesn’t follow Libby home, but I do. I tell myself it’s out of guilt. If I’d never stopped at Libby’s mother’s home the other day, I wouldn’t have put Libby on Priscilla’s radar. Of course, if I’d never stopped at Libby’s mother’s home, I also wouldn’t have known Priscilla was having me followed. How bizarre is that? She’s fucking me, sure, and maybe she has some twisted thing for me because I rejected her, but having me followed? I smell something fishy, and it has Sarabelle’s name written all over it.
I watch until Libby is in range of Crestwood’s security cameras and the driveway guard. Then I drive a little over half an hour to the vineyard and jerk off to my memories of her. When I’m finished, I call Marchant.
I can’t tell him about Priscilla’s threats, because even March doesn’t know all of my family secrets, but I can tell him I’m fucking her for information. So I do. I come clean, and then I tell him about how edgy she’s seemed lately—I don’t mention the whips.
When I finish, he drops a bomb: “She’s also fucking Josh Smith. You know, LVPD Detective Smith? I’m looking into it.”
“Well fuck.” That little bit of info makes my head reel.
“One more thing,” March says slowly. “A woman from the FBI came out to the ranch today. She interviewed just about everyone. She said she’s looking into ‘several’ disappearances. And as far as I could tell, she had the most questions about you.”
Elizabeth
ARNOLD IS DRIVING me home from a swim at the country club’s heated pool, and Crestwood’s porch has finally come into view. Someone is waiting there. I activate the security system app on my phone to find out who. I select the porch feed and immediately recognize Suri’s favorite lilac Vera Wang day dress and Alice + Olivia flats. She’s waving at me. I glance up, smile, then turn back to my phone. I’m swiping to shut the app down when I notice Suri is waving her left hand. I zoom in…