Get Dirty (6 page)

About fifty texts in, something caught Olivia’s eye. Rex had just called Amber a frigid bitch, which was followed by a rapid series of responses.

Finally! So that’s what Ronny knew about Rex. Olivia recalled the emails Margot found between Christopher and Ronny. Hadn’t Christopher mentioned that he’d had a sexual encounter with someone at St. Alban’s? Could that possibly have been Rex?

Olivia moved to the next screen, where Rex’s response showed just how terrified he was that Amber might follow through on her threats.

Olivia felt her fingertips tingling as she read the texts. The pieces were finally coming together.

She looked around the wooded area, wishing there was someone nearby with whom she could share her discovery. Usually it was Margot or Kitty or even Bree figuring out the mystery, but now Olivia was rocking her Nancy Drew-ness to the nth degree and feeling pretty badass about it. She needed to find Kitty and tell her—

In the distance, the bell blared.

Dammit! She’d totally lost track of time. See? Bree wouldn’t have done that.

Olivia canceled out of Rex’s messaging app and peeked from
behind the tree. Too late. Rex jogged over to his bundle, tucked his jacket under his arm, and trotted off across the court.

This was her chance. Swift and silent, she dashed to the fence and carefully laid Rex’s phone on the blacktop, as if it had just fallen out when he picked up his jacket. She was back in the safety of the trees not a moment too soon. Rex wasn’t even off the tennis courts before he shoved his hand into the bundle, looking for his phone. He paused, unfurled his jacket, and shook it, then swung around toward the corner he’d just vacated.

He ran back to his phone at a full sprint, as if concerned that some unseen thief might nab it before he got there, and plucked it off the ground. He shoved the phone into his pocket and started back to the locker room when he paused. Rex slowly turned and stared into the wooded area. Olivia crouched even lower, her heart thundering in her chest, and waited what felt like forever before she heard the squeak of his sneakers as he retreated.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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BREE LAY ON HER BED, STARING UP AT THE CEILING. WITH HER
phone confiscated by Olaf and the password for the wireless changed, she was basically cut off from the world.

It had been six hours since her release and she still had no idea how Margot was, no clue as to what had become of Christopher Beeman. Were her friends safe? Or was he still after them? She’d been half-expecting to find another manila envelope on her bed when she got home, taunting her, and was almost disappointed when all she found was her bedspread and pillows. At least it would have been some acknowledgment that she still existed.

Bree sighed and rolled onto her stomach, cradling her head in the crook of her arm. She just needed a touchstone. Someone who could be her eyes and ears on the outside. If John had gotten her texts, maybe he would—

Ding-dong.

Bree vaulted out of bed. Someone was at the door. She glanced at her alarm clock and saw that it was almost three
o’clock. School let out exactly twenty minutes ago.

She sprinted down the stairs, hydroplaning on the Persian runner in the hallway, then stopped short. The colossal bulk of Olaf blocked the wide-open front door.

“What do you want?” Olaf asked.

“I’m here to see Bree.”

“John!” she cried, racing up behind Olaf. Her heart almost burst from her chest at the sound of his voice.

“No visitors,” Olaf said. And before either of them could protest, he slammed the door in John’s face and threw the bolt.

“What the fuck?” Bree yelled. She made a dash for the door, but Olaf’s massive arm was around her waist before she could reach the handle. He tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of potting soil.

“No visitors,” he repeated as he traipsed down the hallway.

Bree tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was no use. Olaf’s arm was like a vise, pinning her to his shoulder. He mounted the stairs two at a time and deposited Bree on her bed with a heavy bounce.

“Olaf following orders,” he said as he left and slammed the door behind him.

“Olaf following orders,” Bree mocked in a deep, hollow voice. “Dick.”

“Olaf hear that,” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Ugh. Bree went limp on the bed. Was she going to be trapped in the house for God only knows how long with Olaf the Gorilla as her prison guard? This was so not going to work.

Tap. Tap tap.

Bree turned toward her bedroom window in time to see several small pebbles bounce off the outside of the glass.
Tap. Tap.

John! Bree threw up the window. Below, on the gravel path next to her house, was John.

“Hey!” he said as soon as she poked out her head. “I got your text. Tried to call but it went straight to voice mail. Are you okay? Are you out for good? And who the hell was that douche at the front door?”

Bree held her finger to her lips—apparently, Olaf’s superpower was excellent hearing—and pointed toward the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. With any luck, Olaf hadn’t thought of that yet.

John gave her a thumbs-up and headed around to the backyard. Now all Bree had to do was get there too.

She tiptoed across her room and cracked the bedroom door a fraction of an inch. Just enough to see that the hallway wasn’t blocked by two hundred pounds of muscle. She listened intently for the sound of his mouth breathing; then, emboldened by the lack of noise, she swung the door open enough to stick her head into the hallway.

A quick sweep from left to right showed her that the coast was clear.

Bree was down the stairs in a heartbeat, through the laundry room to the back entrance. She yanked the door open and saw John’s beaming face.

“I wasn’t sure if I should—” he started, but Bree tackled
him before he could finish, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

John stumbled from the force of impact, carrying her with him into the backyard. Almost instantly, an alarm blared. “Warning!” an electronic voice cried from the security pad next to the door. “Perimeter breach. Rear exit. Warning! Perimeter breach. Rear exit.” Rinse, repeat.

“What the hell is that?” John said, still holding Bree’s weight in his arms.

She slid down his body, until her toes touched the hard concrete. Pulling up the leg of her pajama pants, she saw a red light blinking on her anklet.

“Son of a bitch,” she said, pointing at it. “They’ve hooked up the GPS on my anklet to the home security system.” So much for one hundred meters. Someone wanted to make sure she couldn’t leave the house at all.

“Damn,” John said. She felt his arm slip around her waist and pull her close. “I’m sorry.”

“Warning! Perimeter breach.”

“Oh, shut up!” Bree cried in frustration. As if on cue, the alarm shut off and Olaf appeared in the doorway.

“No visitors,” he said, a broken record. “Olaf—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bree interrupted. “Olaf following orders. I get it.”

John leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Is this guy for real?”

“He comes with the parole.” Bree sighed as she gazed up into
John’s eyes. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again.”

“You’ll see me again.”

“Promise?”

John’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, as he sung a line from one of Bree’s favorite songs. “And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me. I promise you, I promise you I will.”

“Now!” Olaf barked.

Bree turned to go inside, then suddenly realized she had the messenger she’d been hoping for. She thought of her near-death experience on the way home from juvie, of the seat belt buckle that had clearly been tampered with. If Christopher had been behind it, she needed to warn the girls, and John was her best chance. She flew back to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “I need you to deliver a message,” she whispered.

“Huh?” John asked.

“Olaf carry you now.” She felt Olaf’s meaty hands on her shoulders, but held tight to John for one more second.

“Tell Olivia Hayes that he’s not done with us.”

Then Bree released John, and watched him stare at her in confusion while Olaf dragged her into the house.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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ED CHECKED THE ADDRESS ON HIS PHONE FOR THE BAZILLIONTH
time, then looked around the desolate alley. It was like something out of a postapocalyptic sci-fi movie. A single light cast eerie shadows across the trash-strewn, semi-abandoned industrial neighborhood, a mix of boarded up warehouses and gated repo lots that, according to Ed’s cinematic expertise, meant it was a breeding ground for zombies, vampires, or homicidal motorcycle gangs.

Really? This was where the notorious DGM made their secret headquarters? He had a difficult time imagining Olivia picking her way down the broken pavement in heels.

He hurried to the next building, squinting to read the address.
This is it.
A large storehouse marked “Custom Furniture and Imports.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and lifted his hand to knock on the door when he paused.

In the distance, he distinctly heard the sound of footsteps.

It was just a light patter, like shoes crunching across the gravel of broken pavement, but as he stood frozen at the door,
eyes straining against the darkness, everything seemed deathly still.

Great. All this DGM crap was starting to make him paranoid.

He turned quickly back to the door and knocked.

“Who is it?” Kitty asked from the other side.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Jack the Ripper. Who do you think it is?”

There was a pause, then the sound of scraping metal as Kitty threw a bolt and the heavy door inched open. “Could you be any louder?” she asked as Ed slipped inside. The words were sharp but Ed noticed that her both her voice and her body were relaxed. “You probably woke up the whole neighborhood.”

Ed snorted. “Who, the rats? Or the homeless guy shantied up in the alley?”

Kitty heaved the door closed and threw the bolt. “You’re hilarious.”

“I try.”

Ed followed Kitty as she snaked around dining room tables and bureaus, armoires and princess beds, all in various stages of construction. In the back of the warehouse, an unfinished table was positioned under a bank of fluorescent lights in a small clearing amid the furniture. Several mismatched antique chairs had been arranged in a semicircle, one of which contained Olivia, who was examining her face in a compact.

Olivia looked up, smiling brightly. “At least I wasn’t the last one here.”

“For once,” Kitty said under her breath.

“I’m not
always
late,” Olivia said, snapping the compact shut.

Kitty half-smiled. “Oh really? Name one time before this that you weren’t the last one here.”

“Um . . .” Olivia jutted out her chin. “Okay, fine. But I blame public transportation.”

“What is this,” Ed asked, “tea time? Can we get this show on the road? I have things to see and people to do.”

Kitty’s eyebrow shot up. “Don’t you mean things to do and people to see?”

Ed settled into a chair. “No. No, I do not.”

“Okay,” Kitty said slowly, missing the joke. She leaned against the table, gripping the edge with her fingers. “Let’s get started. We’ve had two whole days to follow up on our leads, so has anyone learn anything new?”

Olivia raised her hand. “Oooh, me! Me!”

Kitty laughed. “Miss Hayes?”

Olivia stood up, like a teacher’s pet, and clasped her hands in front her of. “Today I learned—”

Click.

“Sh!” Ed held up his hand, his senses immediately on alert. This time, he was positive he’d heard something. A snap, like two pieces of wood lightly knocked together, followed by what he thought once again might be footsteps.

“What is it?” Olivia whispered.

Ed waited, searching for any sign of movement in the darkened recesses of the warehouse, then shook his head. Was he going crazy? “I thought I . . .” His voice trailed off and he sniffed at the air. “Do you smell smoke?”

Before Kitty or Olivia could respond, the back corner of
the warehouse erupted in flames.

It looked like it happened in slow motion: one minute it was completely dark except for the lights above them, the next, the south wall was on fire. The warehouse was like a tinderbox—the unfinished wooden furniture crackled as the blaze jumped from cabinet to armoire to dresser. Tongues of orange and yellow flames raced along the floor as if they were following a track, igniting everything in their path.

Kitty leaped into action. “Grab your stuff!” she yelled. She whipped her duffel bag off the floor and hauled a stunned Olivia to her feet, practically tossing her into Ed’s arms. “Head for the door.”

“What’s happening?” Olivia cried, clutching her purse to her chest.

Ed pulled his backpack over his shoulders. “I think the warehouse is on fire.”

“Move!” Kitty barked.

Ed grabbed Olivia by the hand and dragged her toward the metal door through which he’d entered just minutes before. The interior was already heavy with smoke, and he could feel the heat of the fire in every breath. He glanced over his shoulder at the south end of the warehouse, now completely engulfed in flames. How had the fire moved that quickly? And how did it start? Furniture doesn’t just spontaneously combust.