Get Dirty (7 page)

Just as they reached the door, the sprinkler system kicked in, dousing the interior with water. But it was like trying to use a garden hose against a forest fire—the water sizzled to steam as the inferno blazed forth.

The metal door was already hot to the touch. Ed pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and leaned all of his weight against the sliding metal bar that locked the door from the inside. Beside him, Olivia was doubled over, coughing uncontrollably as more and more oxygen was consumed by the flames. He felt his chest seize up, his nose and throat seared from the heat of the air that was becoming more impossible to breathe with each passing second. Ed strained against the metal bar as he gasped for air, but his knees buckled and his body sank to the floor.

Suddenly, a rush of cool air swept over him; Ed opened his mouth and let it fill his lungs. He felt a strong arm around his waist, dragging him to his feet. He stumbled forward, his sneakers crunching against the gravelly surface of the alley. He could still feel the heat of the fire against his skin, but it was growing less intense by the second. Ten steps, twenty. The arm let him go and he collapsedon the ground.

“Thank you, officer,” Ed panted. Thank God the fire department got there so fast.

Kitty coughed, and slapped him on the back. “That was me saving your ass, idiot.”

Ed pushed himself to his feet. “Oh.”

In the distance, they heard the scream of a siren.

“We could have died in there,” Olivia whimpered. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, creating shiny trails through the soot and ash that stained her face.

“We could have been killed,” Kitty said. Her voice was tight.

“That’s what I said.” Olivia wiped her nose.

“No,” Kitty said softly. “It’s very, very different.”

Ed whipped his head around at the ominous tone in Kitty’s voice. She was staring at the facade of the warehouse, glowing bright orange from the force of the flames inside. Ed followed her gaze and his body went rigid.

Letters glowed on the exterior of the wall, growing brighter as the heat from within intensified. Ed could just make out the words as the flames began to eat away the wall.

I’m back.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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BREE SLOUCHED ON THE SOFA IN THE MEDIA ROOM, ABSENTLY
clicking through stations. Why was morning television so terrible? Her choices seemed to be news, sports news, talk shows, soap operas, or guessing whose Showcase Showdown estimate came closest without going over. She switched the television off and flopped onto her stomach. House arrest was even more boring than juvie.

The doorbell rang, its harsh electronic peal so jarring that Bree practically fell off the sofa. She pushed herself up on her elbows and glanced at the grandfather clock. Nine o’clock in the morning? Who could possibly be coming to see her mom at that hour?

Bree waited several seconds to see if Olaf the Gorilla would open the door, but apparently it was too early for him as well. The doorbell rang again, and Bree reluctantly rolled off the sofa and shuffled down the hall.

She opened the door, but instead of the Avon lady or a Jesus pamphlet, she was greeted by Sergeant Callahan.

“Good morning,” he said with a nod.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you too, Bree.”

“No visitors!” Olaf’s booming voice filled the foyer. Bree turned and saw the blond god leaning over the bannister, wrapped in one of her mom’s silk kimonos. “Olaf has orders.”

“Good morning,” Sergeant Callahan said, shouldering his way past Bree into the house. “Is Mrs. Deringer available?”

“Mrs. Deringer not up yet,” Olaf said. He gripped the belt of his undersized kimono, as if trying to make sure it didn’t fall off. Yeah, that was the last thing Bree needed to see.

“Can you let her know that Sergeant Callahan is here to interview Bree?”

“Again?” Bree said.

Sergeant Callahan ignored her. “And that I’ll need her to be present.”

Olaf grunted, which Bree assumed was some kind of affirmation, and lumbered down the hall.

Bree stood with her hand on the open door, a clear signal that she planned to be as uncooperative as possible.

“You can close the door, Bree,” he said with a tight smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bree shrugged and pushed the front door with the tip of her index finger. It swung silently, then clicked into place.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” he asked, amazingly calm.

Again, without a word, Bree sauntered down the hall, unhurried and uninterested, and turned into her dad’s study. She dropped into an oversize leather chair and swung both legs over
the tufted arm, easing back into a reclining position while she twirled a strand of her hair.

“You realize this isn’t helping you, right? Your continued silence?”

Actually, it’s the only thing that’s helping me.

“I’m hoping your mother will be able to talk some sense into you.”

You don’t know my mother.

“Before this entire situation gets out of hand. There are a great many people pressuring the DA’s office to charge you as an adult.”

Bree continued to twirl her hair.

“And I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

Exasperation. She could hear it in his voice. Could she possibly push him over the edge? It was worth a try. She turned and looked directly at Sergeant Callahan. “If you had any real evidence,” she said, flashing him a big, shit-eating grin, “you’d have charged me by now.”

Sergeant Callahan shot to his feet. “Goddammit!”

Bree turned back to the wall. She’d finally gotten a rise out of him, but it was a hollow victory. She was in a dangerous position, and she knew it. If they didn’t find the real killer, even without any evidence against her, the DA’s office might push through to a trial.

He paced the room. “Is everything a joke to you? This is serious, Bree. Two people are dead. There’s a girl in a coma that may or may not be related. Arson in the warehouse district that may or may not be related . . .”

Bree sat straight up. The girl in a coma was Margot, she was sure, the first real news she’d had of her friend. But it was the second statement that made her stomach drop. “The warehouse district?” It couldn’t be Kitty’s uncle’s place, could it?

Sergeant Callahan eyed her sharply. “Yeah,” he said, his voice back to its polished smoothness.

“Was . . .” Bree swallowed. “Was anyone there at the time?”

“No,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “It was empty.”

Bree’s mind raced as Sergeant Callahan continued to watch her. It could just be a coincidence, right? There were a lot of warehouses in that area, most of which were abandoned. Probably just some squatters trying to keep warm.

Or maybe it was Christopher.

Were Kitty and Olivia okay? Sergeant Callahan said there was no one in the warehouse, but that only meant no one he found. Maybe Kitty and Olivia had been there for a meeting and managed to get out before the fire department arrived. Dammit, she needed more information. Was this meant as a warning or had Christopher tried to kill her friends?

Bree eyed the policeman. Maybe she should tell him the truth? He was right: two people were dead and Margot was, apparently, in a coma. If the warehouse fire and the sabotaged seat belt were related, maybe it was better to tell the police before someone else got hurt.

“You know,” Sergeant Callahan said, leaning closer to her as if he was about to share with her the third secret of Fátima, “if you tell me what you know, it’ll go better for you. We can cut you a deal, make sure you get off with just a slap on the wrist.
You weren’t
really
to blame, were you, Bree? Someone else had to be involved. . . .”

Bree stiffened. She was an idiot for thinking he was on their side. Sergeant Callahan wasn’t going to listen to her about Christopher. He was just looking for the quick fix, for Bree to snitch on her friends to save herself.

Over my dead body.

She shrugged and turned away. “I hope you find the guy.”

“Darling!” Bree’s mom swept into the room before Sergeant Callahan could respond. She was wearing the same kimono Olaf had just sported. Bree cringed, wondering what, if anything, Olaf had on now. Her mom took Sergeant Callahan’s hands in hers and kissed him on both cheeks. “It’s been ages.”

“You look wonderful, Diana.” And he meant it too. His eyes traced every line of her mom’s body.

Barf.

Her mom winked, then swirled into an armchair, patting the ottoman next to her for Sergeant Callahan. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I wish I was here under more favorable circumstances,” he said, lowering himself to the ottoman like a courtier paying homage to the queen. “But it’s about your daughter.”

“Bree?”

Bree smacked her forehead. As if her mom had another daughter.

“Er, yes,” Sergeant Callahan said.

She leaned in to him. “Is she in a great deal of trouble?”

“She might be.”

Bree’s mom gasped, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh no! My poor sweet baby girl!” Her voice shook, her eyes welled up, and Bree had to turn away to keep from laughing out loud.

“Diana, don’t cry,” Sergeant Callahan said, his voice tender. “I’m doing everything I can for her. But your daughter is being stubbornly uncooperative.”

“Yes,” her mom said. “She can be like that.”

“Is there anything you can do to convince her to talk? I can’t help her if she refuses to tell me anything.”

Bree’s mom laid her hand on Sergeant Callahan’s knee, and dropped her voice. “Are you going to charge her with murder if she doesn’t cooperate?”

“Well,” Sergeant Callahan said, clearing his throat. “We, uh, don’t actually have any evidence linking her to the crimes.”

I knew it!

“Wonderful!” Her mom popped out of her chair and clapped her hands. “Then you can remove the anklet and send her back to school.”

Sergeant Callahan rose to his feet. “Er, actually, Diana—”

“I’ll be back in France in time for the weekend.” Her mom dashed into the hallway. “Olaf? Pack the bags. And see if Johan can get us a first-class upgrade on a flight for tomorrow.”

And with that, her mom disappeared upstairs.

Sergeant Callahan sighed. “I guess that’s all for today.”

Bree sprang from the chair and led the police officer to the front door. She couldn’t help but feel bad for him, yet another man swept up in the insanity that was Diana Deringer.

Bree held the door open, then pulled up the leg of her
pajamas. “So when can I get this thing off?” He admitted they had no reason to hold her, and now she was desperate to get out of the house.

“The anklet?”

No, my foot.
“Um, yeah.”

Sergeant Callahan smiled. “Oh, that’s not up to us.”

Bree didn’t like the snide look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“The Menlo Park Police Department isn’t holding you under house arrest. That’s by order of your father.”

Then he pulled the handle, and closed the door in Bree’s face.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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OLIVIA STRODE OUT ONTO THE QUAD, SQUINTING INTO THE
bright sunshine. The weather was warm, but she felt cold and clammy, and the skin on her neck puckered with goose pimples.

The fear was back.

She wanted to hide from it, to lock herself away from the killer that stalked DGM, but deep down, she knew that even if she ran forever, she’d never be safe from him.

Any sense of reprieve, any ideas that the killer had backed off since Bree turned herself in, had vanished in one awful moment. Two simple words glowing on the side of Kitty’s uncle’s warehouse as it burned to the ground.
I’m back
.

All of her panic and fear had been reignited in that instant. The killer wasn’t going to leave them alone, wasn’t content with Bree’s confession. He wanted more. He wanted to destroy them.

They’d fled from the scene of the fire just before the engines arrived. She had no idea what the fire investigators would find, but she hoped rather than believed that there would be some clue to the killer’s identity. He’d meticulously covered his tracks so
far, and there was no reason to think he’d slip up now.

They only had one course of action: find him before he struck again.

Olivia took a deep breath, steeling herself for the epic song and dance she was about to perform, and plastered a fake smile on her face as she approached the lunch table where Amber and Jezebel sat. She desperately needed Amber to trust her, and to let her back into the bosom fold of her intimate secrets, if she was going to figure out what happened to the missing Rolex.

She took a seat across from Jezebel, who was devouring a burrito the size of a log. Beside her, Amber nibbled on a piece of what looked like cardboard. The contrast between the two of them was mesmerizing.

“So where’s Peanut?” Olivia asked.

“Purging, I hope,” Amber said, breaking off a teeny bit of what may or may not have been a rice cracker and placing it daintily in her mouth. “I swear that girl has put on five pounds in the last week.”

“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Olivia asked, horrified. Nothing would send Peanut down the path to full-blown anorexia faster than Amber telling her she looked fat.

“Of course I did,” Amber said with a toss of her hair. “That’s what friends do.”

Jezebel devoured the last morsel of bean and cheese tortilla and nodded. “Friends know when to tell friends they have a problem.”

“We have a certain reputation to maintain,” Amber continued. She held her head high, like a queen at a coronation. “People
look up to us, and we need to act like we deserve it.”

From the table behind them, a group of guys burst out laughing. Olivia turned to find Rex and his ’Maine Men posse mimicking Amber’s regal stance.

“You’re better off without Rex,” Olivia said, as she watched Amber’s mask of indifference falter.