Killer's Kiss (7 page)

Karina!

She stood just past the corner beside a tall guy. A tall guy with wavy brown hair. Vincent!

Vincent leaned close, his head almost touching Karina's.

Delia slowed down to study them.

They stopped. Karina wrapped her arms around Vincent.

“No!” Delia cried.

She watched them kiss. A long, slow kiss.

With an angry cry, Delia slammed her foot down on the brake pedal—and missed.

She hit the accelerator.

“Nooooo!”

She spun the wheel hard as the car skidded out of control.

It hit an icy patch—and slid sideways over the snowy street.

Delia's head whirled.

She hit another patch of ice. The car spun again.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting for control. The car picked up speed as it moved downhill.

Delia saw the tree loom in the windshield.

Then she felt the hard jolt.

Heard the crunch of glass and metal.

And everything went black.

Chapter

13

E
verything went black because the air bag inflated in her face.

Delia's head snapped back and hit the headrest.

Then she jerked forward. The seatbelt dug into her waist.

The air bag pressed against her face.

She struggled to pull in a deep breath.

“Delia? Delia, can you hear me?” someone yelled.

Delia struggled to push herself away from the air bag. The car door swung open—and Karina leaned inside.

Karina gripped Delia's shoulder. “Delia,” she asked, “are you okay?”

Delia shook her head. She pushed her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand. “I-I think so.” She strained to see around the airbag. “Is the car—?”

“It's not bad.” Karina told her. “You've got a big dent in the hood. And one headlight is smashed. Nothing serious. As long as you're okay.”

“Where's Vincent?” Delia stared past Karina. She searched the sidewalk.

No sign of Vincent.

“I saw Vincent with you.” Delia's voice cracked. “Where is he?”

“He went to call your parents.” Karina pointed to a nearby house. “Over there.”

Delia dragged herself out of the car. Her legs wobbled. Her fingers ached because she had gripped the steering wheel so tightly.

But she didn't have any broken bones. She didn't feel as if she had a concussion or anything.

“Wow. A close one.” Karina gazed at the tree. “If you were going a little faster, that tree would have ended up in the front seat with you.”

A frightening thought.

Delia turned away from the car and the tree. She found herself staring at Karina.

“I—” Delia and Karina began at the same time.

“I mean—” They did it again.

“You first,” Karina said.

“Okay,” Delia agreed. “I saw …” She couldn't make herself say it. She couldn't make herself say
that she saw Vincent and Karina kiss. The words were too painful. “I saw you and Vincent together. I didn't know …”

“That he's been going out with both of us?” Karina finished the sentence for her. “No, I didn't either. Not until a few days ago—when I saw your lipstick on him.”

“I guess he never
promised
you he didn't go out with other girls,” Delia said.

“No. He didn't lie.” Karina's blue eyes flashed with anger. “But he made it easy for me to believe what I wanted to believe. He should have told me. He should have told you too. He lied to both of us.”

“I guess we don't have anything to fight over anymore,” Karina said softly. “I mean … we both know the truth about Vincent.”

“Nothing to fight over. Except the Conklin Award,” Delia pointed out.

It was true and they both knew it. Silence settled between them.

“Karina—”

“Delia—”

They started to speak at the same time again.

“You first this time,” Delia laughed.

Color washed over Karina's cheeks. “I've been acting crazy. I feel horrible about attacking you in the gym that day. And saying those awful things to you. I totally lost it. I admit it. But I didn't ruin your guitar! I swear. Let's have a truce, okay?”

Delia studied Karina carefully. She appeared sincere enough. But with Karina it was hard to tell. She always looked like Little Miss Innocent.

“Okay,” Delia agreed. That didn't mean she had to trust Karina completely.

“So, are you going to be all right here?” Karina asked. “I have to get home.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Delia said. “I was lucky.”

She watched Karina hurry away, her blond hair blowing in the snowy air.

A few moments later Vincent appeared from the house across the street and headed toward her. Delia's pulse sped up—the way it always did when she saw him.

My truce with Karina doesn't mean I have to give Vincent up. We'll have a fantastic time at Red Heat. I'll throw him the best birthday party in the universe. And pretty soon he won't even remember her.

♦ ♦ ♦

“You know I wanted to go to Red Heat with you. It was my idea—wasn't it? But I can't go tonight. We'll go this weekend, I promise.”

Vincent held the phone away from his ear. He didn't bother listening to Delia's reply. He knew exactly what she would say.

She would ask what could possibly be more important than their night at Red Heat.

She would say it wasn't fair. She had a great new outfit picked out just for him.

She would remind him what a horrible day she had.

But it wouldn't work. Not tonight.

“Delia—” Vincent interrupted. “I can't get out of it. I'm really, really sorry.”

Vincent swallowed hard. Maybe this is a mistake, he thought. Maybe I
should
go dancing with her tonight.

He couldn't shake the picture of Karina and Delia talking together. That afternoon he had watched them through the window when he went to call Delia's parents.

What were they telling each other?

If Delia and Karina became friends again, it would totally mess up his life.

Vincent shifted nervously against the cushions of his family room couch. “I saw you and Karina having an intense conversation out by your car today. Karina didn't tell you … she didn't tell you we were going together or anything, did she? If she did …”

He drew in a long breath and tried to sound casual. “If that's what Karina told you, then we really need to set things straight.”

Vincent shook his head sadly, the way he would if Delia were sitting next to him. “She's obviously messed up. I mean, the way she attacked you in the gym. And the rat in your guitar …”

Vincent decided he needed to explain the kiss—in case Delia
did
see it. “You won't believe what
she did to me today. When I ran into her on Park Drive, she grabbed my face and kissed me. She's pathetic.”

“I knew it couldn't be true!” Delia exclaimed. “She did say you were seeing each other. I actually believed her! I must have been shaky from the accident.”

Vincent shifted the phone to his other ear. “You don't need to worry about me and Karina,” he assured her. He lowered his voice the way he always did when he whispered in Delia's ear. “You believe me, don't you?”

“Then let's go out tonight. You can convince your parents,” Delia said.

“I can't. There's nothing I can do to get out of it. The carpet cleaners will be here first thing in the morning. My mom is going ballistic because all this heavy furniture has to be moved. You understand, don't you, Delia?”

“I guess.”

Vincent could tell she felt disappointed. But at least she wasn't angry anymore. “And you'll let me make it up to you, right?”

He didn't wait for Delia to answer. “See you tomorrow,” he added quickly. And hung up.

Vincent felt a little out of breath. “That wasn't as easy as I thought it would be,” he admitted. “She was really angry.”

“She'll get over it.” The girl next to Vincent snuggled closer to him. “She always does.”

Vincent nodded. He forgot all about Delia and slid his arm around the girl's shoulders. He gave her a big smile. The Vincent-Milano-trademark smile.

The girl giggled. She kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

Vincent laughed. “You're really evil, Sarah.”

Chapter

14

“N
ervous. Nervous. Nervous,” Delia mumbled to herself. She paced up and down outside the art room after school. “Nervous. Have to stop being nervous.”

She hurried halfway down the hall to her locker. She dialed the combination and yanked open the door. She checked her hair in the little mirror hanging inside.

She thought it looked good. With Britty's help, she had braided it. The braid hung halfway down her back. Striking. Bold.

Very
artsy
.

In one ear, she wore a silver earring studded with round red beads and long, thin stones flecked with purple. Perfect for an art competition.

She reached for the spare tube of Midnight Wine she kept in her locker and touched up her lipstick. Most people wouldn't wear the deep purple shade with the bright red jacket and long red skirt Delia had on. But she wasn't most people.

She loved odd color combinations. And it would show the judging committee that she was an original.

I'm glad I decided to do another self-portrait, Delia thought. In the new drawing, she wore the same outfit she did today. She had the same hairstyle, same earring, same everything.

She figured it would help the judges remember her.

Delia slammed her locker shut and rushed back to the art room. “Nervous,” she mumbled again, glancing at the closed door.

A hand clamped down on Delia's shoulder. She yelped and spun around.

Stewart stood there with an embarrassed expression on his face. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” He followed her gaze to the classroom door. “You next?”

Delia nodded. “Karina is in there now,” she told him. “With the judges. Have you seen her stuff?”

“She's good,” he said. “She does oil paintings of flowers and trees. Little teeny paintings. Nice miniatures. Beautiful.”

“Beautiful. It figures.” Delia knew she sounded jealous, but she couldn't help it.

Maybe Stewart didn't notice. He smiled. “I haven't seen your artwork—but the artist looks great,” he said.

“Thanks,” Delia murmured. The way Stewart stared at her made her feel
more
nervous.

She shot a glance at her leather art portfolio. “My work is good too. My drawings aren't fussy like Karina's. And they're not at all like yours. Yours have all that detail. At least the ones I've seen hanging in art class.”

I'm babbling, Delia realized. She forced herself to stop.

Stewart crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a locker. He looks so strange in a sports shirt and tie, Delia thought. I don't think I've ever seen him in a tie.

His tie reminded Delia of a sunset. Soft colors. Muted shades. Poetry in silk.

He looks great, Delia thought. She loved his black, black hair and the cleft in his chin. But he's still no Vincent, she added to herself.

“Let me guess,” Stewart said. “Your pictures are wild. Real outrageous. Like you.”

The door to the art room clicked open and Delia jumped. “If we had time, I'd show you.” She grabbed her portfolio and headed into the classroom with it. “Then you'd know what you're up against,” she called over her shoulder.

Stewart caught her arm before she stepped
through the doorway. “We can go to Pete's Pizza after we're done. You can show them to me there.”

He stared at her.

“I … I can't.” Delia gave him a quick smile. “I've got to talk to Vincent and—”

“Yeah, right.” Stewart released her. His eyes turned cold. “They're waiting for you,” he muttered.