Let Me Know (16 page)

“It’s hard to predict what the judge will decide, but there’s a good chance Paul would never be released.” Which means he’d never be able to hurt me or anyone I love again. I wouldn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if he’s stalking me again once he was released.

We talk for a little longer, though I suspect that’s Mom’s attempt to distract me. It’s not working. Marcus watches me, waits for me to end the call. He covers my free hand with his. I hang up and look out the window, not really seeing anything beyond the blur of houses and dead-looking trees.

He squeezes my hand. “What’s going on?”

Without looking at him, I tell him what my mom said. Tension streams from him with each word, to the point I’m positive I’ll suffocate.

“How can anyone think he’s innocent?” Jordan asks.

“I’m not sure if anyone does. But it’s not his lawyer’s job to protect me from his client. He’s paid to ensure that Paul is either found not guilty or serves the minimum amount of time possible.”

“But that’s not right.”

“I know, but there’s not much I can do about it. The damage has already been done to my reputation.” Both in the courtroom and with the scumbags who think I’m some sort of sexual plaything for their entertainment. Fortunately, they haven’t acted on that belief yet, beyond the guy who grabbed me in the food court and the inappropriate comments some guys think I deserve because of what they’ve heard on the news—and because of the twisted rumors.

“Your mom said the psychopath has a new defense?” Marcus asks.

I nod. “She said he now has some hotshot lawyer.”

“So Paul has a lot of money?”

I think for a moment. “We never talked about money, but I didn’t get the idea that he had much.”

“You said the house burned down,” he says.

“He set it on fire ’cause he planned to kill me in a murder suicide. The place was engulfed in flames when the firefighter found me. I have no idea how much of it survived. I didn’t want to know.” I only know that the fire destroyed most of the evidence.

“He could have gotten insurance money and used it to pay for the lawyer,” Chase suggests.

“It wasn’t his building, so that’s a no.”

Chase pulls into the parking lot near the dorm and easily finds a spot since it’s Sunday. Because Marcus wants to make sure the reporters haven’t scouted out my dorm like they did his building, he and Chase walk with me and Jordan

“What, no bodyguard formation this time?” I say, chuckling. As soon as the words come out I realize I’m doomed. There are as many reporters at the main entrance of my building as there were at the guys’ apartment.

“This is unbelievable,” Chase says. Grooves form between his eyebrows. “They’re like piranhas to fresh meat.”

Except the piranhas aren’t watching us approach. They’re circling another piece of meat and looking enthralled by whatever Brittany is telling them.

“Two freshmen have mentioned they’ve heard Amber screaming at night. Are you denying this?” a male reporter asks.

“Amber has nightmares. If you went through what she did with that psychopath, you’d have nightmares too. And those two freshmen are skanks. Maybe you should be more interested in their sexual escapades than Amber’s.” She says it so matter-of-factly, it catches me off guard. She doesn’t even have a scowl on her face, which is not like Brittany when she’s pissed at someone.

“What about the evidence the police recently seized from her room?” The cops never reported specifically what was found, but someone leaked to the media that the cops searched my room and found items of interest to the investigation.

“We live in a building where people come and go all the time. Anyone could have planted the evidence. If you’re determined to do it, it wouldn’t be too hard to find a way. Maybe you should ask why the cops aren’t doing a better job protecting Amber from someone who is clearly trying to hurt her.”

Why can’t I be strong enough and stand up for my rights like Brittany? Hell, I can’t even stand up in front of a classroom and do a presentation without feeling like I’m going to puke.

A reporter turns her head and spots me. Her body shifts around and she lurches toward me. “Amber, how do you feel about the charges against Paul Carson being reduced?”

“Shit,” Chase mutters under his breath.

“No comment,” I say, voice cracking. I’m the girl trapped in the concrete room all over again, barely surviving. Except this time instead of a defenseless kitten keeping me from dying inside, the man I love threads his fingers with mine and pulls me past the reporters, many who are shivering in their coats. Several of them look as thrilled to be here as I am to see them.

Once we’re in the building, we go upstairs while Brittany fills us in on what happened this morning. Some people who live in the residence demanded that the reporters leave me alone. Some have been enjoying their fifteen seconds of fame, at my expense.

By the time Marcus and I head to the library, the reporters have disbanded. I’m not a celebrity who needs to be hounded every second of every day for the elusive million dollar photo, and for that I’m extremely grateful. They get stalked by crazies, too, and I don’t mean the paparazzi. But how many celebrities are blamed for their overeager fans’ obsessions? How many of them are treated like they’re the criminals?

And how many times does one of them—or someone they love—wind up dead because the fan felt justified in his actions?

I shudder, and it has nothing to do with the freezing temperature. That’s what it comes down to. Paul felt justified to stalk, torture and kill me. His sister feels justified to protect him by doing whatever she can to destroy the case. And in the end, with everything that’s happening, including our argument this morning, Marcus might feel justified to walk out of my life.

At the library, I sit at an empty computer. Marcus takes up residence at the one next to me. I have to locate books for my report, but there’s one thing I must do first. I pull from my bag the letter my father sent me last week—the only letter I’ve ever received from him since he abandoned us—and type
Lily Cummings
,
Chicago
.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Amber

“
Am-ber.
You and I were meant to be.
Forever and ever.
When will you realize your boyfriend didn’t love you?
Not the way I do.
You and he were never meant to be.
”

With what little will I have left
,
I
lift my head and peer through slitted eyes.
I’m alone and in the same concrete room I’ve been in for the past three
,
four
,
or maybe five days.
Next to me is a plate of lasagna.
One of my favorite foods when I was a kid.
Paul knows this.
He knows everything about me.
Because I told him when I thought we were friends.

“
No
,”
I
whisper
, “
Trent loved me.
He wanted to marry me one day.
”
I
have no idea who I’m saying it to.
No one is here with me.
I’m not even sure where Paul’s voice is coming from.
Maybe it’s just in my head.

“
If that were true then why did he leave you?
That doesn’t sound like true love to me.
”

“
He didn’t leave me
,”
I
scream through a raw throat.
“
He was in an accident.
”

Laughter thunders through the enclosed space.
“
It was no accident
,
Amber.
It was fate.
”

“
There’s no such thing as fate.
”

“
Are you so sure?
It was fate that we met.
It was fate that your boyfriend’s brakes failed.
It was fate that I found you stranded alone with a flat tire.
And soon fate will have it that we will be one
,
like husband and wife.
”

I
shudder at the implication behind the last part and get lost in the part about Trent.
The police hadn’t released that information about the accident.
How did Paul know?

“
What did you do to him?
”
I
sob.
“
What the hell did you do to my boyfriend?
”

The room turns into the same one I’ve seen many times in my nightmares.
The room of mirrors.
And like all the other times
,
the mirrors shatter for no reason and shards of glass slice through my skin.
But the pain they cause is nothing compared to the pain of knowing the truth.

“
I
had to kill him
,
Am-ber.
For you.
His death is my gift to you.
”

And like I do every time I have this dream
,
and like I did in reality when Paul told me what he had done...I
scream.

“Amber,” Emma says from a distance. Someone shakes me. “Amber.”

“Things are getting worse.” Brittany’s voice also sounds distant as my nightmare fades away.

I slowly open my eyes and the room comes into focus. Pushing myself up, I shake away the sleep slogging around in my brain, and glance at my alarm clock. 3:15 p.m. I’ve been asleep for maybe thirty or forty minutes. That explains why I feel like a zombie who’s been partying hard for several days. “I wasn’t screaming again, was I?”

Brittany shakes her head. “No. You were restless and muttering in your sleep.”

I don’t want to know what I said, so I don’t ask. I remember what I was dreaming about, and I don’t want to mention it in front of Emma. Or anyone, for that matter.

Emma studies my face, a frown on hers. I scoot my legs off the bed and she sits next to me. “You look like you haven’t slept in months.” Feels like it, too.

“Maybe I could get an oversized teddy bear.” For the days I sleep in my dorm room. Which is sad when I think about it. I should be stronger. I shouldn’t need Marcus or a teddy bear to help me sleep through the night.

Brittany grunts. “I prefer the idea of sneaking Marcus into our room. I can’t study with a glassy-eyed, giant stuffed toy staring at me.”

A small smiles flits at the corners of my mouth. I can’t imagine Brittany being disturbed by a stuffed animal. She tends to scare people away. Or at least the people she doesn’t give a chance to get to know her—which is most people.

“Not much longer and the trial will be over,” Emma says. “You know what you need?”

“Caffeine,” I say. “And lots of it.”

“Yeah, that’s one possibility. But I’ve got another one.” She scrambles off the bed.

No, I’m pretty sure caffeine is the
only
possibility.

Emma rifles through my drawers. I’m tempted to collapse on my bed and go back to sleep...at least until the bad dreams hit again.

“Here, put these on.” She tosses me the gym clothes I wore when I played basketball with Marcus at the youth center. Before winter hit Chicago.

I catch them and eye the pile in my hands, half expecting them to bite me. I don’t even wear them when I work out, since I’d rather keep the scars and tattoos hidden.

“Trust me, you’ll feel better,” Emma says.

“What are we gonna do?”

“It’s open gym time. We’re going to play ball. And you’re not going to say no because you know I’m right. You need this.”

Brittany snorts. “The girl can barely stand and you expect her to play basketball? Wow, you really are blond, aren’t you?”

Emma glares at Brittany. “I know what I’m talking about. I know her better than you do.” She turns to me. “And we can get coffee on the way if you want.”

I do want. Maybe the sugar and caffeine will give me an energy boost.

Once I would have been self-conscious about stripping with Emma and Brittany in the same room as me, but both have seen my scars. I change into my clothes and pull my yoga pants over my shorts, then grab my coat.

“Have fun,” Brittany says with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “And be sure to let me know when you want me to sneak Marcus in.”

Emma and I push through the bitter wind clawing at our faces as we make our way to the sports center. It’s enough to wake up any warm-blooded creature, even one who is past due on her sleep.

We decide not to bother with coffee. Now that the idea we’re going to play basketball has chased away the fog in my brain, I can’t get to the gym fast enough. I pick up my pace as the building comes into view through the blowing snow.

A game’s already going on when we hit the court. All guys. None are from the men’s team, but they sure can play.

Emma and I head over to them. Once they stop long enough to catch their breath, Emma’s in there, asking if we can join them.

They give us the once-over, their gazes lingering on my scarred wrists and leg. Instead of looking disgusted, which is the reaction I usually expect, they nod and let us play. One of them recognizes Emma from the women’s team.

“Shit, you’re good,” Troy, one of my teammates, says after I nail another layup. We high-five. These guys are even better than the teens Emma and I played with before Christmas.

“You’re not so bad yourself. How come you’re not on the men’s team?” They all could. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

He reaches for his water bottle near the sideline, where the rest of the guys’ stuff is piled. “I used to. We all did.” He indicates the guys, all taking a quick time out. “But I’m in grad school now and no longer eligible to play. Nor do I have the time. Same deal with everyone here. What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re not on the women’s team, even though you obviously should be. So what’s your excuse?”

“That’s what I’m wondering too,” a tall woman, with the same golden brown coloring as Jordan and wearing a tracksuit, says as she approaches. Coach Willmott. As in, the coach for the woman’s basketball team. “I haven’t seen you play before, so I know you aren’t playing for another collegiate team. So what’s your excuse?”

Emma breaks away from the guys on her team and joins us. “Hey, Coach.”

The woman grins at Emma. “I take it you couldn’t wait until practice to play?”

“Something like that. Amber—” Emma points to me “—desperately needed to play. And you know how sacrificing I can be.”

I laugh. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

Coach Willmott isn’t too surprised to hear this. “You still haven’t explained why you aren’t playing collegiate ball,” she says to me.

“I missed out on my senior year because I was recovering from burns on my leg.”
Among other things.
“No games. No chance of being scouted.”

“That’s too bad. Well, if you’re interested in trying out for the team next year, I’d be happy to put you through the paces and see what you can do.”

“Th-thanks! I would love that.” I do my best not to shriek my response.

“Don’t worry, Coach,” Emma says. “I’ll work her ass off to get her ready.”

Coach laughs. “I bet you will, Emma.” She nods at the guys who are back to playing ball. “I’ll let you two get back to your game, but Emma, try not to wear yourself out before practice in twenty minutes. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Coach Willmott strolls off and my best friend hugs me. “Oh my God, I can’t believe our dream might come true after all.” Trent, Emma and I had planned to play for the University of Chicago. It had been our dream since we were kids. But our dream was destroyed last year, and instead of going there, Emma and I applied to the University of Illinois at Chicago. While this might not be UChicago, being able to play for a collegiate team would put me a step closer to being what I was last year, before Paul stepped into my life.

Emma and I hug again, not caring that we’re both sweaty.

“Unless you’re planning to make that a group hug, and I’m game for it if you are,” a guy from Emma’s team calls out, “would you two ladies get your asses over here? We need you.”

Laughing, we jog over to join them and the game resumes.

It’s almost time for Emma to leave when Troy says, “Do you know there’s a guy over there—” he nods at something over my shoulder “—who’s been videotaping you for the past ten minutes?”

I whirl around. A balding man in his midforties is holding a video camera. The woman with him has long dark hair and looks familiar.

“How can you be sure he’s not videotaping everyone?” I ask.

“Because every time I look over at him, the lens is pointed at you.”

Before we can dwell on it more, the woman hustles over to us. “Hi. Amber Scott, right? I’m a sports reporter and I’d like to do a story on you.”

“Why? I’m not on any team.”

Emma and the guys join me. Like Troy, they’re standing with their arms crossed in a stance that signals “Keep your distance.”‘

A warmth spreads through me. Not the same warmth that consumes me when I’m with Marcus and he’s kissing me. This warmth comes from knowing people, strangers, care enough to want to protect me from all potential threats.

“Since when were you a sports reporter?” one of my teammate asks. “I thought you did general news stories. I’m a huge fan of yours.” His face is red, but I can’t tell if it’s from a hard game of basketball or because he admitted to being a fan.

“You’re right. But I thought I could pitch the story to the sports team.”

Something seems off. She wasn’t anywhere near us while I was talking to the coach. She has no idea I’ve been offered a chance to try out.

“No comment.” I turn away.

“So you have nothing to say about the sex video that was leaked showing your boyfriend? A video that shows he’s into S-and-M.”

I can only stare at her. My mouth opens and closes in an attempt to formulate a reply, but there are no words that can convey what I’m thinking and the panic seeping in.

She says something else before Troy and another guy escort her away, but whatever it was is lost on me as I stand frozen, my body growing numb.

This is the evidence that could destroy me.