The Lies That Bind (18 page)

I’d only been to Bradley’s country club once, for Camille Youngblood’s eleventh birthday party in lower school. My parents claimed that they didn’t subscribe to the culture of exclusivity that country clubs perpetuated. Their words, not mine. Personally, I think they probably just couldn’t get in.

Either way, no one ever turned down an invitation to the country club, no matter who was doing the inviting. And tonight the invitation came with the added bonus of a “we need to talk,” which clearly meant Bradley had something to say.

And I was willing to bet that that “something” was related to a certain missing someone. An image of Bethany wrapped in a blanket and being led to safety by yours truly flashed in my mind. If I saved Bethany, Liam would see how stupid he was being about the email. He’d see that I was just using Bradley for information.

The club was exactly how I remembered it. The black sign with gold engraved lettering hung on a wrought-iron post, lightly dusted with snow. Trees hugged the property and were lit individually with spotlights, the snow sparkling like a collection of diamonds. Add a horse and carriage and some kid rolling snowballs, and I’d be staring at a Norman Rockwell painting.

When the clubhouse came into view, I pulled the hood of my winter jacket tighter around my chin, tucking a stray lock of blue hair behind my ear. As much as I loved my whole rebel-with-a-cause vibe, a tiny part of me wished I could walk into the club as a boring brunette wearing ballet flats and an A-line skirt. It was the kind of place that made you want to fit in. Desperately.

I walked into the lobby and kept my eyes trained on the green carpeting, praying my scuffed riding boots screamed “Vintage!” instead of “Charity case!” But after only a second, I felt a pair of rheumy eyes fall to the top of my head, work their way down past my perfectly broken-in jeans, and finally land on the salt stains lining the toes of my “vintage” boots. No. Such. Luck.

“May I help you, dear? You look lost.” Her voice was laced with disgust.

Enough of this crap.

I yanked off my hood and revealed my bright blue ponytail in all its glory. It felt a little like giving her the middle finger. The old biddy gasped and my lips twitched up in a smile.

“I’m here to see Bradley Farrow.” I did my best to match her haughty tone.

“I believe you’ll find him downstairs in the café next to the gym. That’s where all the young people seem to congregate.” She sniffed once, pulled her long fur coat tighter around her shoulders, and paraded out the front door.

“Friendly here, aren’t they?” I whirled around to see Naomi Farrow smiling at me from one of the couches surrounding the massive fireplace, textbooks and papers spread all around her.

“Just lovely. Think she’ll write me into her will?”

“Doubtful. Rumor has it she’s leaving everything she’s got to her horrible little dog.”

“Of course she is.”

Naomi gathered up a few notebooks and gestured for me to sit.

I glanced down at my phone and shook my head. “I’m actually meeting someone…” That someone being your brother, who I once had a socially crippling crush on and who most recently appears to be hiding missing girls in lockers.

“Interesting.” The word was heavy with judgment. “He’s downstairs. As usual.”

“Thanks, Naomi.” I made my way toward the huge spiral staircase to the left of the sitting room.

“Kate?”

I swiveled my head back to look at her again. Her hair fell down her back in soft waves; her honey-brown skin glowed in the firelight; and her fingers twisted the Sisterhood’s crest around her necklace. “Be careful.”

I nodded. I had no way of knowing how much Naomi knew or whose side she was on, but I couldn’t exactly argue with that little piece of advice.

I found Bradley sitting at a café table with a coffee. He raised his eyebrows in greeting.

“Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure whether I should come.” The words were out before I could stop them.

“Why?” His golden eyes burned into me. It was kind of a loaded question. There was no way I was going to admit he’d caused a rift between Liam and me.

“Where is Bethany?” Always answer a question with a question. Wasn’t that an old detective trick? Or maybe it was just a really annoying habit I’d picked up after spending too much time with Seth. Too close to call.

He eyed my phone on the table and his smile evaporated, his eyes clouding over and losing their signature shine.

“Do you really think I kidnapped Bethany?”

I had to hand it to him; Bradley Farrow did not mess around.

“Yes.” Honesty had to be the best policy at this point.

“How do you even know she’s missing? I thought she was at some yoga retreat.”

I started picking the remaining polish from my nails underneath the table. I wanted to bite them so badly, but there was no way I was going there in front of Bradley. “Well, her house was ransacked and I got a text of her all tied up. And I found her phone in your closet and there are all these crazy texts from you. Just tell me where she is before I go back to the police.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow and I sighed. He knew as well as I did that the police weren’t an option.

“Where’s the phone?”

I made the mistake of looking down at my bag on the ground. I’d thrown the phone in at the last minute. It sounds stupid, but I’d thought I might need proof. Before I could even process what was happening, Bradley’s arm shot out and snagged my bag. He had Bethany’s phone in his hands before I could even manage to string together a decent curse.

I jumped up from my chair and tried to grab the phone back, but Bradley was too fast for me. He had already moved across the café and was scrolling quickly through the texts.

“These aren’t from me.” He shook his head. “I mean, they have my name on them, but they’re not…” His fingers danced and slid across the screen of the phone until he looked up at me with triumph in his eyes. “I didn’t send these texts.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Bradley. Just give it back, okay?”

“No, seriously.” He tossed the phone in my direction. I watched it spiral through the air, hoping against all reason that this was one of those slow-motion moments where I’d extend my arm and revel in the moment of electronic-to-palm contact, even if it meant sliding on the floor on my belly. Unfortunately, when the phone struck the shiny, hardwood floor, it made the type of sound that can only be described as “broken.”

“Shit!” Dropping the phone felt exactly like missing a fly ball after being exiled to right field for an entire softball game. Crappy with a heavy dose of humiliation.

I scrambled to put the phone back together and held my breath waiting for it to power on. I was such an idiot for coming here. For practically handing my prime suspect my only piece of evidence. What was wrong with me? Where was my judgment? Why did Bradley Farrow always manage to turn me into some kind of half-witted idiot?

The screen of Bethany’s phone lit up, and the breath I’d been holding came out in a big whoosh. I grabbed my bag, tossed the phone in the side pocket, and booked it toward the stairs.

“Hey! Where’re you going?”

I ignored Bradley completely and kept moving. Time to cut my losses.

“Wait up!”

I was halfway up the stairs.

“Kate!” I felt an arm on my shoulder. Bradley whirled me around.

“I didn’t send those texts.”

“Super. Thanks for sharing. I totally believe you.” I turned around and started walking back up the stairs.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. A new text.

The #s don’t match

I froze. Bradley had texted me from this number earlier, and based on the fact that he was standing two stairs down from me with his phone in his hands, he had just texted me again now.

I clawed around in my bag for Bethany’s phone and quickly pulled up Bradley’s texts. I clicked on his name, bringing up the cell number he’d been texting from. It was a completely different number from the one on my phone.

Either Bradley had a super-secret cell phone he used to send threatening texts to missing girls or he was actually telling the truth.

“But how…”

I looked down the stairs at Bradley and he just shrugged. “Someone’s setting us up.”

Us
. The way he said it sent a chill up and down my spine, which subsequently triggered goose bumps, as usual. I promptly rubbed them away. I promised myself that it was just the idea of being in it with someone else, that it had nothing to do with Bradley and his smoothly shaved head, his golden-brown skin, his straight teeth and soft lips. Because I already had the boy of my dreams; he just happened to be beyond pissed at me
again
at the moment.

“You’re freezing. Let’s sit in the parlor. There’s a fireplace, and after you warm up, I’ll drive you home.”

We walked back into the Norman Rockwell painting that doubled as the clubhouse lobby, but I barely felt the warmth of the roaring fire. Something wasn’t right. Somehow I wasn’t entirely convinced of Bradley’s innocence. A few minutes by the fire with him might reveal something interesting.

I ran my fingers along the wall as we walked. The wallpaper would have been tacky anywhere else, but somehow the random collection of horses and dogs and mallards and trees seemed perfect, even stylish, at the country club. Because the club was so exclusive, you naturally assumed that all of the furnishings were rare and expensive. A tattered sofa transformed into an elegant antique, and tacky wallpaper became a statement instead of an eyesore.

Ahead, a grouping of old ladies who were clearly besties with the old hag I’d scandalized upon my arrival not-so-subtly gave Bradley and me the once-over. My blue hair obviously clashed with the overall décor of the club in that it was neither old nor expensive.

I almost stopped dead in my tracks when I felt Bradley’s hand move down over my arm. His fingers clasped my own, and I had the overwhelming urge to apologize for walking too close and accidentally forcing our hands together. But his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, the closer we walked to the women, the tighter he held on, determination hardening his features, his grip borderline hurting my hand.

“Mrs. Portney, Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Jacobson.” He gave each of the women, whose mouths now hung open ever so slightly, a curt nod as we strolled past, and I couldn’t help but smile at their shocked faces. They obviously thought Bradley was slumming with some tart with blue hair. Meanwhile my hand was on fire with…friendship.

“Sorry, that was just too easy. Mrs. Howard remembers the good ole days when the only black people around here were watering the golf course.” Bradley leaned close, his breath moving the tiny hairs around my ear.

“And here I thought they were just admiring my hair.” I fluffed my ponytail and Bradley snorted, our heads practically touching as we entered the parlor.

“Oh…” Naomi said. Her eyes zeroed in on our hands, still firmly clasped. I yanked my hand from his and wiped it across my jeans for good measure. “I was just leaving.” She busied herself gathering together her loose papers and shutting textbooks with a thud. Clearly she wasn’t anywhere near finished.

Bradley didn’t seem fazed by his younger sister, but my stomach clenched at the thought of Naomi misunderstanding anything between her brother and me. Not only was it common knowledge that Liam and I were together, but she’d just told me minutes before to be careful. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t jealous. She’d given me fair warning.

“Meet you by the valet in ten?” Bradley said as he threw himself onto the overstuffed couch closest to the fire.

“Nah, I’ll call Mom.” And then Naomi was gone, rushing off without ever making eye contact with me or saying good-bye.

Awkward. I wondered for the millionth time if maybe I was talking to the wrong person in all of this. As I lowered my body onto the fluffy couch next to Bradley, suspicion strangled me all over again. I decided to model Bradley’s way of doing things and cut right to the chase.

“How do I know you’re not setting me up?” And the second the words were out of my mouth, everything sort of crystallized in my mind. The phone in his pocket, the switched texts, the Amicus message, the hand-holding.

“I have no idea how to convince you of anything, Kate. All I know is that according to you, Bethany is gone. And according to everyone else, she’s at a yoga retreat.” His voice trailed off a little, but I still caught the last part. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Not that you’re surprised?” He lowered his head a little and avoided my eyes. He was hiding something. I felt a new resolve. “What do you know?”

I was going to find something out. I was going to get somewhere. Something was going on. We weren’t crazy. This was all worth it. The problem was that everything was so muddled and twisty that sometimes it felt like every time I got a new piece of information, I ended up more confused than I had been before. One step forward, five million steps back and all that.

“It’s nothing.” I didn’t even have to roll my eyes or snap at him for him to pick up that his answer was not going to fly. “Well, it’s Conventus. She’s against it, so I could see why someone might try to get rid of her. You wouldn’t understand. It’s society stuff. But with the vote on Tuesday, I’m not surprised she’s gone. Taylor shouldn’t be either.”

And a bell went off. Conventus. The word was important. I’d heard it as we watched the boys circle Bradley. I’d found it in his room, heard him whisper about it in the hallway. It meant something.

“What’s Conventus?”

He shook his head quickly and didn’t even consider letting me in. “Listen. Don’t worry about Bethany. She can take care of herself.” He shut down. Again. But I wasn’t going to let it happen. Not this time.

“I don’t believe you.” I lowered my chin and fought the humiliating urge to cry. It was so stupid. But the more I tried to fight them, the more I felt the tears gather along the edges of my lashes, the burn snake its way up my esophagus. The entire night had been such a waste. I’d lost my boyfriend, and I hadn’t even made any progress in the process. It was a throwaway, a wash. And the cherry on top was apparently going to be me bawling like a baby because some stupid boy wouldn’t tell me what Conventus was.

Screw that. I zipped up my jacket and grabbed my bag from the floor. I didn’t need Bradley Farrow to tell me about Conventus. I had other resources, other options.

“Kate, wait.”
Ignore
. I mentally pressed the button and shut out Bradley’s sickeningly smooth voice like I would a phone call from my mom or dad. “Wait!” He gripped my upper arm and spun me around, placing his phone squarely in the center of my palm. “Check my messages. I really don’t care. I swear to you I’m not hiding anything. There are just things I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I really am.”

As much as I tried to avoid his golden eyes, they locked in on my own, urging me to scroll through his phone, to look through a window into his personal contacts.

So I did.

But not before walking a few feet away. Reading someone’s personal messages felt a little like reading a letter in front of the person who wrote it to you. Mega awkward, so a little distance was mandatory. I scrolled right through to the days before Bethany’s disappearance. There were all sorts of outgoing messages—a few to Bethany about random plans the group had made and even one from Bethany about Econ homework. Either he had deleted any incriminating messages immediately after sending them or he was telling the truth. But with completely neutral messages from Bethany coming in around the same time as the much more violent ones on her phone, I found it hard to believe he was responsible.

Someone was hiding something, and for the first time all night, I felt confident it wasn’t Bradley.

And then his phone vibrated.

Did u take care of her yet?

Alistair. I frantically deleted the message before walking back to the fire. Clearly Bradley couldn’t be trusted, but he didn’t need to know that. Something told me I’d be better off if he thought we were friends. I tossed the phone back to him.

“You win. I trust you.”

He smiled his toothpaste-commercial smile and slung his arm around my shoulder as we walked out to his car. The old ladies tittered, and that uncomfortable heat burned through my thin sweater and coiled down my back again.

You know what they say: “Keep your friends close and ridiculously gorgeous guys who should be your enemy even closer.”