Incriminated (3 page)

As things turned out, Meredith didn't wait very long to make her move.

The call arrived while Paolo was driving his housemate Candace to a TV studio in Culver City. She'd loaned her own car to Grace, whose team had a beach volleyball match. Paolo allowed no more than a quick glance at his cell phone before he slipped it back into his shirt pocket. Just enough to see who was calling.

Meredith.

He turned to Candace. “Would you hate me if I just drop you off? Could you maybe get another ride home . . . ? One of the tennis pros had to cancel on a student. He's wondering if I'd take his lesson. But I'd have to bail on you.”

Candace groaned. “Fine, be that way, but if you won't support me on the way up, don't expect any invitations to red carpet events.”

“You without a date for a red carpet event?” he said. “Never gonna happen.”

“Hmm,” she mused. “You have a point.” The car pulled up to the parking lot of the TV studio. Unfastening her seat belt, Candace groaned, “Go teach your lesson,” but then her lips revealed a smile. “I bet you're real popular with the Friday-night crowd. Then after, maybe you'll take one of them out for a drink, am I right? Maybe they'll suggest a hotel?”

Normally, Paolo would have laughed it up. Now though, Candace's accusation held a little too much truth. If the request had really been for a tennis lesson—from just about anyone—he'd have turned it down. But with Meredith, Paolo sensed that “no” wasn't on the table. So he said nothing. Candace opened the passenger door. Her joking expression had vanished. She looked a little concerned.

“Hey, King, everything okay? You seem a little antsy.”

He forced himself to smile. “I want to hang out with you. But the truth is, I need the money.”

“Got it, good deal.” Candace moved away from the car and waved good-bye. “Don't stay out too late, y'hear?”

Paolo was already reversing the car. He grabbed his cell phone and plugged in a set of earbuds. Then he touched the phone screen, returning the last call.

“Hello, gorgeous,” said Meredith's silky voice. “Where are you? I'm in the mood for a drive.”

“A drive? Where to?”

“We've got an adorable little cabin in the pines, up in Malibu Creek. My husband's away for the night. I'd love to take you down there.” He heard the anticipation in her
voice. “Or rather, to have you take me down there. I've had a little too much Pinot. It's better if
you
drive.”

“You want me to spend the night?”

“It's perfectly safe, Paolo. The place is in the middle of nowhere. My husband is in Sacramento until Sunday. Now stop being a baby and come pick me up at the club.”

Pursing his lips, Paolo ended the call. He turned back onto Venice Boulevard, heading north. Ten seconds later, the phone rang again. He answered without looking at the screen. What could she possibly want now?

“What is it?”

“Sorry,” he heard Lucy say on the other end, making him jump a little. “I guess now's not a good time.”

“Oh, sorry. Just, I'm driving. Sorry, what's up?”

Lucy hadn't reached out to him in weeks. She'd barely even spoken to him. Paolo had been the one making all the effort to be nice since two weeks ago, when they'd almost had sex. Not that they ever talked about that. They were getting along fine, so long as they avoided the topic. Paolo wondered why Lucy was calling him now.

“When d'you think you'll get home?”

“Late.”

Lucy went quiet again for a moment. “Oh. I was hoping we could hang out. I—I want to talk to you about something. Or rather some
one
.”

The words made Paolo sink in his seat but he tried to hide his surprise. “Huh, mysterious. Who? Can you tell me now?”

A pause. Then, “Nah. This is better face-to-face. Also . . .” Another hesitation. “Are we good, Paolo? I mean, since . . .”

Since we kinda sorta hooked up but didn't?
he thought. “Of course. We're friends.” The last thing Paolo wanted was for Lucy to have any clue how much her rejection had stung. Better that she thought it had all been lighthearted fun. “It can be with benefits if you like, obviously, I mean that's always on the table, but . . .”

“Yeah, all right, glad we're okay,” she said, her voice brittle. “Not that I don't appreciate the offer,” she added with a touch of sarcasm.

“I can't wait to hear what you're gonna tell me.”

“You dying of anticipation over there? Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I'm dying of something, that's for sure,” he laughed as Lucy ended the call.

When he pulled into the parking lot, Meredith was waiting for him in the passenger seat of her silver BMW, fixing her lipstick in the mirror. Paolo parked alongside her car. Wordlessly, he watched her. After a moment, she turned to face him, blew a kiss, and smiled. “Get in,” she said. “You're driving.”

From a distance, she looked like a super-attractive mom being sweet to one of her son's friends. Paolo remembered when he'd first started noticing a difference in the way
grown women looked at him. It had happened sometime around his fifteenth birthday. It was subtle. Not anything he could put his finger on. Just something speculative in the way other people's moms and even a few teachers watched him,
wondering
.

Paolo got out of his own car and into the driver's seat of her BMW.

She kissed him on both cheeks. “Hello, Paolo.”

It was the first time he'd noticed her making an effort to look good for him. She wore a simple powder-blue silk shift dress that accentuated her slim, athletic figure, under a tight, indigo denim jacket. Her blond hair was freshly washed and blow-dried, her eyes made up with dark gray eye shadow that gave her a knowing, confident air.

When their eyes met, he could already see her desire. Despite himself, he felt the dull ache of his own interest awakened.

This was twisted, he thought grimly.
He
was twisted.

He went for distraction. “What's the deal with this cabin?”

“Hotels are never entirely safe. Good ones, I might get recognized. Crummy ones, the walls are too thin.” She fixed him with a sensuous smile. “I'd rather enjoy the opportunity to feel totally uninhibited.”

Paolo reversed the car. Uncomfortably, he wondered how much more uninhibited she could possibly be.

They continued a little farther north along the coastal
road, and then turned off onto Malibu Canyon Road. Meredith selected a Madonna playlist, pushed her seat way back, and leaned toward Paolo, her eyes and lips relaxed from the wine.

She reached for the glove compartment, fiddled around for a few seconds, and smiled with satisfaction as she found what she'd been searching for—a half-smoked joint. She used the car's cigarette lighter to light up. Deeply, she inhaled—a sound like a sigh. Paolo glanced across at her. He wondered if she'd even stay awake long enough to tell him how to get to her cabin.

The road started to twist, carving its way through the canyon as hills appeared around them. To their right, below the road, a creek flowed alongside. Dusk began to fall. The slopes of the hills and mountains glowed deep ocher as the sun descended, contrasting with the higher, deep blue of the sky. Every now and then they passed curves on which a scrub of parking area contained the occasional car that had stopped to allow the passengers to admire the scenery. Other times they passed improvised stalls selling firewood, strawberries, and bonsai trees.

A peaceful silence settled between them. Meredith finished the stub of joint, cracked open the window, and let the wind take what was left. Paolo checked on her again after a few minutes. She was close to sleep. He stretched a hand out to the car's touch-screen controls, trying to change the music. For a split second his eyes flicked away from the road.

The next thing he heard was a blaring horn. His fingers froze in midair. A gigantic truck was approaching, flashing its headlights. To his horror, Paolo realized that he was halfway across the road, heading straight for oncoming traffic. He yanked the steering wheel over, swerving out of the way of the truck.

The truck sped by, mere inches to his left. Shaken, Paolo slowed down, pulled over in a tight swerve, and came to a full stop at the side of the road. His heart was pumping, he could feel a fresh film of sweat under his arms. His breathing began to slow. He looked over at Meredith. She was awake, her eyes open, wild and staring.

“Omigod . . .” she slurred, fumbling for the door.

Paolo put a hand out, trying to restrain her. She shot him a look of pure disbelief, pushed his hand away. The passenger door swung open. Meredith staggered against it, almost fell into the road.

“It's fine, get back in the car,” he tried to tell her. But she wasn't hearing him. Instead, she swayed for a second and began to move around to the driver's side of the car. She rapped against the window with her knuckles, shouting, “Get out, you maniac. I'm gonna drive. You almost killed us.”

Paolo kept the door locked. Meredith glared at him, eyes totally unfocused.

“Don't be crazy,” he said. “You're wasted. Would you please get back in the car?”

She straightened up, her features twisted with anger.
Paolo slowly pushed open the driver's door. He had to get her back in the car. They were less than twenty yards from a blind corner. As the door opened, she backed farther into the road.

A white SUV appeared from around the corner. It slammed into Meredith, sent her body arcing through the air. He heard brakes screeching, hard. The noise seemed to last for several seconds. But the vehicle didn't stop. By the time Paolo was out of the car and at the roadside, the white SUV had already disappeared into the distance. Barely able to make himself look, Paolo turned toward Meredith. She lay in a crumpled heap farther up the road, straddling the shoulder, the golden tan of her bare legs contrasting with the gray asphalt.

He slammed the driver's-side door behind him, rushed to her side. Her eyes were still open, staring blankly into the sky. Paolo slumped to his knees. His fingers felt numb. Ice seemed to have crystallized along the length of his spine. He tried to say her name but no words would leave his mouth.

Blood pooled about her head like a wine-colored oil slick. Paolo looked down. He was trembling with shock. The right side of her head had been crushed—he could see the horrific dent. He couldn't bring himself to touch her.

Meredith was dead.

Desperately, he stared into the road. Two neat tire tracks marked the surface, a black smear that led to and away from a broken body. There was a faint smell of burnt
rubber. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, backing away. Panic was beginning to grip him. Pieces of a hideous puzzle were falling into place around Paolo. Police. Jimmy. Jimmy's dad. Eventually, maybe even the con Paolo had played on them with Darius. He was convinced that if anyone made even the smallest connection between him and Meredith, her death would be blamed on him.

Paolo knew, with blinding insight, the law would not protect him today. If he didn't get out of there fast, a world of legal consequences would surely descend.

Maya took a moment to check out the blond guy on her doorstep, wearing faded blue Levi's and an untucked, mint-green polo shirt under a shabby, brown leather jacket. He looked more put together than the typical Caltech student. He smiled back, a surprised little grin, like he'd also expected someone else but was kind of delighted by the sudden turn of events.

“I'm Jack,” he said in a British accent, offering his right hand. With a measure of self-consciousness he added, “Jack Cato, your new tutor.”

They had decided to meet up at the beach house, but after a few minutes it became obvious to her that was a bad idea. The kitchen/living room was the only communal space other than the balcony and it didn't feel right to monopolize either. It also didn't feel right to invite Jack into the bedroom Maya shared with Grace and John-Michael. Instead, she suggested they head for a nearby café.

A warm breeze greeted Maya and Jack as they left the
house. There was salt and the fine dust of sand in the air. She breathed it in contentedly. Days like this, she loved being in the house. If she could only succeed in getting her school situation straightened out, she'd be so happy.

Two days ago she'd been called to see her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Geary. Math and chemistry were the problem, it seemed. With the long summer vacation coming up, her teachers didn't feel confident that Maya could afford the break. She was weak in both subjects and chem was the only science she was taking. Physics was just more math, and since Maya had a “thing” about cutting up animals, biology wasn't an alternative.

Geary had asked, “Do you think that the difficulties you're having in math and chemistry might stem from your dyslexia?”

Well, duh.
Maya had just smiled sweetly. “Maybe.” Or maybe it was just that she didn't have enough time to properly study, what with all the coding, but she guessed it was best not to mention that. There was extra funding available for dyslexia-related issues. But for spending-all-your-spare-time-developing-apps, not so much.

“I'm told that you're a gifted computer programmer?”

The comment had put Maya on her guard. No one at school—apart from Lucy—knew just how much of Maya's spare time went into coding.

Geary had continued, “I'm assuming you hope to get into a good college? With some improvement, that is a possibility.”

She remembered how she'd reacted then—stared hard at the pattern of yellow-and-blue plaid on her skirt and pretended to be deep in thought.

The teacher had pressed the point. “Google, Facebook, all the top Silicon Valley companies; they recruit from the best colleges. Wouldn't hurt to get yourself on the road to all that. Your math and chemistry teachers think you just need a bit more study time. Maybe over summer vacation, with a private tutor?”

That had drawn a quick-fire, disbelieving response. “I have to come to school over summer vacation?”

“If your mother signs the permission slip he can tutor you in your home, which I understand is not with her. Is that right?” Geary had handed over a business card. “I'm going to recommend a young man we've used before. His name is Jack Cato. He's majoring in chemistry at Caltech. Very clever, and he's only seventeen. His agency will invoice the school.”

“But he's not, like, a psycho or anything?”

“Jack's references are excellent; his tutorial agency has run all the background checks. He's a nice guy, by all accounts.”

Now, with Jack beside her as they strolled along the boardwalk, Maya took a few moments to observe him. He wasn't particularly tall, only a few inches taller than her. He had a heap of dirty-blond, unruly, collar-length hair that reached down to his eyes. Slender and narrow-hipped, his clothes practically hung off his bones. Darker, prominent
eyebrows lent intensity to his pale blue eyes. He didn't look any older than fifteen.

Maya had never talked to a British guy before. His manner was quite disarming. Distractingly so. He had a way of grinning while saying rather serious things, and rubbing an ear or his chin at the same time, or otherwise giving the impression of being deeply uncomfortable, laughing.

“You went to Eton College. Isn't that where, like, both the princes studied?”

“It is,” he replied with a friendly grin.

“So do you know Prince Harry?” Maya asked, a little flirtatiously. “You sound a lot like him.”

Jack guffawed. “Do
I
know him? No. Harry's
army
. We—ah—we don't exactly move in the same circles.”

“I thought Eton College was some super-fancy prep school. Aren't you ‘posh'?”

“Me? God, no. I'm a scholarship boy. No aristocratic blood, no ‘new' money. Very ordinary. Sorry about that.”

“Why should you be sorry?”

Jack glanced at her for a second, as if to check if she was being sincere. They'd arrived in front of the coffee shop. He opened the door and stepped aside to let her through, with a gentlemanly flourish that Maya found impossible to take seriously. A little later, Maya realized he
had
been serious. It wasn't that she wasn't used to the occasional bit of macho charm. But boys like that were often looking for something in return. It was unusual to meet a guy of Jack's age who was so self-effacingly gallant.

Unusual and kind of intriguing.

“So, Miss Soto, you're having problems with math and chemistry? Where would you like to begin?”

She eyed him quizzically. “‘Miss Soto,' really?”

Jack looked immediately taken aback. “Do you not like that? Would you prefer Maya?”

“Miss Soto is, like, a teacher's name.”

“Maya, let's do whatever makes you happy. Okay, tell me what's going on. What do you find particularly challenging?”

Maya opened the blue plastic folder that she'd brought along and removed some worksheets.

“Okay, so, acids and bases. Molarity and pH and stuff. It's chemistry, but there's some math, too. Basically, I'm clueless. To be honest, I don't really like chem.” She shrugged happily. “Sorry to be so down on your entire existence.”

Jack peered at her for a moment, his lips twitching as though they weren't sure whether to form a grin or a frown. “You're not giving it a real chance,” he said eventually. “Chemistry is
immense
. And before we're done, you're going to think so, too.” He took a black-and-red notebook from his own messenger bag and began to write. “There's a very easy way to make this stuff simple. What you need to do is keep the idea of moles in your head. You know what a ‘mole' is, right?”

“It's a chemistry thing to do with molecules? I get confused between moles, molecules, molarity.”

Jack smiled gently. “In that case, let's start with that.”
He waved the waiter down and ordered two café lattes and chocolate chip cookies.

A steady breeze swept across their table from the beach. Maya could suddenly smell Jack's mingled scent of bergamot-and-lemongrass-tinged deodorant and a hint of something muskier. Together with the watery blue intensity of Jack's scrutiny, Maya felt a definite impact. It took several moments before she was able to decode what she'd experienced.

Gradually, every word out of Jack's mouth came to seem utterly fascinating. And yet, as engrossing as those words were, Maya found it almost impossible to process what he'd been saying. Chemistry with him was going to be amazing. But she was still going to struggle.