Killing Ruby Rose (12 page)

He came running around the hedge. “I was going for the whole Romeo-and-Juliet thing.” He shoved his hands in his jeans and flashed that sparkly smile. Why did he look so happy to see me?

When was I ever going to understand this dude? Aside from Mr. D. S., he was the only person in the whole world who knew exactly what I was: a killer. And yet he wanted to play Shakespeare with me.

“You do know that Romeo and Juliet both ended up dead,” I said, trying to sound unaffected by his charm, while inside I couldn’t help feeling flattered—or maybe twitterpated. The black Hurley V-neck shirt he wore clung to his chest, revealing the muscular curves I’d daydreamed about ever since that shirtless morning at the beach. “And also, Romeo didn’t chuck rocks and nearly break Juliet’s window.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” He scratched his neck and wrinkled his nose. “Turns out throwing a rock twenty feet in the air
delicately
is sort of hard.”

He stood on the welcome mat, looking like he felt totally unwelcome. Avoiding his eyes, I stared down at his feet. Under his impressively clean throwback Jordans, the mat read: “Life Is a Bed of Roses.” Dad had given it to Mom a few years back. I used to think it was absurd. But after he died I started seeing it differently. Sure, we had our share of thorns, but we all loved each other.

“Have you heard from Alana?” Liam broke our uncomfortable pause.

“Not yet,” I replied, unhappy to be reminded that my
best
friend had finally realized I was the
worst
. “Have you heard anything on the news about”—I paused for a second, ashamed to say what had happened out loud—“you know, the warehouse?”

“Nope.”

I squinted at the sun, waiting for him to tuck tail and bolt.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Liam asked.

I looked down at my robe, feeling a little underdressed. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d want to come in. “Well, are you or aren’t you?” he asked again, moving closer.

“I guess, but…” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
If you promise not to turn me in to the cops
…
or seduce me
.

“Nice robe,” he said as he pushed through the door and gusted in. I tightened the sash again. “We really ought to talk. You know, about that
math
problem,” he said louder.

“My mom’s not here,” I said, relieving him of his need to speak in code. “We’re alone.”

His smile was wider than I’d ever seen it. Like twelve hours ago he hadn’t been abducted and almost sold to an international drug lord who liked boys. This kid had the short-term memory of a goldfish.

“Good.” He reached for my hand and pulled me to his chest, and I let him reel me in like
I
was the goldfish. “I forgot to thank you for saving my life,” he said.

Er, wrong.
I hadn’t saved his life. I put it in danger just by knowing him—and caring about him—but I didn’t say that. All I could think about were his eyelashes and his lips.

“You’re welcome?” It came out more like a question.

“Look, I know this may sound weird or psychotic or something, but what you did last night was
…
freaking amazing.” His eyes were lit up in a way that made no sense to me.

“What are you even talking about?” I asked.

“Ruby, those were bad guys. I mean really bad guys. They were going to kill us. Or worse.” He grimaced. Finally, a look that made sense. “You not only saved us, but probably tons of other people they’d have messed with, too. I only wish I’d been the one to pull the trigger.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I shook my head in complete disagreement and backed away.

“Liam, it’s never OK to kill,” I said flatly. He didn’t get how it felt—hearing the crunch of bullet through bone. Seeing the spurt of blood. Living with the awful knowledge that I’d killed them. Not the cops, not my dad—but me. I had good reason to do it, sure, but that didn’t make it “OK.”

“Of course it is.” He looked around like one of my mom’s nude Greek sculptures would side with him and tell me how ridiculous I was being. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I believe in the justice system. I believe in the law. And I believe in the enforcement of it by those with authority to administer it,” I said.

“And the law says a killing is
justified
in self-defense or in the defense of others. It’s called excusable homicide,” he said confidently. When I looked impressed, he added, “I Googled it.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. Here I was standing half-naked in my foyer, arguing legal semantics with Liam Slater. I had so many problems that I couldn’t even count them anymore. But first things first, I needed to put some clothes on.

“Come up to my room in five minutes, OK?” I said and turned to go up the stairs. “It’s the second door on the left.”

“OK.” He smiled from perfect ear to scarred ear. I hoped he wasn’t thinking what it looked like he was thinking. Or, maybe I hoped he was.

CHAPTER 12

I walked (completely clothed) to my window and opened it to make sure I could hear Mom’s car if she came home. Not because I was going to be sharing a sex session with Liam, but because I was going to share something far more sinister: my research on two criminals, who just happened to have died by my hands.

“I like your room,” Liam said from the edge of my bed. I detected an unusual amount of nervousness in his voice. “Very
…
uh
…
beachy.”

“Bitchy?” I asked, teasing him for the stammer, and I joined him on the bed.

He grinned and shook his head. “It’s like being at the beach. All the seashells and starfish and all.”

“I’m just kidding,” I assured him, grateful he hadn’t seen my shoe closet. That one would be hard to explain, even to him. “I just wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what you really thought of me. Or worse.”

“You should do that more often,” he said, with suddenly soft eyes.

“What, misinterpret your words?”

“No, smile.” He held my gaze. “It looks good on you.”

My smile faded. Something about him pointing it out made it scamper away. Plus, I wasn’t entitled to smile. I still had blood on my hands. Did
that
look good on me?

Except, Liam’s expression made it clear that discussing my guilt wasn’t exactly what he had in mind at the moment.

I had to change the subject. The tension radiating from him practically screamed “Let’s Do It” like a flashing neon sign. I could even almost hear Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On.” And I could 100 percent for sure feel the energy sparking between his body and mine.

I’d opened the door wearing my hooker robe, invited him to my room, sat him on my bed, and
smiled
. Of course he could get the wrong idea. I think I was getting the wrong idea myself. On cue, images of him with his shirt off on the beach formed in my mind. His wet suit hanging low on his hips, his tan skin, his soft lips…

I felt like a hot teapot about to whistle from the steam inside me. Just as I was about to get up, he said, “I’m not trying to get into your pants, Ruby.”

Huh? What about the neon sign—and Marvin Gaye? I’m pretty sure that my face turned Ruby Red.

“Er, that’s not what I meant,” he said, squirming again. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I mean, I totally do. Like you wouldn’t believe—but that’s not why I’m here.” He rubbed his forehead like massaging it would help him articulate. “That came out weird.”

“Liam, it’s OK,” I said, wondering what my personal neon sign was saying right now. “Let me show you something.”

I stood and offered my hand to help him up. He looked up at me like he couldn’t believe it. I was actually reaching out to him. I could hardly believe it, either.

He took it and something like an electrical shock zipped through me, head to toe. His clear eyes set me on fire; his scent burned me up. I forgot for a second what I was doing.

Oh yeah, the chest
. I needed him to move so I could reach under the bed to grab it. I let go of his hand and fell to my knees beside him. With a grunt and a tug, the treasure came gliding out. I’d never shared this with anyone else. I couldn’t believe I was doing it now.

I paused, wondering if I could trust Liam with this. He might not understand. But I needed help. A fresh set of eyes. I was too close. I couldn’t see the forest
or
the trees anymore.

“What is that thing?” he asked, looking a bit worried.

“It’s just some evidence I’ve been gathering,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’ve looked over this stuff several times in the last few days, but maybe you can help me find something significant.” I fumbled with the code and popped the lock. Which made me remember the whole cage situation from last night. My body tensed up at the thought of the bars and the stupid three-digit bike lock.

“It’s 366,” I mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Liam dropped to his knees beside me.

“Just remembering a detail.”

I told him how I was the only one put in a cage, glossing over how afraid I am of bars—not wanting to relive it. How I escaped, the combination number, and how they matched the address from the first shooting. About how there had been other cryptic clues or messages. Like the demon tattoo on that girl in the sketch at the art fair. Like the
D. S.
signature. Like the fact that the girl in the sketch looked a lot like me, just like the little girl Riley Bentley—the one I saved at the warehouse—and just like the one I didn’t save on Ninth Street. Like making me use my dad’s gun and then returning it to me afterward. Whoever was doing this to me was doing it for a reason.

“So, let me get this straight,” Liam said, staring at the unopened chest. “This guy is sending you messages? Leaving you clues?”

“It feels like it. Like he’s giving me pieces of some strange, twisted puzzle, and I’m supposed to put them together somehow.”

“But why? To show you who he is? To exact revenge on your mom or dad? To lead you on a wild goose chase until he strangles you in some Satan-worshipping ceremony?”

“Jeez, Liam.” I glared at him. “Way to make a girl feel better.”

“Oh, sorry.” He frowned and shook his head. “That was an insensitive joke and absolutely
not
going to happen. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Whatever,” I said, now focusing on the chest, wondering again if I should actually share this darkness with another human being. I could just see him on the witness stand. The prosecutor would ask him, “Then what did the defendant do?” He’d reply, “We were alone in her bedroom when she showed me her chest—her chest of horrors.”
Dun dun dun!

“Well, are you going to show me what’s in this thing or not?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, of course.” I flung open the top and pulled out a few of the most recent notebooks. “OK, before you start judging me, I just want you to know my therapist told me I needed an
outlet
. I was, like, comatose for two months after my dad was murdered. And one of the only things that got my mind off of his death was focusing on these guys.” I laid out five files. “I call them the Filthy Five. Child abusers, murderers, and drug traffickers that either my dad couldn’t catch or my mom put back on the street. I’ve been following them. Now two of them are dead.” I stopped myself. I wasn’t explaining it right. Maybe, if I just let him look at the records and connect the dots himself, he’d see something I missed.

He started thumbing through the thick green files and notebooks. And he stopped when he apparently couldn’t read any more about what these men had done. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand as if he’d just eaten a hot pepper.

“Wow,” Liam said quietly. “You did all this research yourself?”

“Like I said, I needed an outlet.” I waited for him to look at me again, but he wouldn’t. I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was figuring out that if I was following them, that would give me a motive—which meant maybe I was really trying to kill them after all. And maybe I wasn’t telling him the whole story. Which is what my mom, Detective Martinez, and any other rational person would think.

“Look, I know these guys are guilty,” I continued. “The evidence is all there. But for one reason or another it couldn’t be used in a court of law, or wasn’t strong enough for a life sentence. I had to get new evidence in order to convict these guys for good. So I started tailing them.” I knew I was rambling, and it sounded borderline psychotic, but I couldn’t hold it back. “Anyway, whoever is behind this knows about my Five. LeMarq was number one and Rick is number two.” I pointed to Rick’s file. “You never saw him, but he was there last night. I killed him right before I killed the guy who fell on top of you. Oh my hell
…
I just admitted to killing two men last night.”

“Shhh, Ruby, shhh,” he said, holding me close. “It’s OK.” Was that him shaking or me?

“I never meant to do it, I swear,” I said, covering my face with my hands and fighting surging tears. “I never wanted to kill anyone—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Liam cut me off. “You don’t have to work so hard to explain it to me. I’ve seen and heard enough to know that someone is manipulating you. We just need to figure out who and why.”

A rogue tear escaped, and I wiped it away before it could reach my cheek. I couldn’t let myself go to that place ever again. There was a time after Dad died when I let myself be crippled and debilitated by constant waterworks. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without embarrassing myself. It had been at least three months since my last ugly cry. To survive I needed to see clearly, without the blurring pain.

As much as I needed and wanted Liam’s touch, I pulled away to steel myself against the weakness threatening to destroy me. My walls were there for a reason: protection.

“Hey,” Liam said, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Why don’t we get something to eat, check the news to see if there’s a report on any, uh, crime scenes, and we can go through this in a little while.”

I was hesitant to leave my research without showing Liam the three remaining criminals. There had to be another clue that would help me understand why all this was happening, or maybe prepare me for the next time around. Because by now, I knew there’d be a next time.

“C’mon, when was the last time you ate anything?” Liam asked, frowning and lifting himself off the floor. I could tell he was trying to hide the pain in his side from last night. “I had a bowl of Captain Crunch a few hours ago when I woke up, but I need some real food.”

“Yeah,
real
food,” I said, rubbing away any stray traces of emotion. “My mom doesn’t do a lot of grocery shopping these days. I doubt there’s anything here.”

He offered me his hand and I let him pull me up.

“That’s cool,” he said, giving me that devilish grin. “I could really go for some In-N-Out Burger right now. A Double-Double, extra salt on the fries, and a big ol’ whammer jammer chocolate shake. How about you?”

For the first time in a long while, Liam Slater made me laugh. I could only smile and nod in agreement.

“That was easy,” Liam said, leading me toward the door. “You never do what I say.”

“You had me at chocolate shake.” I smiled. “And whammer jammer.” I smiled even wider. But as I hit the top of the stairs I remembered I’d left all my “dirty laundry” spread out all over the floor. “Wait, let me just put away the chest. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I put most of the files and notebooks back, and shoved the box under my bed. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most original place to hide my deepest, darkest secrets. I stuffed the remaining three of five monster files in my backpack. They were heavy, but as I slung the bag over my shoulders, I couldn’t help but feel lighter. I finally had someone to confide in. Someone who I could finally be myself around. He knew everything now—he was the only one. Not my mom, not Dr. T, not Alana.

My heart sank remembering the way Alana looked at me when she got out of Big Black early this morning. She wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming. Though she’d always made an effort to understand—and even sometimes participate in—my dad’s training, she never loved it. In fact, in the year leading up to Dad’s death, she was pretty much over it. Especially when it got in the way of parties, boys, shopping, and beach time. Which it always did.

I checked my cell phone to see if she’d called or texted, but her silence was deafening. I so badly wanted to tell her again that I was sorry for dragging her into all of this. Talk to her about how Liam made me laugh. She would practically drool over the phone if I told her about Liam’s neon sign. How ironic that the only time I’d managed to push Alana away was also the one time I finally had something to say.

Suddenly, I heard men’s voices coming from downstairs. Liam was talking to someone, but I hadn’t heard the doorbell. I held tight to my phone in case I needed to call 911. I thought about getting one of Dad’s shotguns, but first I peeked over the railing to see if I could catch where the voices were coming from and whose they were.

Liam stood near the open front door, arms crossed. I could see the outline of a man in black clothes standing opposite him.

This time, 911 wouldn’t do me any good.