Runaway (Airhead #3) (5 page)

And for a second, I thought I spotted a glimpse of the dark supervillain that I had been convinced he’d turned into after reports of my “death” and his decision to try to avenge it… that supervillain I thought was gone for good when he realized I wasn’t dead after all.

But no. The darkness— and hate— were still there. Maybe they would never go away.

And I was going to have to live with the knowledge that I was the one who was responsible for that.

“Why does anyone commit murder?” he asked in a low voice.

“I—” I blinked. “How should I know?”

“Three reasons,” Christopher said. He held up one finger. “Love.” Another finger. “Revenge.” And finally, a third finger. “Profit. They tried to kill Nikki Howard when she threatened to expose the truth about them.”

“So?” I shook my head. “I still don’t—”

“Robert Stark definitely has a plan for how he’s going to profit from the information he’s stealing from the people who buy his new PCs,” Christopher said. “What we need to do is figure out what that is. And how we’re going to make him pay. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. We better get on it. Get dressed and let’s go.”

I started disentangling my legs from the sheets. “Steven and his mom are going to be fine,” I said. “I can probably get them up and out, no problem. But I’m not sure how we’re going to convince Nikki to come along with us willingly. She likes it here just fine. And she’s expecting a brain swap in the morning.”

“Wait,” Christopher said, putting a large hand on my shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“Nikki,” I said, looking at him in the moonlight. Something about his expression told me that the evil supervillain was not only back, but here to stay. “She’s not going to want to go. But she has to, of course. It’s not safe for her here.”

“Em,” Christopher said. His voice was cold. “I don’t care about Nikki Howard. I’m here to rescue you. Not her.”

“But.” I blinked at him. “We can’t just leave her behind.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “we can.”

Six

I WAS TRYING TO WRAP MY MIND AROUND a world where the guy I loved would refuse to help a damsel in distress.

Although it
was
kind of hard to think of Nikki as any kind of damsel.

“If she wants to stay with Brandon,” Christopher said, his tone uncompromising, “let her. Now go put some jeans on so we can get out of here.”

“She’s a severely damaged person,” I argued. “She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s been through a lot.”

“So have you,” Christopher said. “And you aren’t going around trying to blackmail people. Though I can’t say I’ve been too impressed by how you’ve handled the situation so far.”

I glared at him, stung. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“You really thought I was going to believe you’d run off with
Brandon Stark,
of all people, because he’s just so damned irresistible?” His tone was slightly scornful. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

My heart gave a warning
ker-thump
inside my chest. Uh-oh.

He sounded mad. Not just annoyed. But really, really mad.

And also, maybe, beneath the anger, a little hurt.

“Christopher,” I said when I was able to find my voice, “I can explain all that. Brandon told me if I didn’t pretend like he and I were—” I swallowed. Uh-oh. Snot. And some tears, too. Not a good sign. “You know. That he’d tell his dad where he could find Nikki.”

“And you believed him?” Christopher demanded. “What was the likelihood of that happening, when Nikki holds the key to Brandon getting back at his father for taking away his Super Soaker when he was a kid, or whatever the hell it was Robert Stark did that Brandon’s so mad at him for?”

Wow. Christopher was right about that one. Why hadn’t I ever thought of that? For a smart girl, I can be really dumb sometimes.

I may be able to figure out how to make a slow-burning fuse by watching YouTube.

But boys? That’s where I seem to have a big fat blind spot.

“He was really convincing, Christopher,” I said. The tears were starting to overflow. I hoped he couldn’t see them in the dark. I tried to hold them back. I felt so stupid. He was angry, and I responded by crying? How big a baby was I, anyway? No wonder he liked McKayla Donofrio better than me. I bet she never cried. She was too busy watching CNBC’s stock market report and double-checking her retirement portfolio. “Brandon’s dad tried to have Nikki killed. I think you’re right, and he maybe even tried to have me killed…or at least that TV dropping on my head at that exact moment wasn’t quite the accident everyone made it out to be. So how was I supposed to know he wouldn’t try to have someone else killed, maybe even someone I love, like Mom and Dad, or Frida, or even…you?”

I thought that might cause him to warm up. I mean, I’d just admitted I loved him. You would think the guy would throw me a bone.

But no. He still wasn’t having any of it.

“And you couldn’t call or text me to tell me any of this?” Christopher demanded. “Seriously, Em? This past week, not a single message? What, Brandon’s been watching you every second of the day?”

“No,” I said, wiping tears from my face with the back of a wrist. I was mad now, too. Mad at myself for crying, but mad at Christopher, too. What did he want me to do? “But what was I supposed to say, Christopher? How do I know they aren’t tapping your phone? You don’t know what it’s been like. It’s like they’re everywhere, watching. And besides, I promised Brandon—”

“Oh, you promised him,” Christopher said. And this time, he wasn’t being a
little
harsh. “Jesus, Em, for a smart girl, you can really be dense sometimes. Almost,” he added, with a self-deprecating smirk, “as dense as I was for taking so long to figure out who you really were.”

“Well,
you
never called or texted me,” I said, a throb in my voice. I couldn’t help it.

“You kicked me to the curb!” Christopher cried, spreading his hands out wide. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing black leather fingerless gloves, the kind cool bad guys— who always turn out to not really be bad— wear in movies. I supposed that’s what Christopher was now, though.

Except that he was actually kind of bad. Or he was acting that way, at least.

“What am I,” he went on, “your fricking dog? You can treat me like crap and I’m just going to come crawling back to you every time? Oh, no, wait— you treat your dog better than you treat me.” He pointed at Cosabella, curled up beside me. “You let her in on everything.”

I blinked at him. This had gone from really, really great to really, really bad in a matter of minutes. In my dream, Christopher had totally forgiven me. And then he’d made out with me.

But it didn’t look like that was going to happen in real life.

“Face it, Em, you don’t really love me,” he said harshly. “You say you do, but you don’t. You know how I know that? Because you don’t trust me. Through this whole thing, you’ve never trusted me enough to let me in completely.” He got up from the side of the bed. “Well, you’re never going to be able to have a real relationship until you stop thinking Emerson Watts is the smartest person in the whole world, and start trusting other people, and letting them try to help you. It’s called being an adult, Em. You might want to give it a try.”

“Wait,” I said, my voice cracking. “You’re just going to
leave?”

“Well,” he said, “are you going to come with me if we don’t take Nikki?”

“No,” I said, lifting a wrist to wipe furiously at my eyes.

“Then yeah,” he said. “I guess I am. Because you said yourself she’s not going to leave willingly.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. It was my big Princess Leia moment— I was being rescued, only not, thankfully, by my own brother— and I was blowing it. My rescuer was just walking out and leaving me behind like dryer lint.

But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave Nikki behind.

However much she might not deserve or even want my loyalty.

“Fine,” I said. “I guess this is good-bye, then.”

“I guess it is,” he said.

And he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I sat there in my bed, expecting the knob to turn and for him to come back any minute. He’d be all awkward and sweet— or maybe still angry and defensive— and say it was my fault. Only, of course, what he’d really be saying was,
I’m sorry, Em. I still love you. Come with me. Please come with me.
Whichever. It didn’t matter.

But he’d come back. Of course he’d come back.

He couldn’t have just walked out. He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t.

But he was. The minutes on my bedside clock ticked by, and he didn’t come back. The house was noiseless. Nothing. No sign of Christopher coming or going.

It took a while for reality to sink in, but eventually, it finally did. He’d ditched me. He’d completely ditched me!

I couldn’t believe it. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

Well, okay, not really. Getting a brain transplant in the first place. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

But this was totally the second worst thing.

Besides the fact that tomorrow Brandon Stark was going to make me get a second brain transplant.

Yeah. I was a total idiot not to have gone with Christopher.

On the other hand…he’d clearly morphed back into the dark supervillain I’d seen hints of ever since I’d had my accident. I guess you can’t really shake that kind of thing entirely. Maybe I’d been smart not to go with him. Of course I had! I couldn’t have gone off with him and left the Howards behind. Because Steven and his mom wouldn’t have gone without Nikki, either. How selfish would that have been?

No, I’d made the right choice. Christopher was the one with the issues, not me. How could he even have suggested otherwise? If anyone had any growing up to do, it was him, not me.

When I woke up— and I don’t even know how I’d managed to fall asleep, with all the fuming I’d been doing— it was because Brandon Stark was rattling my doorknob, demanding to know when I was going to get up and come down to breakfast.

And a few seconds later, Nikki came barging into my room from the connecting door to hers, telling me to be sure not to eat too much, because she didn’t want to get “her body” back too bloated.

And my cell, over on my nightstand, was buzzing. When I fumbled for it and squinted at the caller ID, I saw it was a text message from my agent, Rebecca, demanding to know when I was going to be back in New York.

Robert Stark was throwing a New Year’s party at his massive four-story town house preceding the live Stark Angels lingerie show the day after tomorrow, and it was important that I be there to meet the shareholders. If I wasn’t there, I was going to be in violation of my contract. Not only was I going to be replaced by Gisele Bündchen (who’d managed to lose all the pregnancy weight in record time and changed her mind about agreeing to be in the show), but I was going to lose a lot of money.

Needless to say, Rebecca was unhappy with me.

I lay there and wondered how unhappy Rebecca would be if she knew how much her highest-paid client was about to
really
lose. As in, her life, if Nikki had her way.

Honestly, I don’t know what I had been thinking. I’ve never considered myself the girliest of girls, or anything. I was born and raised in New York City, so I’d always thought I’d seen it all, including a broken bottle fight once outside our local Mexican restaurant (Señor Swanky’s) between two men arguing over possession of a parking space.

So was it completely unnatural of me to think, when I’d woken in the middle of the night to find my boyfriend saying he was there to rescue me, that all my problems were over, and that everything was going to be all right?

Apparently so. Apparently, that Aretha Franklin song my mom liked so much was right, and sisters really did need to keep doing it for themselves.

Probably it was my fault for believing that those corny happily ever afters at the ends of the romance novels my sister, Frida, was always reading, where the hero was always saving the heroine— usually from dangerous situations she’d put herself into— could actually happen in real life.

Because it turned out all those books were wrong. It turned out, in real life, the hero had problems with the heroine’s “trust issues.”

Excuse me, but
I
have trust issues? I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’m not saying there isn’t a possibility— a slight possibility— that what Christopher had said was partly true.

Maybe I do have difficulty letting other people in, or allowing them to get to know me, or help me, or whatever.

But Christopher thought
I
was the only one with a problem? Oh, that was rich. That was just hilarious, coming from a guy who kept a
code scanner
in his pocket.

And okay, Christopher had gone to a lot of trouble to rescue me.

But was I rescued? Um, the answer to that question would be no.

But I told myself I didn’t care anymore. Not now that Dark Spider-Man had taken the place of my formerly sweet boyfriend.

Even if he had only been my boyfriend for about two minutes, total.

Why hadn’t I just told Christopher last night that Nikki had demanded her old body back in return for her spilling her secret to Brandon?

Not that this would necessarily have made the slightest difference to him. Probably it wouldn’t have, considering how much he hated me. Which was maybe why I didn’t tell him. A girl had to have some pride. I mean, I didn’t want him taking me back out
of pity,
or something. Nothing would be more disgusting than
that.

So now he was gone and I was still here and I’d never know for sure if it would have made a difference or not.

And right now Brandon was probably having a secret laboratory set up where my brain was going to be sucked out and put into yet another stranger’s body.

And who even knew if this time I’d recover from the surgery? I might be lobotomized or, worse, never wake up at all. I might end up in a vegetative state for the rest of my life. Or have that icky hair that Nikki had totally fried with the flat iron.

I’ll just be honest: I wasn’t that jazzed about being the new Nikki. No offense, but she wasn’t showing too much potential, at least the way the old Nikki was dragging her around in my castoffs.

Plus, I had gotten used to being
the
Nikki Howard. Maybe it was shallow, and sure, I’d complained about it a few times.

But I don’t care what Megan Fox or Jessica Biel say: There were definite advantages to being the hottest girl on the planet. Number one was that I got paid for it. A lot.

And number two was that people were just nicer to you when you looked pretty, as opposed to looking like the hot mess that I used to be, and that the old Nikki was now. They just were. It was a fact. Whitney Robertson was example A. Why would I want to go back to having volleyballs spiked at my head (on purpose), and my own sister refusing to be seen with me?

You could go on and on about how people were supposed to like you for what you had on the inside.

But if that was really true, why in the name of all that is holy would anyone have ever liked Nikki in the first place? I was becoming more and more convinced she was a cross between Heidi Montag and Hitler.

And I had no faith that Christopher would ever come back. We hadn’t exactly parted on the greatest of terms, so it seemed unlikely I was ever going to see him again, except maybe in Public Speaking, if I got back to Tribeca Alternative. I couldn’t believe he’d accused me of treating him like a dog when I most definitely had made almost every decision out of concern for
his
safety.

And okay, maybe, like he’d said, that
was
infantalizing him, just a little. After all, he was a grown man who could make his own decisions and didn’t need my protection.

But in my opinion my trying to protect him only proved how deeply I loved him.