Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 61

"As opposed to..." He waved a hand. "A fake crazy person?"

"You're totally focusing on the wrong things." Vincent ran a hand down his face. An

attempt to keep his temper in check.

A familiar, shrill ringtone filled the air. Cooper's mom muttered under her breath as

she darted to the bedroom, though Cooper already knew what to expect. Another

call from work, asking if she could please pull another night shift.

He and Vincent shared a look.

"Anyway." Vincent pulled his phone out of his front pocket. "Astrid's off her rocker.

She tried to call me three times before ten in the morning. " He hesitated, phone in

hand.

"What? Let me see." Cooper held out his hand.

Vincent swallowed audibly. "It's...weird."

Weird normal? Cooper wondered, uneasy about the odd light shining in Vincent's

eyes—was that fear? Or weird...not normal?

He pulled up a string of texts and tossed the phone to Cooper, who barely managed

to catch it. He read the first text. And then the second. And the third.

Okay. Weird not normal.

His heart skipped. "Um. Dude?"

"I know."

Each new text increased his sense of dread. His throat began to feel uncomfortably

tight. As if the walls were closing in, limiting the supply of air in the apartment.

I can't do this anymore.

I have nightmares every night now and it's driving me crazy Vincent.

Please talk to me.

I miss talking to you.

I'm so sorry for everything. I just want to go back to how things used to be...

"How things used to be?" Cooper asked, incredulous. "Back when she got to have

her cake and eat it too?"

"Just keep reading," Vincent urged, his face troubled.

I know what I did was horrible and I'm so sorry.

I've done so many horrible things...

Please?

I didn't mean to do any of it.

Vincent I'm in so much trouble.

I didn't mean to do it.

And on it went. Cooper scanned through most of the tirade. He checked the time

stamps and shook his head. "She kept this up for an hour?"

"At least."

Finally, Cooper stumbled upon Vincent's first response.

What do you want?

Her reply came within a minute. I really messed up, Vincent. I don't know what to

do.

Vincent's reply was equally swift. And ruthless. We weren't even dating...just stop

texting me okay? This is what you wanted.

Her final reply effectively ended the conversation.

I did something horrible.

Cooper felt like someone had shoved a fist down his throat. He struggled to draw a

steady breath, let alone form a coherent sentence.

"What does she mean?" He settled for a whisper, handing Vincent his phone. But he

didn't take it. He let it fall to the couch, staring at the screen with dread.

"I don't know," he whispered back, sinking lower into the couch. "Coop...it sounds

bad. I mean..."

He didn't say it. He didn't have to. Cooper's mind had already wandered deep down

that path—he was just surprised that's where Vincent's mind had gone, too.

"I thought about it for a while," Vincent continued, his voice breaking slightly at the

end. "And the more I thought about it the more I realized...I don't think she was

talking about us . I think...damn it, Coop. What if Astrid...what if she's been hurting

people?"

He suspects her. But what the hell am I supposed to say?

"Is she really capable of that sort of thing?" Cooper asked, playing it safe. He

couldn't tear his eyes away from the phone. Both boys held their position, stuck in a

nightmarish trance.

"Murder? I mean...but...Jacob Stein?" he asked, a little too loudly. Cooper shushed

him and his voice crept back down to a whisper. "Astrid's, like..." He held up his

pinky. "You think she really coulda?"

It was odd, how quickly Vincent had jumped to the same conclusion he and Calla

had made. When she'd told Cooper her list of suspects—in order from most to least

likely—he'd expressed reservations about Astrid Baker. For all her jealous

tendencies, the girl had no real reason to want Rachel or Jacob dead.

Unless she's involved in the drug ring. Unless she's more vindictive than she looks.

Unless she hates Calla enough to want to watch her suffer.

Unless. Unless. Unless.

Cooper tore his eyes from the phone and ran a distressed hand through his hair.

One. Two. Three. "Shit."

"And that's not all." Vincent sounded well and truly miserably now. "I was already

freaked 'cause of last Friday, and it got me thinking about things, and then this

happened—"

"Wait, what happened last Friday?" Cooper asked, forgetting to keep his voice

down. He frowned. "Wasn't that the day we...I went to the movies?"

Vincent looked troubled. "Yeah. And I was going to talk to Calla about it today but I,

uh...got distracted."

Cooper sighed. "Obviously."

"Anyway. I went to Ryan's," he went on, too wound up to respond to Cooper's

sarcasm. "And you're not gonna believe who was sitting outside his house. Like,

watching the place."

Cooper faltered for an answer, bewildered. "Yeah. I have no idea."

"Detective Michaels."

" What ?"

"Totally my reaction," Vincent sympathized.

Cooper made a motion with his hand, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His head felt like it was spinning. "Okay. Hold on. So what happened, exactly ?"

"I went inside," Vincent answered hesitantly. "I figured the detective could have been

watching the neighborhood in general, you know? But Ryan's vibe was off. Way off.

Something was definitely wrong."

Cooper gripped his knees, fighting the urge to rip out his hair. "Define wrong."

"He was just...rambling. The guy rambles when he's nervous. Have you ever

noticed?"

"It seems to be a common coping mechanism," Cooper agreed, not pointing out

that Vincent was doing the very same thing.

He continued, undaunted. "He started talking about how screwed the murders are.

And he kept looking out the window. Like, he knew the detective was outside. So I

ask what the problem is, because it's weirding me out. And he says that the

detective is the problem. That the guy is delusional and paranoid and the whole nine

yards. All because Ryan had to use the bathroom at, and I quote, the stupid dance. "

The bathroom?

"Okay...you lost me," Cooper admitted, his mind abuzz.

"I was too," Vincent assured him, making a trust me gesture with his hands. "But I

just go along with it. 'Cause at this point, what else am I supposed to say? And Ryan

laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. Says it's stupid. But apparently, he

was back in the bathrooms right before the murder—like he came out of the

bathroom and saw Rachel's dead body. He freaked and bolted. Which doesn't sound

great, does it?"

"Are you kidding me?" Cooper burst out, right as his mom made her reappearance.

She glanced between them, one hand on her purse's shoulder strap. She had

changed into her scrubs.

"Everything okay?" she asked, going to grab her keys.

"Uh huh," Cooper offered. "Just school drama."

"Okay." She came over to kiss his head, and then did the same for a blushing

Vincent. "I'll be late, baby. Don't you boys dare eat all that lasagna. Save me a

slice!"

"Of course, Mrs. A." Vincent tried for a smile, but it came out all wrong.

His mom gave them one last, long look before heading for the door. "Don't do

anything I wouldn't do!" she called, stepping outside.

They only relaxed once the door clicked shut. But even then, relax wasn't the right

word. Vincent rubbed his hands over his face. "Man. What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know," Cooper muttered, staring down at his hands. "Ryan just...he just told

you all of this?"

"Yeah. He was wired up . "

Something about those words triggered a memory Cooper didn't even know he'd

had. He bolted from his seat on the couch and sprinted for his bedroom.

"I—Coop, what the hell?" Vincent called.

"One sec!" Cooper shouted back. He snatched his camera from the dresser and

began scrolling through one of the most recent albums.

There it is.

Cooper hurried back to the living room, holding his camera in the air like a trophy.

"Found it."

Vincent's next words came out as an irritable snap. "Found what?"

"This." Cooper threw him the camera. "Notice anything off about that picture?"

Vincent gave the image a good, long look, trying to hide his bewilderment. "I don't

know, Coop. Is this from the gala? Ryan looks pissed. And scared. Did you sneak up

on him, or something?"

"Surprise snapshots are Steph's favorite," he explained. "But that's beside the point.

Keep looking."

He blew out a sigh and did as instructed. "I still don't...oh. s**t . Is that—"

"Cocaine on Ryan's tie?" Cooper bent forward and tapped the picture, blowing up

the image. He zoomed in on Ryan's face. "Unless he's super into baking, yeah, I'm

pretty sure that's what it is. There's some on his nose, too."

"Well. f**k me." Vincent looked up at Cooper. "That hypocritical bastard! All that

talk about Gareth, for what?"

"Funny, isn't it," Cooper added, sitting back down on the couch. He took his camera

back. "How Ryan was suddenly right there to stop the fight. Convenient timing."

Vincent followed his train of thought. "Or not convenient at all. They were back in

the bathroom. Together. "

Cooper waved the camera, more excited than he should have been, considering the

conversation they were having. "I don't think Ryan's just a dabbler, either."

Vincent frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think he's a dealer," Cooper explained. "I think he was dealing at the gala. It's why

he was back in the bathrooms. And I think the cops figured it out."

"But why have a detective on his ass?" Vincent asked, still at a loss.

That, Cooper couldn't say. Not without leading Vincent down a very dangerous path

of conspiracy theories and murder mysteries. There was no easy way to explain that

their classmate—their friend —could potentially be capable of murder.

Someone else is calling the shots. As usual, Calla's instincts had been spot on.

Gareth may have replaced Jacob as the new dealer on the block, but he certainly

wasn't calling the shots. Could Ryan be the head of the snake?

Calla. Cooper itched to grab his phone. He wanted nothing more in this moment to

call her and tell her every little detail he's just heard. She would know exactly which

connections to make. He was sure of it.

But he was also sure that if he told her this, there was at least a 90% chance she'd

take it as a sign to persecute Ryan on her own terms. With Calla playing as judge,

jury, and executioner, she called the shots. If Cooper wasn't around to hold her

back...

Who was he kidding? Hold her back ? She'd kicked his ass twice already.

And what about Astrid? Cooper had no idea what that exchange had been about.

Every hair on his neck stood on end when he thought about her final message: I did

something horrible.

That could mean anything , the kinder, far more desperate side of him reasoned. She

could have left the stove on and burned the house down! Or failed her first calculus

exam! Or sent nudes to the wrong Vincent!

Three people were dead. And at least three more people were going to be dead

before this was all over if Cooper and Calla didn't get to the bottom of this. Yet

here he was, trying to justify Astrid's cryptic ass texts to soothe his worst fears.

Cooper looked over at his friend, who was back to staring at his phone, as if afraid it

might come alive if he touched it. Or maybe he was just worried Astrid would text

him again. Both thoughts were equally horrifying.

He felt the overwhelming urge to tell Vincent...well, everything. About how exactly

his cat had died all those years ago. About Tracy. About Calla. About the note in his

locker. About the screwed-beyond-belief alliance he'd formed with a psychopath—

an honest-to-God, textbook psychopath—to save his life and fulfill her horrible

desires. About the fact that he was hunting down a serial killer without any idea

whatsoever what he was doing, only that he was too afraid of what might happen if

he did nothing.

But he couldn't put Vincent in danger. He wouldn't suck his best friend into the dark

nightmare that had become his life. Whatever happiness was in Vincent's life...he

deserved to keep it.

"We'll figure it out," Cooper promised, throwing a blanket over the phone to put it

out of sight. "Right now, let's just...not think about it, okay? Let's eat."

Vincent's eyes flooded with relief, but something in the set of his jaw remained

tense. He wasn't going to let this go. Not by a long shot.

A problem for tomorrow, Cooper thought.

Even if he knew, deep down, that his tomorrows were numbered.

The Queen Bee. The Golden Bird. Snow White. Faithful John. Godfather Death.

Fairytales. They were just fairytales. But their words taunted her as she stared at her

reflection in the bathroom mirror. Whatever common thread tied them together

evaded her.

Figure it out, Calla.

She pressed a fist to her forehead and closed her eyes. She'd gone over each

fairytale a dozen times. The Queen Bee—a sinister warning. The Golden Bird—a tale

of obsession. Snow White—the fair maiden, doomed for death. Faithful John—the

trustworthy servant. Godfather Death—the age-old tale of life and death.

Inescapable. Inevitable.

The thought did not bolster her confidence.

Calla swore as her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. A glance down at the

caller ID set her teeth on edge. She took a deep breath before deigning to answer.

"What. Do. You. Want."

Her tone did little to dissuade Cooper. "I've only got a couple minutes," he said in a

rush, his voice low and urgent. "Vincent's taking his, like, third shower of the day—"

"Unless you're about to paint me a vivid picture of what he looks like in the shower,

I'm hanging up."

"First of all, gross. Second of all—we've got a problem. Or a solution? I don't know

how your mind works, but—"

"Thirty seconds."

"Stop interrupting me!" he hissed. Calla held the phone away from her ear, surprised

at the venom in his tone. "Just shut up and listen!"

What's got him so bent out of shape?

She'd thought his reunion with Vincent would put him in a better mood. The fifteen

minutes she'd spent tangled up with Greenwitch's star quarterback had certainly put

her in high spirits.

At least until she'd heard her mother rummaging around in the kitchen, calling down

the hall to ask her daughter about dinner plans. Calla smirked as she remembered

Vincent making a frantic getaway through her window, falling on his ass and

destroying her mother's flower patch in the process.

"Thank you," Cooper huffed, while Calla remained mute on the other end. "Now,

look. I don't have time, but I've got to tell you this, especially if you're going to see

High School Musical later."

Calla rolled her eyes but held her tongue. The last thing she needed was Cooper

snapping at her again. If he did, she feared what she might do to him the next time

they were alone.

I could cut his wrist and collect a vial of blood. Put it on a chain and wear it around my

neck, she mused, the bizarre thought popping out from the dark depths of her

imagination.

But, no. She definitely shouldn't do that.

"Vincent just told me...well, it's a lot," Cooper continued, unaware of the random

fantasy she'd just indulged in. "He was supposed to tell you earlier but you...ah,

distracted him."

"Hmm," she mused, her mind taking a detour to wander through a completely

different fantasy than the one with the vial of blood. She could still feel Vincent's

hands on her hips, his lips on her neck. "I remember."

"Just..." Cooper sighed. "Anyway. Long story short, Detective Michaels is watching

Ryan Kane's house."

Calla's focus sharpened to a fine point. Her eyes darted to her window instinctively,

as if she could see through the curtains and into Cooper's apartment. "What? Why

didn't you lead with that, dipshit?"

"Shh. That's not all. There's this weird thing with Astrid, too—"

Calla's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Vincent said they haven't been talking."

"I wouldn't call it talking ," he explained impatiently. "She basically harassed him last

weekend. Really blew his phone up. But what she said, Calla...it was weird."

"How weird is weird?"

"Funny," he deadpanned. "I had the same thought. But her texts were off. Huge red

flags. At one point she said, and I quote, I did something horrible."

Calla sat on the edge of her bed, reeling. "That could mean—"

"Anything, I know." His interruption very nearly set her off. "That's what I thought.

But you haven't seen her texts. Trust me. They get...dark. It's like she's not talking

about what happened between her and Vincent at all."

"I need to read those texts," she demanded, her free hand balling into a fist. "If she

means what we think she means..."

"Exactly," Cooper breathed, lowering his voice even further. "Calla, we need to figure

out what's going on, and fast. I didn't tell Vincent anything, but...he kinda caught

me by surprise. He's worried Astrid's wrapped up in the murders. I think he's going

to try and get involved."

"And you didn't tell him anything?" she asked, frowning. She wasn't sure why she

was surprised; Vincent was certainly no fool. But to make the mental jump from

cheating ex to guilty serial killer ? That was a leap by anyone's standards.

He's perceptive. And if Vincent thinks something is wrong...

"No," Cooper confirmed. "I didn't. He made the connection on his own. He thought

he was crazy for even thinking it. I'll admit, I thought it was kinda random at first.

Why would he connect what she said back to the murders? But I think the whole

serial killer thing was already on his mind after the Ryan incident—"

"Wait, wait." Calla put a hand to her forehead, squeezing her temples. "Rewind.

What exactly happened with Ryan? Why is Gerald Michaels watching his house?"

"Vincent went to Ryan's last weekend. The detective was watching the place, like

undercover but not really, since everyone knows everyone else in this godforsaken

town. And...okay. Look, Calla. Don't jump to conclusions or do anything stupid, but

—"

"But what?" she asked, her voice a deadly soft murmur.

She heard Cooper curse on the other end of the line. "Vincent's almost done. I've

got to go, but...Ryan was there, Calla. He was back in the bathrooms around the

time of Rachel's murder. And I have this theory. This crazy theory. I think Ryan's a

dealer, and... "

He trailed off. And then, without another word, the line went dead. Calla nearly

threw her phone at the nearest wall.

Ryan was there, Calla.

She sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, inhaling deeply. She forced herself to

relax, to put the phone done. Gently. She closed her eyes and began to count to ten.

Inhale. Exhale.

One. Two.

In. Out.

He was back in the bathrooms around the time of Rachel's murder.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Three. Four.

Her texts were off. Huge red flags, left and right.