“What?” That was before I told her about my dad. Before I even knew about him.
“She believes he’s still alive. In Colombia. Where you were kidnapped. Where Ryan was killed. I know he’s involved in that somehow, Maddie. I tried to tell you what he was really like, back when we were twelve. I saw him that night. During our sleepover. He smelled like kerosene and he was carrying a gas can.”
“You still think . . .” Oh my God. A warehouse burned down that night and the sirens kept us awake. It was full of chemical pesticides my dad said the United States government would have used against cocaine farmers in Colombia. He said God struck the warehouse down, to keep those chemicals from finding their way into rural drinking water. But Kathryn had said . . .
“There was a night guard in that warehouse. He died, Maddie. Your dad killed him and you didn’t believe me. If you’d listened—if you’d helped me tell someone—none of the rest of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have made it into Colombia. Ryan would still be alive. That ship—your uncle’s ship—wouldn’t have blown up.” Her gaze pins me. “You could have stopped this. But you wouldn’t listen.”
I couldn’t. I couldn’t believe that my father was capable of . . .
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. It’s too late now. “You smashed up my cousin’s car because of that? Genesis didn’t even know about the fire.”
Kathryn frowns. “I didn’t smash your cousin’s car. I’ve never even met her. But if she really blew up the Splendor, there were probably a lot of people ready to take a bat to her stuff.”
That takes me a second to process.
My phone rings, and Indiana’s name pops up on the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this.” Surely he and Genesis have seen Neda’s show by now. “I’m sorry, Kathryn.”
“Have you seen Genesis?” Indiana asks before I can say hello, and my smile dies.
“No, but she just sent me a picture of her car.”
“Her dad got one too. Then the school called and said she’s missed two classes.”
Of course she went to school. Pride would never let her hide out at home.
“But she didn’t answer her phone, so I told him I’d find her. I’m in the school parking lot. Her car’s still here, but she’s gone.”
“Can Uncle Hernán track her phone?”
“She turned off the tracking.” The groan of metal tells me he’s leaning against her car. “Do you have any idea where she might go?”
“Other than home? Maybe my apartment?”
“Is your mom home?”
“No, she has a couple of follow-up appointments. But Genesis has a key. I’ll meet you there. I’m leaving now.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up and text Luke.
Genesis is missing. Leaving to check my apartment. Will you get my stuff from physics?
I head out of the bathroom, and the bell rings before I get halfway to the nearest exit. Doors fly open and people pour into the halls. I should have to fight the flow of traffic, but it seems to part all around me. People are staring. Whispering.
If it’s this bad for me—the cousin of the girl who pushed the button—I can’t imagine what Genesis must have gone through at school.
Someone calls my name from the other end of the hall. I spin and find my physics teacher staring at me expectantly. Which is when I realize I left the restroom pass on the edge of a sink in the girls’ bathroom.
Instead of going back for it, I give her an apologetic look and run for the exit.
I live less than a mile from my high school, but Indiana’s already standing on the sidewalk when I pull into the parking space next to him. “Have you been up there yet?” I ask as we take the concrete steps two at a time toward my second-floor apartment.
“No. I just got here.”
The television is on inside. I can hear it as I unlock the door.
I step into my living room to find Genesis sitting on the couch staring at the TV, the remote control threatening to fall from her slack grip. Relief washes over me. She looks up, but doesn’t seem surprised to find either of us watching her.
“Have you seen this?” she asks.
Indiana and I sink onto the couch on either side of her. I take the remote from her and aim it at the television—and finally the image on screen catches my attention.
Holden Wainwright. In handcuffs.
This is so not the same thing.
GENESIS
“Holy crap!” The remote control falls from Maddie’s grip and thumps to the carpet.
“I know.” I can’t stop staring.
Indiana nods at the screen. “Check out the headline.”
“I know!” Despite the day I’ve had, I can hardly keep the glee from my voice. Although, truthfully, I’m not actually trying.
“‘Heir to billion-dollar pharmaceutical fortune arrested for dealing controlled substances,’” Maddie reads from the screen. “Holy crap!” she repeats.
“They picked him up at home ten minutes ago,” I say, staring at the front of the huge three-story beachfront mansion where Holden—an only child—grew up. “They’ve already played this clip three times. Watch. Here comes his mother.”
On screen, Elizabeth Wainwright follows her son down a wide set of marble steps. She’s speaking frantically into her cell phone, and I can’t decide whether she’s calling her husband or her attorney.
“Karma!” Maddie declares, her voice heavy with satisfaction. Then her smile begins to fade. “The day before the big benefit. Do you think they’ll cancel?”
“I could not care less.” I stare at the screen, and a new line of text runs across the bottom. “Billionaire ‘hero’ outted as drug dealer by beauty blogger Neda Rahbar.”
I grab the remote from the floor and rewind. “Did you see that?” I hit pause, and the words freeze on the screen, a little blurry, thanks to my cousin’s outdated television. “Neda did this! She posted something on her show.” I pull my phone from my pocket and ignore all the missed calls and messages as I open my browser and type Neda’s name into the search bar.
“They’re playing it.” Indiana takes the remote and turns the TV up, and I hear Neda’s voice.
“Hey, this is Neda Rahbar. You’re watching a special edition of Survival Mode, and I’m about to throw three truths at you, so get ready,” Neda says on screen. I lean forward to listen, and my jaw drops lower with every word she says.
“I can’t believe she did that.”
“I know, right?” Maddie’s grinning. She doesn’t look surprised.
Still stunned, I text Neda.
Call?
My phone rings a second later, and I accept a video chat. Neda’s face appears on my screen and her living room passes in a blur of glass and marble in the background. She clearly didn’t go to school today.
“You saw my show?” Her dark eyes are bright with excitement.
“They just played it on CNN. I can’t believe you did that.”
A smile stretches across her face as she drops onto a leather chaise longue. “I still can’t believe they’re showing it on TV. And the Huffington Post linked to me! Can you imagine the endorsements that will come from this?”
“I’m still trying to imagine Holden in prison.” And really hoping I don’t wind up there myself.
“Prison? Holden’s going to prison?” Neda sits up, looking more surprised than she should, which probably means she didn’t see the footage of him being arrested.
“I don’t know.”
“What did you think would happen?” Maddie frowns at Neda from over my shoulder.
Neda shrugs. “I thought he’d be super embarrassed, and probably grounded. His parents have, like, fifty lawyers. I didn’t think he’d go to prison.”
“First comes jail, and a bond hearing,” Maddie says. “Holden’s lawyers will probably get him off, if this even goes to trial, but they can’t stop him from being arrested.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that she knows all that. S
he wants to be an attorney for the ACLU. And she’s seen every episode of The Good Wife.
“Hey, where did you get that video?” I ask Neda.
She glances over my shoulder at Maddie. “They didn’t tell you?”
“They, who?”
Neda rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s not like I know how to hack into the cloud.”
“I gotta go.” I hang up and turn to Maddie. “This was you and Luke?”
She shrugs. “Someone wise once told me that you can get over it, or you can get even.”
I pull her into a hug so tight my own arms ache. “This is so not the same thing,” I whisper as I blink away tears. I outted a cheater in Maddie’s defense. She got my ex arrested.
“Yeah, well, I also once heard you threaten to leave Holden in a Colombian prison.” Finally she smiles. “This was the closest I could get.”
1 DAY, 4 HOURS EARLIER
I can’t say no.
MADDIE
Someone knocks on the front door, and when I open it, Luke holds out my backpack. “Hey.”
“Hey. Thanks.” I take the bag and tug him inside. “Sorry, it’s been crazy. Someone beat the crap out of my cousin’s car.”
“Because of Holden?”
“Yeah. Security cameras caught it. Turns out they knew one of the Splendor victims.”
“Oh. Ouch.”
“Yeah. Gen’s not pressing charges.”
“And she can’t tell her side of the story because of the NDA. . . .” Luke’s brows draw low as he follows me toward the kitchen. “So she just has to let what Holden said stand?”
“Yes. And I hate to point this out, but he was telling the truth. At least Neda gave them a reason to doubt Holden’s account.” I frown, surprised by my own words. “I never expected to hope that people start doubting the truth.”
“This is one of those rare cases when the facts and the truth aren’t the same thing. She was trying to detonate the bombs so they couldn’t be used in a terrorist attack. She had no idea they were on a cruise ship.” Luke shrugs. “If people have to doubt the facts in order to understand the truth, I’m good with that.”
“Okay, no one else in the world could have made that make sense.”
“I told you.” He returns my smile with a heated grin as he leans in for a kiss. “I can do a lot of things.”
Luke’s mouth meets mine and I run my hand up his arm and into his hair. “Mmmm . . . ,” I murmur when he finally pulls away. I’m high on our victory and eager to make this feeling last longer. “My mom will be home soon. Let’s go to my—”
My phone buzzes, and I have to lean into Luke to pull it from my back pocket and read the text. “Crap. It’s Holden’s mom’s assistant.”
“What does she want?
“‘Elizabeth Wainwright is busy with a personal matter,’” I read, and Luke snorts in amusement. “‘And if we’re going to be ready by tomorrow night, I need all hands on deck to help with the preparations.’”
“For the benefit?” Luke looks skeptical. “Don’t they hire people to do the actual setup?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what they want us to do, but I can’t say no. I have a scholarship riding on this.” I hesitate, then blurt out what I’m thinking. “I know I’ve asked way too much of you lately, so you totally don’t have to help. But if you wanted to come sit on the sidelines and keep me company, I wouldn’t object. . . .”
Luke’s eyes widen in mock awe. “A chance to set up chairs and tables for no pay so that a bunch of millionaires can pay fifty thousand dollars a plate for a thirty-dollar catered chicken dinner? How could I ever say no?”
He only ran off because he was scared.
GENESIS
“No, you can’t drink yet!” Neda snatches the glass of wine from my hand and sets it on the marble surface of her parents’ bar. “We have to toast first.”
“Toasts are so cheesy,” Pen whines as she slides onto a bar stool.
“Sometimes a little cheese is good,” I insist as I sink onto the stool next to her. I’m smiling for what feels like the first time in years. “We survived the jungle. We survived the terrorists. We survived Holden Wainwright. That deserves a toast.”
Behind the bar, Neda sets out three large shot glasses, then pulls three bottles from the small refrigerator beneath the counter. Coffee liqueur, Irish cream, and amaretto. I stifle a laugh while I watch Neda layer them into the shot glasses, then top all three with a squirt from a can of whipped cream. She pushes one shot glass toward each of us. “Ready?”
Pen and I pick up our drinks. “What are we toasting to?” she asks.
“To the fact that we’re all here, and thanks to my webshow, Holden is sitting pretty at the county jail.”
“Actually he’s still at the police station,” I point out.
Neda rolls her eyes. “The point is that he’s behind bars. May he drop the soap at the worst possible moment.”
Pen frowns. “Is that the toast? Surely you can come up with something a little classier.”
“How’s this?” Neda holds up her shot glass. “Chicks before dicks!”
Pen and I laugh as we clink our glasses against hers, then we throw them back.
I lick whipped cream from my lips. “Does anyone else find it even a little ironic that we just toasted to ‘chicks before dicks’ by drinking a shot called a Blow Job?”
Penelope peers into her glass, as if she hopes to suddenly find it full again. “Is that what I just drank? It tasted like chocolate milk.”
“Another?” Neda asks, peering at the shelves beneath the countertop. “I think I have everything for a Red-Headed Slut.”
“Where did you learn all that?” Penelope asks. “The internet?”
I shake my head. “Her sister.” Nadirah Rahbar was a legendary party girl back in her day.
“So? Another one?” Neda is already digging for more bottles.
“I’m good.” Penelope twists on her bar stool to face me. “Gen, I’m so sorry for everything I said to you.”
“Forget it. Holden was the problem. Not you.”
Penelope crosses the room and plops down on one of the overstuffed couches. “But I kinda feel sorry for him.”
“Who? Holden?” Neda leaves the bar without bothering to put up the bottles—her parents are out of town and her live-in housekeeper is practically always on duty. “No, you do not feel sorry for him.”
“I mean, yeah, he’s a dick, but we’re talking about jail. Maybe prison. If that’s the appropriate punishment for being an asshole, half our school should be locked up.”
I frown as I sink onto the couch with her. “Pen, he’s not in jail because he’s an asshole. He’s in jail because he sold drugs.”
“And because I posted that video, which I did because I love you bitches,” Neda adds.
“We love you too.” I pat her leg, and she looks satisfied by the attention. “But my point is that he’s in jail because he broke the law.”
“We all broke the law.” Penelope glances at the bar, where we all just took underage shots. “And not for the first time.” She looks torn, and I can practically feel her new stance on Holden wavering.
Why can’t she see him for what he really is? Even now?
“Pen.” I capture her gaze and hold it. “He ran off and left us in the jungle. And he shot Óscar.”
“That was self-defense,” Penelope insists. “And he only ran off because he was scared.”
“We were all scared,” I remind her. “No one else ran. But there’s more.” I’m not sure why I’m whispering. There’s no one else around to hear. “You guys, Holden killed Rog.”
“What?” Neda’s whispering now too.
“He says he thought Rog was one of my uncle’s men. But . . . he didn’t even hesitate. And he wasn’t upset about it. He just moved on, as if it never even happened. And I can’t tell that he’s even thought about it since we got back.”
“Poor old Rog! We should do a shot in his honor.” Neda heads back to
the bar and begins setting up another round of drinks. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because I don’t have any proof it wasn’t self-defense. And I was hoping to hold it over him, to get out of any more interviews.” I shrug. “Though now it doesn’t look like I need to.”
Thanks to Maddie.
My phone buzzes with a text from my cousin, as if she knows I’m thinking about her. I read the text and laugh out loud, welcoming the ironic subject change. “Wanna hear something funny?”
“Based on the look on your face?” Neda says. “No.”
“Maddie needs our help with the Wainwright benefit, because Holden’s parents are busy trying to get him out of jail.”
You guys would be so lost without me.
MADDIE
“No, there are supposed to be three rows of eleven tables and two rows of six, split in half with the dance floor area between them!” I shout. Then I immediately feel guilty. The men setting up the banquet room aren’t trying to make my life difficult, and they probably aren’t being paid much to haul tables and chairs around all night.
But at least they are getting paid.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and I turn to see Genesis standing behind me, one hand propped on her hip, an amused smile riding the corner of her mouth. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile since she made it out of the jungle, and I probably shouldn’t be irritated that this one’s coming at my expense, but . . .
“Hey.” I smile back and gesture at the room behind me. “Thanks for coming. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Which is what?” Neda asks from my cousin’s left. “Presiding over the most lopsided ballroom transformation in the history of charity benefits?”
“This wasn’t exactly in my job description,” I admit. “Until yesterday, I was in charge of checking off RSVPs.” I turn and gesture to the room. “We’re short two tables, the ‘portable party floor’ for dancing hasn’t arrived yet, and the company who rented us the place settings evidently misplaced fish knives and dessert spoons. I don’t know how those are different than regular knives and spoons, so how the hell am I supposed to find them?”