Page 71 of Boardroom Mask

And every word I prepared dies in my throat.

Rae looks terrible. Her hair is pulled back in a limp ponytail and her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. She’s wearing a bedraggled dress I don’t recognize that hangs too loose around her ribs.

Something happened. Something bad.

That’s confirmed when she sees me and her eyes bulge as she lets out a half-scream.

“Jesus Christ, Rae!” I leap off the couch. “It’s me! It’s just me!”

She is clinging to the doorframe like she’s gonna collapse into the core of the earth without its support. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates and she looks as if she just watched someone get murdered—which, given the company she’s been keeping, isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

“What thefuck, Jill?” Rae wheezes. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Ialmost gaveyoua heart attack?” I plant my hands on my hips. The audacity of this woman. If she wasn’t my best friend, I’d strangle her. “Are you kidding me right now? You disappear off the face of the earth for three days—no text, no call, nada, zilch—andI’mthe one who needs to explain herself?!”

She blinks at me. “I… what?”

“Three days, Rae.” I hold up three fingers and jab them in her direction so she can get a real good look. “One, two, three. Seventy-two hours. I called you, like, ninety-five times. I texted you so much I’m pretty sure I developed carpal tunnel. And what did I get in return? Nothing. Radio silence. I thought you weredead.”

At least she has the good sense to look guilty. As she should. I have been through the five stages of grief and looped back around to stage one at least twice.

“Bean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have service. I was in France.” She pauses and frowns. “But how did you know I was back…?”

“Because I’ve been obsessively refreshing your location, you ding-dong. Thesecondyour cell came back online and pinged a tower, I came to find you. That’s the only reason I knew you were even alive.” She gawks at me, which just incenses me further. “I’m a reporter, Rae. It’s literally my job to find people who don’t want to be found.” Crossing my arms, I add, “Also, you’re my best friend, and I was concerned that Lukas Lazarev had murdered you and dumped your body in the French Riviera.”

I don’t miss how she winces when I say that name out loud. Oh, there’sdefinitelystuff here that needs unpacking.

“Well, he didn’t murder me,” she mumbles. “Obviously.”

“Ob-vi-ous-ly,” I back-sass. “But he did take you to France. What the hell is that about?!”

She looks everywhere but at me.

“It’s… complicated,” she sighs at last.

I scowl at her. “You vanished to another continent with a man who may or may not have killed his wife, and ‘complicated’ is the best you can do?”

“Can I at least take a shower first? I smell like booty.” She sweeps a hand over herself and I realize that she’s not just in a dress I’ve never seen before; she’s also dirty, stringy-haired, gaunt, pale. What the hell did the Lazarevs do to her?

“Fine. But I’m timing you. You have fifteen minutes, and then you’re telling me everything. Every. Single. Thing.” I spin her around and give her a gentle push toward the bathroom. “Go. Tick-tock.”

I stand in Rae’s kitchen and listen to the water turn on behind the bathroom door. Then I press my back against the fridge and close my eyes.

My hands are still trembling. I ball them into fists and shove them under my armpits.

This isn’t about Rae. I mean, it is, a bit, or a lot, but it’s notonlyabout Rae. It’s also about me and what I’m going through. I want so badly to get my best friend’s advice, but I can’t tell her the truth.

Because if I do, who’s to say that what happened to Elliot doesn’t happen to her, too? Or worse? I can’t tell her that her boss’s dead wife might be buried under a construction site in Astoria.

Any of it could get her killed.

Any of it could getmekilled.

I decide to make myself useful while Rae showers. It’s either that or sit on the couch spiraling, and I’ve done enough of that in the last week to last a lifetime.

I find her comfiest sweats and lay them out on the bed. I pour a glass of wine and set it on the nightstand. It’s not much, but it’s what I’ve got. Rae has always been better at the grand gestures. I’m more of a “quietly arrange your life while you’re not looking” kind of friend.

Then I return to the living room and wait for her. It’s not long before I hear the shower cut off. A few minutes later, Raeshuffles into the living room in the sweats I picked out and an oversized t-shirt, her wet hair twisted into a messy knot. The wine glass I filled up is already empty.