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“Yes. I’m here to see Leslie Harstonn.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly, but she turns back to her computer and types quickly. “I don’t have any guests listed for today.”
“No.” I step a little closer. “I don’t have an appointment or anything. But I was her roommate at Clearwater University, and it’s really important that I speak with her.”
“Oh!” Her face brightens a little. “She hasn’t had any visitors except her parents since she arrived.”
She hasn’t?
Shit. There goes my theory that she had someone bringing her a phone or smuggling in some kind of computer equipment under the guise of “visiting.” Still, I know she has to be getting help from outside the facility somehow. There’s no way she could still be actively fucking with our lives if she wasn’t.
“I had a busy start to the semester,” I say, carefully avoiding lying outright. I’ve definitely been busy—just not with school. “But I finally got an afternoon off and wanted to come and see how she’s doing.”
“Well, that’s very sweet of you.” The woman nods. “I’ll just need you to sign in.”
I show her my ID and sign the form she indicates. I keep a neutral expression on my face, but as I go through the steps to be allowed inside the facility, I can’t help but wonder how on earth Leslie is getting help from the outside—this place isn’t quite Fort Knox, but they definitely take precautions to keep unauthorized people from getting inside.
After I’m approved to enter, the woman behind the front desk has an orderly take me into the back. I follow along silently as the young man leads me through several hallways, finally stopping in front of a door at the far end of the building.
“Here you are, miss.”
He raps on the door, and a moment later, it swings open. Leslie’s gaze settles on him first, and she opens her mouth to speak, an annoyed look on her face. Then her mismatched blue and green eyes land on me, and her jaw snaps shut.
The expression on her face is unreadable for a moment.
Then she beams. “Emma! I’m so glad you came. Come in, come in.”
Grabbing my hands, she pulls me inside the room. The orderly smiles and closes the door behind us, and the second he’s out of sight, Leslie’s expression changes again.
She drops my hands and cocks her head, narrowing her eyes. “What the fuck do you want?”
My blood runs cold at the way she changed so quickly, like someone flipped a switch inside her. But I guess that’s exactly what sociopaths do. They’re such good actors that nobody knows they’re acting.
“I just want to talk to you,” I say, standing my ground and keeping my voice neutral.
This might be a really stupid idea. I didn’t check with the guys or with Detective Walton before coming here, and for a moment, I curse myself for thinking I could play amateur detective.
Leslie backs away from me, a sneer curling her lips. “What, have another heart to heart? Whine about how three of the hottest guys in school are all obsessed with you and you just couldn’t help but fuck them all?”
The mocking tone of her voice sets my teeth on edge, but I know what’s beneath it.
Jealousy.
I trusted her as a friend and confidant during my first semester at Clearwater, and I told her things I’d never told anyone else. I confided in her when I slept with each of the Icons—but I wasn’t doing it to gloat. I told her all of that because I was genuinely fucked up in the head about it, unsure why all of this was happening or what to do with the intense emotions I felt toward each of them.
But all she saw was an ungrateful slut who didn’t deserve the attention of one man, let alone three.
Just like Caitlin Smith in high school, who went out of her way to drive a wedge between me and the Icons. Between me and my best friends. All in the hopes of having them for herself.
This is personal, I remind myself. So let it be personal. Let her be jealous. It’ll make her stupid and sloppy.
“No.” I smile placidly. “I don’t need your advice on my love life anymore. I’ve figured it out. Trent, West, Reese and I are together. All four of us. It’s perfect.”
The mocking expression on her face slips slightly, surprise showing instead. I don’t think she expected to hear that. She probably thought that all the shit she’s been pulling on us would truly tear us apart. That the stress would set us at each other’s throats like wolves.
She never thought it would actually make us band together. Make us stronger.
Leslie recovers quickly, affixing a bored expression to her face as she settles back onto the bed. Her room is small, with a desk against one corner, a bed, and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. I don’t see a phone or computer anywhere, which isn’t surprising.
