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“Good. It’s gonna be all three of them, right?”
“Right.”
“Then you’ll need me.”
“I always need you. Why don’t I take you to the bedroom and show you how much.”
His smile grows. “Excellent plan.”
ChapterEighteen
ELI
“Uh, Michel?”
He stirs in the bed, tucking blankets under his chin. “Mm?”
“You should probably get up and see what happened.”
He’s up in a flash, fully alert and peering out the window with me only to see his precious Maserati damaged and with graffiti on the hood. I focus on the words scrawled in red paint, ‘Dead Man Walking.’
“It had to be Garrett.”
Michel nods. “Of course.” He yawns, seeming disinterested. “Oh well. If it makes him feel better.”
“That’s your car. Your very expensive car.”
Michel chuckles. “It can be fixed.” Then he turns to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t care about the car, Eli. I only bought it to prove myself in this town.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Okay then.”
“I’m gonna start meeting with Crystal concerning the masquerade. Do you want to join me?”
“Definitely.”
An hour later, we’re walking down Main Street on the way to Michel’s office, but I’m hyperaware of our surroundings. I just have a feeling that Garrett isn’t going to stop at vandalism.
Unfortunately, I’m right. Not even a few hours later, Maren George calls. I already know it’s about Garrett since I’m so attuned to Michel’s thoughts and emotions.
“I’d love to see the video, thank you.” Michel ends the call. “Maren is on her way over. Apparently, Garrett has been stalking the apartment and has ‘incriminating evidence,’” he says, using his fingers as quotation marks.
“You’re not concerned?”
“Not in the slightest. You’ll see why when she gets here.”
Crystal enters the office, bringing coffee and a plate of cookies. Michel is relaxed and completely natural as he chats with her about the invite list for the next ball, but I’m a bundle of nerves. Almost absentmindedly, Michel lifts my hand and kisses it, then twines our fingers together in silent reassurance.
When Maren arrives, her expression is one of concern. Crystal leaves the room as Michel invites Maren to sit.
“The chief of police sent it to me this morning,” she explains. “He said it came with a note stating that you’re a murderer.”
“How was it delivered?” Michel asks, unbothered by the accusation.
“Anonymous email. Untraceable IP address.”
“But since my car was vandalized after our altercation a few days ago, I’ll go ahead and assume it’s Garrett’s doing.”
Maren nods. “That would make the most sense.”
