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I think it’s wonderful. He’s never even held a job before, and now he’s fully embracing his new career as a private investigator.
Layla: Good luck. And be careful!
“Who’s that you’re texting?” Jason asks as we pull into traffic.
“Ian. He’s wishing me good luck today.”
Jason shoots me a quick glance. “You don’t need luck. You’re going to do great.”
“I appreciate your optimism.” But I frown.
“What’s wrong?”
I pull the visor mirror down in front of me and examine my face. “No amount of make-up can completely hide these bruises. People are going to talk. And take pictures.”
Jason reaches over and pats my knee. “It’s going to be fine. If anyone asks about Sean, tell them you traded up.” And then he winks at me.
I do my best to smile, but the memories are still too painful.
Jason’s not fooled. “Sean betrayed you in the worst way possible. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”
I gaze out my window at the passing scenery.
Jason’s voice is gentle when he says, “Do you want to talk about what happened that morning?”
I haven’t talked about that morning with very many people. I had to tell the police, of course. And I told my parents, Ian, and Tyler. But that’s all.
Jason squeezes my hand. “Tell me, Layla. I know the gist of what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
A painful knot forms in my throat as the memories come rushing back—memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. “We were heading to campus when Sean said we needed to make a pitstop at his apartment. I told him no, because I was afraid I’d be late to class, but he insisted. He said he’d make it quick. And there really wasn’t anything I could do about it since he was driving. I was more or less at his mercy. When we pulled up in front of his apartment building, he made me come inside with him. I wanted to wait in the car, but he said he couldn’t leave me out there alone. He did live in a pretty sketchy neighborhood. So I went in with him. We walked into his apartment building, and his roommate, Chad, was waiting for us.”
I have to stop then as I feel tears gathering in my eyes.
“You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to,” Jason says.
I swallow hard. “It’s okay. You should know. Sean brought me there on purpose, to hand me over to Chad. Basically, he sold me to Chad to pay off his drug debt. Chad pulled a gun on Sean and shot him in cold blood, right in front of me. I remember screaming as the pool of blood spread out beneath his body. He was dead already. I was hysterical, in shock.”
In a daze, I shake my head. “I honestly don’t remember much after that. I was screaming, and then I felt a pinch in my arm. Chad injected me with something, some drug. Everything got fuzzy after that. My legs gave out on me, and I fell to the floor. The rest was surreal. I do remember Chad helping me out to my car, and we drove off. Then there was another man and a different car. They took me to a warehouse where I was stripped and chained to a bed. All I could hear was crying girls.” I shudder violently. “It was awful. No human being should ever be treated like that. It was inhumane.”
Jason links our fingers together. “I’m sorry, Layla. I wish I’d been there.”
His fingers are longer than mine, warm, and slightly calloused. It’s comforting. “I wish you’d been there, too.” If he’d been with me that day, none of that would have happened.
I’m quiet for the rest of the drive to school. We arrive on campus at nine-thirty. Campus parking is at a premium on Monday mornings. He cruises up and down the lanes looking for an open spot.
Before long, I notice he keeps looking in the rearview mirror, as if he’s keeping tabs on something. Or someone. I turn in my seat to glance behind us, and when I spot the beat-up silver sedan on our tail, my stomach drops.
“He’s been riding our bumper since we arrived on campus,” Jason says. “Do you recognize him?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. That’s Gary Fisher—he’s a local society blogger and gossipmonger. He often follows me around campus trying to get pictures to sell to the online tabloids.”
Jason frowns. “Do people on campus bother you a lot?”
“There are usually a couple of photographers who try consistently to catch me coming and going from classes, but it’s usually students who take the most photos. They try to sneak selfies with me in the background, thinking I won’t notice. But I do.”
I honestly don’t know why anyone is interested in me. I’m not a Kardashian, not even close. I’m a nobody from Chicago who wants to stay that way. Yes, I inherited a lot of money from my paternal grandfather, but I’ve done nothing worthy of this level of attention.
I’m not famous. I haven’t done anything noteworthy other than end up on those stupid lists of the wealthiest Americans under the age of twenty-five. Or under thirty. Or even under forty. No matter the list, Ian and I are both always at the top.
