Chapter 36
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
The man on the street is gone when I wake the next morning, and I make it all the way onto the N Judah’s platform before yesterday’s questions find me again.
Evie would approve of me “not being nice” when cramming into the train, and I do it guiltlessly, like boarding might leave the questions behind on the street.
I need this brunch. We never do brunch on Thursdays, but JP must have told everyone I needed them because they’re all coming.
I’m glad. I don’t have the energy to ask for help more than once.
I get off at Embarcadero and walk toward the Ferry Building, where the air tastes like freshly cleaned streets and warm bread.
The waterfront is its usual contradiction of joggers, techies, and tourists, while the bay slaps the pier pilings under a sky slowly losing its gray.
Food stalls flash their wares as I pass crates of citrus fruits and oysters still dripping brine until the wind catches voices and cutlery from the patio tables of our usual place.
Inside, the clatter of silverware doesn’t register. All I see are my friends. Samantha looks stern. Erik’s half done with his first drink, and JP is scrolling on his phone. When they see me, all their expressions tighten into worry. I must have really spooked JP with how desperate I sounded.
“Hey,” JP says, pulling me into a quick hug before I take the empty chair.
“You look like shit,” Erik says.
“Thanks. I’ve been… busy.”
Samantha flags the server without looking away from me. “Black coffee. And a mimosa.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, and taint my big moment of truth before it’s begun.
“No, you’re not,” she says. “You’re pale and you’re shaking. Sit down.”
The chair creaks as it takes my weight, and my mouth refuses to play along with a smile.
Truth and lies must be reflections, but one comes easily while the other sticks in my chest. My mouth won’t move. I sit while they stage normal life around me, talking about work and weather and anything that isn’t their friend unraveling at the table.
JP finally leans in. “Okay. You’ve got to talk at some point.”
My coffee’s a poor anchor, but my hands stay wrapped around it anyway. “You know my dad?”
Erik’s expression goes immediately fierce. “That prick.”
“Yeah, well. He kind of… turned me into a liar.” I force myself to keep going. “I’m trying to stop. I want to be a good person.”
Samantha’s gaze sharpens. “Marcus. What happened?”
“I lied to get into Berkeley,” I blurt.
It might be a distraction, but it feels like the most important truth to a group of people who earned their place somewhere I hadn’t. My eyes flick across their expressions, hunting for disgust.
JP exhales. “Dude. I cheated on my stats exam sophomore year.”
“I stole leggings when I was twelve,” Samantha says.
“Well, you’re all terrible people,” Erik says. “But so what?”
My mouth concedes only one corner for smiling.
Samantha’s expression goes flat. “Guess you mean bigger than that?”
“Yeah,” I manage. “And now Evie’s missing.”
“What do you mean missing?” JP asks.
“I was away for work, and when I got back her stuff was all gone. Everything, like she never lived there.” The words start to tumble out. “I tried calling, texting, but still haven’t heard anything.”
“Okay,” Samantha says. “You know the whole, it’s not a missing person until twenty-four hours advice is bullshit, right? Did you—”
“I haven’t called the police. I should have. I just—” I swallow. “I keep thinking anything I do will only make it worse.”
“Why would it get worse?” Erik asks.
Because I’ve been playing a game I don’t understand.
Because I tried going toe-to-toe with Alistair Blackwood.
Because I—because I—
My brain scrambles for solid ground. “I met someone. A guy.”
Erik’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, shit, I was—”
JP kicks him under the table.
“All right,” Samantha says. “You know we don’t care, right? We love you, Marcus. So how’d you meet?”
“It’s not…” My laugh breaks. “It’s not a cute story. It’s complicated. And I messed it up.”
“Do you want to tell us his name?” JP asks.
I glance over my shoulder before I can stop myself.
Samantha catches it. “What was that?”
Nothing. Paranoia. Exhaustion. Just my skin crawling.
“Are you in trouble?” she presses. “It’s the story, isn’t it? Marcus, who are you dealing with?”
His name is on the tip of my tongue, but all three of their gazes shift over my shoulder at the same time.
“Mr. Philips?” a voice says.
I turn to find the tall man from Evie’s apartment, looming over our table.
“You have a call,” he says.
“Who the fuck are you?” Erik says.
“Marcus?” Samantha asks, voice rising.
It’s Alistair. I knew he was following me, and if he found me this easily, then he’s probably monitoring everything, letting me get just far enough to believe I have options before cutting them off. That’s why he’s interrupting. I can’t get my friends involved if he’s disappearing people.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll just be a second.”
“Dude.”
“Marcus, no.”
When I stand, the man ushers me to the exit and hands me his phone with the line already connected. It’s broad daylight, right outside our brunch spot, but my heart still pounds as I press it to my ear.
“Hello.”
“Marcus Philips.” Alistair’s voice slithers through the line. “I owe you something.”
“Alistair,” I say, glancing at the man beside me.
He’s already stepped back to fix his gaze on the water. Everyone on Alistair’s staff, everyone in his fucking orbit, has the same reaction when his name hits the air.
“What do you mean?”
“No more games,” Alistair says. “You already won.”
“If I won, then you wouldn’t be calling me.”
“And yet here we are. Tell me. What do you want, Marcus Philips?”
“I want you to stop following me.”
His laugh is soft enough for the gulls to drown it out. “Is that your heart’s desire?”
Of all things, that question sends my pulse racing, like I’m Aladdin on the verge of wasting my only wish.
Alistair speaks when I don’t. “Come to my party tonight, and you can tell me in person.”
“I should be talking to the police.” My voice is steady, but my palm is slick against the phone. “I have enough to bury you.”
“Ah, the police,” Alistair says. “By the time you finish filling out the paperwork, Evie will be halfway across the country.”
My grip tightens. “What do you know about her?”
“I know where she is.”
“Tell me.”
“Tonight,” he says, ignoring the question. “We’ll talk tonight, at my party. Wear whatever makes you feel most like yourself—if you still know what that is. I’m disappointed you even still care, but you have my word she’s… quite comfortable.”
The line clicks dead.
I stare at the phone until the tall man takes it back. He’s too composed to smirk or offer some Mafia-henchman parting shot. Just another pawn on Alistair’s chessboard, he slides the phone into his pocket and drifts back into the crowd, job done.
The wind coming off the bay cuts through my hoodie. San Francisco catches plenty of flak for surprising tourists who expect California warmth, but I like the cold. It’s simple and predictable.
There’s really no reason to be surprised by something that makes perfect sense.
I’ve got one of the wealthiest men on Earth by the balls. Of course he’s biting back. He’s scared of my story. He can’t believe he let me capture the truth, and now he wants to pry it from my hands.
My feet carry me back before I’ve decided what to do with any of it, and I arrive at a table with all my best friends standing, ready to pounce.
“Marcus, you need to call the cops,” Samantha says. “First, Evie? Now, someone’s tailing you? Whatever cover you had is blown, and that doesn’t end well.”
I nod as the only move left to me falls into place.
“You’re right,” I lie. “I’ll call them now.” I pull out my phone like I mean it, because I do mean to do something. Just not that.
JP tips his chin. Erik looks ready to start a fight. Samantha’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t believe a word I’ve said, but she also sees the panic under my skin. Going to the cops only makes sense if Alistair wasn’t capable of buying anything and anyone he wants.
“Text us,” she says. “Let us know what they say, how you’re holding up. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do it.”
“I will,” I promise. “I love you guys. I’ll be okay.”
They let me go, which isn’t the same as believing me.
Maybe Jake was right about finishing what you start.
It’s a risky bet thinking I’ve got the upper hand with Alistair, but going back is the only way to save Evie and finish what I started.