Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“I’m being paranoid,” I say as I walk down Wilshire toward Java B’s, a local Los Angeles coffee house that recently opened up in Santa Monica, right near my new office. “They were probably just wrong numbers, right?”
“Sure, Abby,” Lilah says, the sarcasm coming through my earbuds loud and clear. “Because that’s what people who dial a wrong number do. They don’t just hang up. They stay on the line and mouth breathe like the low-life cretins they are. And then they call a zillion more times in a two-day period.”
It’s a typical Lilah answer, and even though she’s right—I’m probably dealing with an actual creep and not a wrong number—it makes me feel better.
I ask her to hang on as I head into the coffee shop and get in line to order. She starts humming the theme from Jeopardy , and I roll my eyes and ignore her as I wait for my turn to order.
I met Lilah Barrett on the first day of my sophomore year of high school. I’d been working up the courage to tell Renly Cooper, my childhood bestie, that freshman year had been hell because I’d developed a huge crush on him. And rather than just deal with it, I’d avoided him. Not that he’d noticed. He’d been too into sports and debate and theater, whereas I was the tech geek who hung out in the STEM wing and wrote computer games instead of doing my homework.
I’d been hoping to man up and let him know that I missed hanging out with him, and that even though we didn’t live next door to each other anymore, that I was hoping we could still be friends. I wasn’t sure if I was going to own up to my crush, but Renly always had a knack for reading my mind, so I figured he probably already knew that part.
I was nervous as shit, just standing there waiting by his locker, when this fairy-like wraith of a girl came up and started fiddling with the combination lock.
“Um, are you getting something for Renly?” I’d asked.
She’d turned pale blue eyes on me, then said, “Wow, there’s a lot of orange in your aura. What’s stressing you out?”
I should have said it was none of her business.
I should have asked why she was getting into his locker.
Instead, I word vomited my life onto her, ending with the fact that I was waiting for Renly to basically tell him that my teenage hormones were under control and that I missed my bestie.
“Oh, wow. That really blows. Maybe you can track down his new phone number and tell him? Hanging on to that kind of emo baggage can really mess with your aura, and yours is already funky.”
I ignored the aura bit but dove straight to the heart of the matter. “New phone number?”
She shrugged. “They told me at the office that the guy assigned to this locker moved out of town. So I guess it’s mine until graduation. Sorry about that.”
Renly and Red had been doing the Divorced Parent Dance that summer, pushed off to stay with their dad up north, even though they didn’t want to go. It turns out that while they were away, their mom had pulled up stakes and moved herself and the boys down to Houston, which meant I hadn’t seen him since he’d left in June.
The whole situation sucked, but at least it meant that I didn’t have to pretend to be over my crush when I was around him. Not exactly a plus considering I was still missing my friend.
The upside was that I gained Lilah. And despite the fact that we’re so different—or maybe because of it—she fast became one of my closest friends.
Now we’re neighbors, too, as I rent half of a Santa Monica duplex that she inherited from her parents after they died in a helicopter crash our first year at UCLA.
“A latte?” she says once I’m back on the street. “I thought you were cutting down on caffeine.”
“No, you said I should cut down on caffeine. And I said I’d try. Today, I need frothy, caffeinated comfort.” I take a sip and sigh with pleasure. Then I frown when I remember why I need comfort in the first place.
“How many calls today?” she asks.
“Seven today. Five yesterday.”
“Do you think it has to do with Fuck Me Now?”
I hold back a snort. “That is not what the app is called, and you know it.”
“Hey, I just believe in truth in advertising.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for, and you know that too. I had that. It wasn’t what I wanted, and I wouldn’t sign up for that kind of app.” I know I sound frustrated, but it’s only because I am. It’s just so damn hard to meet anybody in this town, and I’m not interested in serial hookups or even friends with benefits.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. Back to the topic. Do you think it has anything to do with Tribe Find?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” About a month ago, I decided to try out a new friend and dating app that a guy I knew in college recently rolled out. You can use it to look for new friends— finding your tribe—or to set up dates. It’s supposed to be focused on relationships, not hookups, and while online dating was never my thing, since Cedric created it, I agreed to be a beta user.
“Do folks on the app have your phone number?”
“No,” I say. “The app does, but it’s not shared. But the calls are coming to my work phone, too. Those are the ones I answer. I let unknown calls on my cell roll to voicemail.”
“You’re getting them both places?”
“Yup.”
“You went out on a couple of dates through the app, right?”
“Yeah, I—oh, hold on. It’s Darrin.”
I put Lilah on hold, then take the incoming call. Darrin is a new hire at the LA office of Greystone-Branch Consulting, Fairchild & Partners Development’s biggest client. And since I am the partner in “Partners,” I put on my office voice and take the call.
“Darrin, I’m not at my desk anymore. Did we forget something?” It’s past six on Friday, and I spent most of the morning and afternoon on a video call with him as we worked through various features they want added into some new marketing software we’re designing. The walk to get coffee was to clear my head before I take my laptop home, spread work out on my kitchen table, and dive into my backlog.
Yeah, I know how to start the weekend with a bang.
“No, no. I think we got a great start. There’s a lot to do, though, and Bijan is breathing down my neck. I was thinking I could meet you at your office tomorrow? Might be more efficient. Assuming that doesn’t mess up your weekend.”
“No, no, not at all.” Damn, damn, damn. I do plan to work tomorrow, but I’d intended to do it from home. Still, client relationships are important, and he’s right that we’re running tight on time. “How about we meet at two? I have to take care of some things in the morning.”
“Perfect,” he says. “And I appreciate it. I’m still new, and this is my first project to shepherd through from start to finish. I want to impress the boss, you know?”
I laugh. “Yeah. I know.” I feel the same way about my boss—correction, partner . Nikki Fairchild Stark is brilliant at tech and coding and relentless in getting a job done right. She’s also great with clients, drop dead pretty, and married to billionaire Damien Stark. I should be intimidated as hell, and I was in the early days. Now she’s become a truly close friend.
“Important?” Lilah asks when I come back on the line.
“He’s nervous about the deadline. I don’t blame him. There was that one guy,” I continue, shifting back to the creepy guy topic. “He kept telling me I was pretty and then wanted to chat about retro computer games. I mean, he was nice enough, just kinda awkward, but maybe…”
“Maybe it is him, and it’s not nefarious at all. Maybe he’s trying to work up the courage to talk to you.”
“Maybe…” It doesn’t feel right, though, and I tell her so.
“Travis?”
“No way,” I say. “It got weird between us, but he wouldn’t?—”
“Just tossing out ideas. And you know what I think about his aura.”
I frown. A former co-worker who quit about a month ago, Travis and I went out a couple of times. I’d thought he wanted to date. He thought we just wanted to fool around. It was rough for a while, but we worked it out. “We’re still friends,” I say. “And his aura is fine. Besides, he’s in Orange County. If he was obsessed with me, he’d have hung around.”
“Maybe,” she concedes. “But that leaves us back at the app. It’s probably some guy who figured out who you were from your profile picture and is bummed because you didn’t pick him from the masses. Or another one of the guys you went out for drinks with. We can rule out retro game boy, but did any of the others seem the stalky type?”
I consider that. “Not really.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe you should reach out to them anyway. See if any of them acts all shifty-eyed.”
I make a face. The last thing I want to do is to reach out to guys I didn’t hit it off with as friends or romantic partners. “I’m thinking about opting for the ignore it and it will go away plan.”
To her credit, she laughs. “Well, that’s one way. And honestly, I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s just some asshole. How dangerous can a mouth breather be?”
Since I’m a huge horror movie fan, I don’t answer. But the sound of Michael Myers breathing immediately starts to play in my head. Great.
“Let’s continue this at home tonight. Cocktails on the porch?”
“Definitely,” I say, and we end the call.
Since my laptop is already in my tote, I don’t have to head back inside. Instead, I go straight to my car, which is parked on the street. Usually I park in the garage, but I’d popped out in the afternoon and there was a spot right there, so I grabbed it. Now I’m coming up on the rear of the cute little blue Fiat I bought when Nikki made me a partner.
I veer to the left toward the driver’s side, then slow, because something isn’t right. It takes a second for my mind to catch up with reality, but once I’ve reached the driver’s side door, there’s no escaping the truth.
My knees go weak, and I reach out, grabbing the side of the car to keep from falling. Because the hood of my car is covered in something viscous and red, and I’m pretty damn sure that it’s blood.