The Masked Truth(72)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I remember their little back-and-forth in the room. “You did, didn’t you?”

“He’s not boyfriend material, Riley. And before you give me shit, it’s not because he could flip out. That is a factor, obviously. It has to be. But he’s dealing with a lot, and you’re dealing with a lot, and those two things do not go well together. You don’t need romantic complications in your life right now. If he thinks he does, tough shit. I don’t care about him. I care about you.”

“I would say that’s very sweet, if it wasn’t also incredibly presumptuous and a bit condescending.”

“Good. I’d be more insulted by ‘sweet.’ Now that you know Max is fine—”

“I need to see Brienne.”

“She’s in a coma.”

“Which means it’ll be a short visit. And that you don’t need to accompany me.”

“Fifth floor,” she says. “Move it.”





CHAPTER 26


Brienne is still comatose. The bullet grazed her spine and there’s swelling and the possibility of lifelong damage. Hence the coma, to give her body time to rest.

There’s no sneaking into her room, not in the ICU unit, but I’m glad of that. She’s the only “real” witness—the only one whose account the police might respect. If the killers realize that, they could come back to finish the job.

I worry that I might not be allowed to visit, but when I tell the nurses who I am, they let me go in with Sloane. We stand by Brienne’s bed. She looks as pale as the sheet pulled up around her. Machines hum and beep, but it’s a steady and reassuring sound as I hold her cool hand. Then I hear a voice in the hall.

“Brienne’s my sister,” a guy says.

I go still. The news said Brienne only has one brother, which means the guy out there is the one who sent her into that therapy sleepover. The guy who played lookout for the Porters’ killers.

I can’t move. I’m still holding Brienne’s hand, but I can’t even feel that. Sloane doesn’t notice. She’s busy listening as the nurse explains that Brienne already has visitors.

“Who?” her brother asks.

I grip the bedside with my free hand, fingers digging in, gaze tripping around the room for an escape.

How about hiding under the bed, Riley?

That snaps me back to myself. I can’t hide. I have to face him. I should face him, because now I know the truth, and as much as I might want to help Brienne, if this guy can lead me to the Porters’ killers, then I’m going to turn him in. Which means, eventually, I will need to face him. Might as well do it now.

“What the hell?” he says when the nurse tells him who’s in the room. “The girl who almost got my sister killed? You know what that crazy freak did, right? Her and her psycho boyfriend?”

Too late, I realize Sloane is on the move. She’s stalking out of the room, and I jump to pull her back, but she’s already in the hall, her heels clicking across the linoleum.

“Hello,” Sloane says. “Let me introduce myself. I’m the big sister of the freak you were just talking about.” A moment’s pause, then, “Hey, *, my eyes are up here. You can stop checking me out. You didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell even before you insulted my sister.”

“You little border-bunny—”

“Do I sound like I crossed a border recently? Do I look like a gangbanger? Damn, you are one dumbass, white-trash trailer-park cracker. Okay, your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“Insulting me. That’s what we’re doing, right? Exchanging slurs? Or maybe you’re just dumbass enough to think I was complimenting you.”

Stop, Sloane. Please stop.

Of course, she doesn’t. She’s just building up steam.

“You want to call my sister a freak? I can damned well guarantee that when your sister wakes up, she’ll tell you that mine did everything she could to save her ass. And that’s not because Riley claims she did. She hasn’t said a single word about what happened to Brienne. It’s because I know my sister. She did her best, and they both got shot, and maybe my sister was the one Max got out of there, but it’s not because he’s her boyfriend, you moron. It’s because your sister had been shot in the spine and couldn’t move or be moved. I don’t know what my sister did for yours, but I do know what Max did—he made sure the police got paramedics in there for Brienne. How does that make sense if he’s the one who shot her?”

“Because he’s crazy. He doesn’t have to make sense. All I know is my sister is in that hospital bed while yours is up and walking around.”

“Barely up and walking around, and only because she’s worried about Brienne.”

“Or maybe she was trying to finish what her boyfriend started.”

One of the nurses protests.

Sloane says, “I’d smack you for that, if you wouldn’t claim it as proof that Riley comes from a violent family. So I’ll settle for saying that the opinion of anyone who wears a wife-beater is universally considered invalid. Next time you want to be taken seriously, dress like a grown-up.”

“You stuck-up little bitch.”

“Oh, so I’ve gone from a chola to a fresa? Excellent. Not entirely accurate, but much closer.”