The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(84)

“In a parent’s murder of a child? No jury would buy it. Not with all the evidence against you.”

“But—”

“Look, Jenna, the prosecution is going to bring in a bunch of experts who are going to testify that you’re guilty as hell. And the jury is going to believe them. Unless—until—we blast holes into every one of those experts’ testimonies. Got it?”

She did get it—once she realized that her lawyers didn’t actually give a damn whether she was innocent or guilty. She’d hired them to get her acquitted, and they did.

Five years ago she walked out of jail a free woman. She spent the first two years contentedly hidden away at a Caribbean island home owned by her lead attorney. The only people who ever laid eyes on her were the household help, and they either didn’t recognize her or were paid well enough not to care who she was.

But she couldn’t stay there forever. With Cory’s help, she made her way back to New York. But it took months before she even dared emerge from her apartment.

She never would have dreamed she’d eventually agree to take part in Cory’s crazy plan, the one that led her to Meredith and the others . . .

And to being recognized by that detective at the funeral.

She has no doubt that at this very moment the homicide investigators are trying to figure out why Jenna Coeur would have been there.

Sooner or later they’re bound to make the connection, if they haven’t already.

But she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around Cincinnati worrying about it.

No, much better to stick around here and worry about it, helpless as a bird with clipped wings in a treetop nest.

She opens her eyes and sighs.

The street sirens have faded into the distance.

Just one more week of this, she promises herself, kicking off her shoes and padding into the bathroom to scrub off her makeup. Next week at this time it will all be over and she can move on at last.

Wide-awake, too disturbed—and too cold—to sleep, Kay lies stiffly in the unfamiliar bed listening to the strange night sounds: thumps and footsteps from the other side of the wall, voices and closing doors in the hall, the on-off clunking and hum of the air-conditioning unit whose temperature she can’t seem to regulate.

If she could only get some rest . . .

Sometimes she lies awake at night worrying that cancer cells are growing again inside her body. Imagining how they will spread and destroy it, section by section, a stealthy predator bent on eventually robbing her of her senses, of her ability to reason, to move, to breathe . . .

Tonight she trades troubling thoughts of disease for speculation about the strange twist in the murder case.

Jenna Coeur . . .

When Detective Burns showed her the photo, she didn’t immediately recognize the woman.

“Should I?” she’d asked.

“Most people do.”

She shook her head. “Who is she?”

The moment Detective Burns said the name, the light dawned.

It would be hard to find a living soul who hadn’t heard of Jenna Coeur. Kay isn’t a movie fan and she doesn’t watch much TV, but you couldn’t really escape her altogether. The famed award-winning method actress was on the cover of every magazine and supermarket tabloid long before her notorious murder trial.

Detective Burns refreshed Kay’s memory a bit, and so did Landry and Elena, after they’d all been interviewed by the detectives—one of the most nerve-racking experiences of Kay’s entire life.

“This is my cell phone number,” Detective Burns said at the end, handing over a card. “If you think of anything else—anything at all—that might help us find out who did this to your friend, promise that you’ll call me right away. Any time of the day or night.”

Kay promised.

When it was over, she felt better that both Landry and Elena confessed that they, too, had been anxious—even more so now that they knew about the Jenna Coeur connection.

By then it was late. No one was in the mood to go out to dinner as they’d planned. The three of them just sprawled together on the bed in Elena’s room, sipping cocktails they mixed from the minibar and discussing the bizarre turn of events.

It was almost like an old-fashioned slumber party. Kay felt closer than ever to her new friends. Only, instead of telling scary, made-up stories, the three of them discussed the terrifying notion that Jaycee—their Jaycee—is really Jenna Coeur.

Detective Burns seems to think so, and both Elena and Landry believe it as well. Kay pretended to agree, because it was easier than arguing with two strong-willed women like that—particularly Elena. But deep down inside she isn’t convinced.

Maybe you just don’t want to be convinced.

Maybe it terrifies you to think that somebody in your little circle is not who she’s pretending to be.

“How much did you share with Jaycee?” the three of them took turns asking each other, worriedly.

They tried to remember how many details they’d revealed. For Kay, not a whole lot. Later, alone in her room, she went back over her e-mails and private messages just to be sure, although . . .

Does it really matter now?

Jaycee—or Jenna—whoever she is . . .

“She’s not going to come after us anyway,” Elena said firmly. “We don’t have to worry.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Landry agreed. “I just wish you hadn’t told her about next weekend.”