Until the Day I Die(49)

I want to see you, and not with a bunch of people. It’s not enough.

I want to see you too, but we need to be more careful.

You know computers, you work for an app company. Can’t you just erase this?

V funny. Not how it works.

I’ve got business in Sylacauga tomorrow morning. I’ll be at Dally’s BBQ in Childersburg, 4:30pm. Nothing fancy . . .

Nice change from a hotel room, tho. I’ll try. xx

I sit back against my chair. You know computers, you work for an app company. So one of them could definitely be a Jax employee. And maybe both of them. Maybe that’s what the text not with a bunch of people means. They both work at Jax, and they already see each other there. There are a handful of people at the company—Layton, for instance—who aren’t programmers. Maybe the message was an attempt at sarcasm.

Anyway, whoever this is, they’re definitely planning something together, doing something. I can’t go forward with everything . . . that has to mean illegal activity. Probably related to the big chunk of money that made a brief appearance in Ms. X’s account yesterday. They can’t risk messaging on Jax—maybe because Ms. X works there, or Yours does, or both—so now they’ve set a meeting at a different location.

I’ve got to get to Childersburg tomorrow. But how the hell am I going to manage that? It’s over an hour from Auburn. I could ask to borrow Dele’s beater Honda, but I can’t tell her about what’s going on at Jax. I mean, don’t reporters or journalists live for scoops like that? I can’t risk it.

That leaves only one person. The only person I know who’s got a car, who knows I’m skipping class, and who definitely won’t judge me for hacking into somebody’s private messages. Rhys is literally the only person in this town I can trust. But also somebody, like Dele, who I’m not sure I can trust, which confuses the hell out of me. So what in the world am I supposed to do?

The server is right about the veggie tacos. They’re wrapped in warm corn tortillas and loaded with cotija cheese, and it takes me less than fifteen minutes to clear my plate. I pay the check with Jax, adding a nice tip, and immediately the app repopulates all the fields of my allocations.

But I don’t get up from the table, because I’m doing some quick addition and not from my account, but from somebody else’s. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

Another bump in Ms. X’s balances. And the total is the exact same as the last amount—$161,772.96.





27

ERIN

As we hike back to the campsite, the setting sun turns the scattered clouds into cotton candy shades of pink and orange and purple and blue, but I can’t even take a moment to admire the spectacular sight. The blue plastic bread tie is tucked safely into my bra, and the puzzle pieces in my brain have begun to arrange themselves into a frightful order.

If the bread tie is the same one Agnes put in her hair, that means Lach lied to us when he said she made it back to the resort and was sent home. It means she’s still somewhere on the island. I wonder if that’s what he meant by what he said on the phone: she’s waiting at the river.

On the other hand, the tie could be just a bit of random garbage from a group of picnickers who’d trekked out here to spend a day at the waterfall. Or a makeshift hair tie used by another woman on another L’élu.

The bone I can’t begin to explain. It can’t have come from Agnes. Even if she got lost or drowned or something, bodies don’t decompose that fast. Unless, of course, an animal got to it. One of the many creatures of prey who live in this jungle.

I shake off the thought. Obviously Agnes isn’t dead. I’m just being dramatic, letting things get to me. Despite the L’élu being less extreme physically than I’d anticipated, being out in the jungle, with these women, with this weird guy, was clearly messing with my mind.

On our way back to camp, there are a couple of times—once on a muddy hillside and again over a stretch of precarious boulders—when I stumble, and Lach offers his hand to help me along. His hand is strong and warm and rough, and both times it feels like he holds on to me longer than necessary.

Deirdre’s back stiffens every time he touches me, her face set in a look of supreme annoyance. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t control what the guy does, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to appease a grown woman who wants to play petty high school mean-girl games. I have more important things to think about.

After we’ve eaten dinner, tidied up the picnic table, and settled around the fire, I see Lach reach into a cooler and pull out a bottle of beer. As he ambles back to the fire, I roll my eyes.

“I thought this was supposed to be a rehab,” I say.

“Do you have a drinking problem, Erin?”

“No. But I heard there have been accidents up here. Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“There’s not going to be any accidents,” he says. “And Deirdre’s okay with it. It’s only Jessalyn here with the problem. But she has to go back to the real world at the end of the month, don’t you? Can’t expect to be treated with kid gloves then.”

Jessalyn shoots him a nasty look. “I never asked for special treatment. You do what you want.”

He settles back against a log, takes a swig, and nods at me. “Erin doesn’t have a problem with the bottle. She’s here because she works too much.” He laughs. “If that’s an addiction, my whole family ought to be sent off.”