A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(9)

“Elise,” he says. “Your curfew is in effect for a reason. That reason being my sanity. And when you break curfew without calling, it makes me think you’re hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“Or my phone could have died and I was sidetracked by a wicked old witch in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant.” I hold up my arm and show him the scratches, which are now an angry red.

My father practically bowls me over as he takes my arm to examine the wound. “Someone did this to you?” His voice is concerned, and I don’t know how to tell him that a woman trying to pull me through a car window isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen to me today.

“One of the guys from work showed up and scared her off,” I say, trying to reassure him. “It was random.” I lower my eyes then, thinking that it wasn’t just by chance that she grabbed me. She saw something in me, the same thing that Diego saw. Just then fear crawls over the back of my neck as if I’m being watched.

“Let’s go inside,” I tell my father, and push his elbow back toward our well-lit house. And it isn’t until we’re on the other side of a dead bolt with the alarm set that I begin to relax.

CHAPTER 5

I give my father the shortened version of my attack, and even make Abe sound like a superhero—one who has excellent serving skills. My father’s not impressed. He says that Santo shouldn’t have left me alone in a dark parking lot in the first place. I nod in agreement, trying to take the quickest route out of the lecture.

“Hey,” Lucy says to me as she walks into the kitchen. “I heard the door and hoped you were my pizza.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Lucy must have just gotten home because she’s still dressed from a night out. She’s wearing heavy blue eye shadow with false lashes, the edge of her liner curved up into a cat’s eye. It’s not my taste, but it’s a good look on her.

“I forgive you,” my sister says. “I made Dad a bet that Peppino’s still delivered this late, and now I’m waiting to collect my winnings.”

My father pulls out a kitchen chair to sit down, chuckling to himself.

“Laugh it up,” Lucy says to him playfully. “But when that pie arrives, you owe me twenty bucks. And I’ll take that in small, unmarked bills.” Lucy shoots me a quick smile as if it’s our secret sisterly pact to give him a hard time.

Since our mother died, the three of us are close. My dad calls us his little tribe. Despite the strict rules sometimes, Lucy and I admire all he does for others, what he stands for. He’s inspiring.

The doorbell rings and Lucy sticks out her pierced tongue before bolting to answer it. My father exhales, rubbing his forehead. “How I hate that piercing . . .”

I drop down in the chair, reminding him that it’s a perfectly normal fashion statement. Three weeks ago Lucy had brought me with her to the tattoo shop, planning on getting a tribal armband. At the last second she decided instead to poke a hole through her tongue. Seemed like a decent enough decision at the time.

I lay my injured arm on the table, tracing the slightly raised lines. For a second I’m reminded of how Abe touched them, so gently, almost like they hurt him, too.

“You’re smiling,” my father says. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Only I say it like there are millions of devious and unacceptable reasons. He groans.

“Does that mean it’s none of my business?”

“Exactly!” I hold up my finger, letting him know he’s on to something.

“Fair enough. But”—his face becomes serious—“I’d like to hear more about today. About the woman. I really think we should file a report.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Abe told her not to come back. Let’s not start lining up creepy old women for me to identify. I just want to forget the entire thing happened.”

“Sounds like denial.” My father reaches to put his hand over mine, and I meet his eyes. I’m suddenly eight years old again, standing outside of a funeral home, refusing to believe my mother is gone. He knows denial is my natural instinct.

“Something else happened today,” I murmur, forcing myself to confront my fear. My father tenses but doesn’t speak. “There was this guy,” I begin. “And when he walked into Santo’s, my fingers got all tingly. I started seeing images of him, his life—but it wasn’t stuff I could have known before. It was like an out-of-body experience.” I pause, trying to gauge my father’s reaction. “Have you heard of anything like that before?”

My dad stares down at my hand before letting it go. He pulls his brows together in thought. “No, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a rational explanation. What happened after that? Were you dizzy? Nauseous?”

I shake my head. “Well, it only got stranger from there. I remembered something then, only it wasn’t my memory, even though it felt like it. For a second, I was somebody else.” I stop, lowering my head. “I sound crazy.”

“No, you sound scared,” he says. “And believe me, Elise, I’ve heard stranger.” He pats my hand reassuringly. “I don’t want you working yourself up over this. I’ll do some research, okay? We’ll figure out what’s going on with you.”

Lucy walks in just then, carrying a humongous pizza box, a two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi under her arm. “Missed it, Elise.” She beams, oblivious to the seriousness of the moment. “Pizza guy was so hot.”