The Pawn (Endgame #1)(11)

“Break it down for me,” she says. “You said you’re at home. Your dad’s house, right?”

She knows about the charges he faced. I admitted that much when I left school last semester. She may have even read about the convictions if she followed the trial. But my father’s beating isn’t public knowledge. “He’s sick,” I say, which is an understatement. “And it’s just the two of us. I thought I saw something outside but…I don’t know for sure.”

“Can you call the cops?”

We aren’t exactly on the cops’ favored list after my dad was indicted on multiple counts of fraud and embezzlement. The last thing I want to do is call them only to find a racoon outside. They would probably arrest me for making a false emergency call. And then who would take care of Daddy?

“I guess I’d like to know there’s something really out there before I call. I’ve had kind of a wild day, so maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Okay, well, obviously I want to hear about this wild day, but can’t you call your dad’s people? Didn’t he have some kind of security detail?”

There were always men trailing us when we went to the zoo or the museum. They went out of their way to be unobtrusive, but I thought it was normal. Only when I got older did I realize how strange it was. My dad said it was just a precaution, something to keep us safe after my mother died in a drunk-driving accident.

Then the scandal hit.

Daddy’s business lost all its contracts even before he was found guilty. And he couldn’t afford the security guards when he needed them most. Couldn’t afford them when he most needed protection.

“We don’t have them anymore. After the court cases—” I remember the horror of seeing my dad in the hospital, half his face covered in bruises, the other half in bandages. It was worse when the doctors explained that he would probably never walk again. “Things have been bad.”

She makes a sympathetic sound. “You should have called me.”

“I know. I was just…embarrassed. Maybe a little bit in denial.”

“Okay, look. Are the floodlights on? Can you turn something on outside to see better?”

“This is why I called you.” I’m so flustered by Uncle Landon that I can’t even think. No, that’s not true. It’s Gabriel who’s kept me up late, tossing and turning in bed. “There have to be lights somewhere.”

I never had occasion to use them, but I go into the mud room and find a long row of lights. Already I feel less shaky from hearing Harper’s familiar voice. Both of us made our way in the world like American princesses, unafraid and confident of our acceptance. Some of that old comfort winds its way to me across the phone line.

“Turning on the lights,” I tell her, laying my palm sideways to flip them all up at once.

Blinding white lights flood the lawn like an airplane strip. And that’s when I see the man working at the electricity box, something glinting in his hand. Is he cutting the power? Oh God. My pulse races as I stand rooted to the tile floor.

“Avery? Avery!” Harper’s voice comes to me as if from far away.

“Someone’s here,” I say faintly.

The man stumbles back, surprised by the sudden lights. He’s wearing a black hooded jacket and dark jeans. I can’t see his face.

“Avery, do you hear me? Go into your bedroom and lock the door.”

My feet carry me—not to my bedroom, but to my father’s. I lock the door and sink to the floor, listening to Harper borrow a friend’s phone and call the cops. She talks to me through the next few minutes, promising me that everything will be okay.

I know she’s wrong. Even if I make it through tonight, my life is over.

My dad doesn’t wake up, the steady beeps telling me he’s fine.

The cops show up with a loud bang on the door. They explore the large grounds, but there’s no sign of an intruder. Their expressions are disbelieving when I describe what I saw, but it doesn’t matter. I know now that we aren’t safe here. We won’t be safe anywhere. Not without money.





Chapter Five





The thing about being a virgin is that I don’t really have any sexy lingerie. No one has ever seen my underwear except other girls in the gym changing room. I wear sturdy skin-toned bras and cute underwear with pink doughnuts and blue butterflies on them. Nothing with lace or silk.

I stare at the slim contents of my underwear drawer without inspiration as sunlight streams through the window. Last night the lawn seemed ominous, concealing intruders in its shadows. In the daylight it seems like the same cheery place I played as a child. It’s almost enough to make me forget the intruder last night, except that I found the little metal clasp on the electrical box broken. The cops assure me that the lock can get broken in a bad storm, but I know what I saw.

There’s only one way to make sure we’re safe here.

In the end it’s too late to get a fancy bra-and-panty set. Besides, my credit card would get declined. I pull on a plain white T-shirt bra and white panties with a pretty scalloped edge.

If they want a virgin, then they can damn well deal with my underwear.

I have a few fancy dresses left from my days attending opening galas and evening operas, ones I couldn’t sell because they were ripped or too old. But I can’t quite bring myself to dress in a daring red or mysterious black. These are dresses I wore on Justin’s arm, the toast of society. That girl doesn’t exist anymore.