Sweet Liar (Candy #2)(38)

My pulse raced and my palms got clammy, all because his face was only inches away from mine.

“Don’t bother denying it. Just do me a favor and eat something.” He held out his hand. Sitting there on a napkin was the sandwich that had been on his tray all through lunch.

“Why didn’t you eat it?”

“I’ll get myself another one.”

His act of kindness got to me like all the ones that came before it.

When I considered the sandwich, he said, “The only reason I’m still coming to this hellhole every day is because you agreed to work on Drew for information, and if that’s your plan, I need to keep an eye on you. I can’t do that if you’re wasting away.”

“I’m hardly wasting away.”

Jonah pushed the sandwich at me again, and I took it. Then he stood there watching me, obviously waiting for me to take a bite. With a sigh, I did.

“So you think this place is a hellhole?” I asked with my mouth full.

“Isn’t high school one of the circles of hell in Dante’s Inferno?”

“I don’t think you’re the first person to make that joke.” I laughed. “Besides, you didn’t look like you were in hell during English today. The blonde with the hyena laugh didn’t look too tortured either.”

Oops. The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted them all back. I didn’t want to sound jealous. I didn’t want to be jealous.

Jonah rested his hands on his narrow hips. “Hyena laugh,” he repeated, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I thought her laugh was sort of lyrical.”

“Lyrical? She sounded like a sick cat.”

He smiled widely, far too pleased by the conversation.

“And you don’t have to keep an eye on me,” I added. “Unlike the rest of us, if you don’t like it here, you can stop coming.”

“But I like keeping an eye on you, Candy.”

I tilted my head skeptically. Was he going to make an eye-candy joke? It wasn’t like he’d be the first to do that, either. But he didn’t. He just grinned at me in that sarcastic way he had.

Rolling my eyes, I walked away before I said more stupid stuff.

“Eat your sandwich,” he called after me.

I pivoted. “The more you tell me to eat it, the more I don’t want to.”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Don’t eat it.”

My eyes narrowed. Was that supposed to be reverse psychology or something? The urge to stick my tongue out at him was too hard to resist, so I didn’t resist it. He chuckled as I walked away, eating the sandwich because I actually was hungry.





I had the Honda today, so I was able to drive myself home and think about tonight. In the hours between school ending and darkness falling, I did nothing but think about it. So much was riding on this dinner at the Hoyts’ house that I was a bundle of nerves as I got ready, trying to look nice in a black skirt and boots.

I hadn’t told Jonah about the dinner, even though things were better between us, because I couldn’t lose sight of my goal—to help my father. If the Hoyts could help me, I wouldn’t need Victor. If I were going behind Victor’s back with the Hoyts, I had to keep that from Jonah because he would undoubtedly tell his father. Jonah was a strange dichotomy of good intentions and blind loyalty to his father. It was a volatile mix that would probably blow up in his face or mine at some point.

While getting dressed, I recalled what Victor said about my father being “in it” with Mr. Hoyt, and that made me believe Mr. Hoyt would want to help my father because he’d be helping himself. It made sense.

Then, just about the time I was putting on lip gloss, I decided it didn’t make sense. How could the Hoyts be involved in anything like this? Mrs. Hoyt was so sweet and friendly, and Mr. Hoyt dressed up like a clown for all of Drew’s birthday parties. How could they work for the organization? How could they be traitors alongside my father? Why would they do it? I knew my father’s reason, but I had no idea what theirs could be.

If the Hoyts made no mention of the organization or my father tonight, was it risky or just plain reckless to bring it up first? If I brought it up, how much should I say? What was the smart way to play this?

What would my father do, I asked myself as I had so many times since he’d been taken. I had no idea, but I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to tell them everything because I didn’t think I could help my father on my own. I was just me, an eighteen-year-old high school senior. What could I do?

The pressure of this night closed in on me with each question I asked myself. Pulling out my phone, I thought about calling Lorraine. I felt the need to talk to someone, and she was all I had right now, the only person I could trust. Could I ask her opinion? I already knew she didn’t want me to interfere because she thought my father wouldn’t approve. But not interfering in my father’s fate wasn’t an option.

Gripping the phone, I wavered. Each time we spoke, Lorraine asked how her son was. I always replied that he was good, but I didn’t elaborate because I didn’t know for sure. Jonah seemed fine, but he was good at hiding things.

I was good at it too. I’d seen Jonah the day after speaking to his mother, but I said absolutely nothing to him about her. I continued to say nothing, thinking my conscience wouldn’t bother me because Jonah had told so many lies, but I was wrong.