All Over You (All Falls Down #3) (5 page)

Little by little, the tightness in my chest eases, allowing me to take a deep breath. I expect Detective Lewis to move his hand, but he doesn't. He keeps it on my shoulder. I think he's trying to comfort me. Would he do that if he thought I was capable of being so heartless and cruel? Would he flirt with me like he did last night and the night before?

I don't know.

Slowly, I straighten in my chair. I don’t feel better at all, but at least I can breathe again.

I think his hand tightens on my shoulder for a brief instant before he moves away from me.

He doesn't reclaim his seat, instead standing beside me. I don't even know him, but I want to lean into him, let him hold me together and tell me this isn't happening. That it's just a nightmare. But I can't do that, and he can't tell me that. Why would he when he doesn't even know me?

"Someone stole my identity," I whisper. That has to be it. Someone found pictures of me and used them and my name to start a relationship with Rory. It's happened before―well, the using my pictures part, anyway. I'm not sure about the starting a relationship part, but there is no other explanation.

Detective Lewis eyes me for a moment, his expression as businesslike as it has been all day long, and then he gathers up his folder. "Come on, I'll take you home," he says.

I don't know if he believes me or not.

Why does that scare me so much?

"Thank you for the ride," I whisper, my throat raw as we pull up in front of my building. Unlatching my seatbelt with one hand, I reach for the door handle with the other. I feel numb and cold, my insides frozen solid. His scent is all over his Land Rover, and it's not helping to calm me any. If anything, smelling him, having him seated right next to me, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, makes me even more anxious.

I desperately want to ask him if he believes me, but I don't.

"You're welcome," he murmurs, still not looking at me.

I climb from the vehicle, tears welling in my eyes again.
Don't cry,
I chant to myself.
Not yet.

"Miss Kendall," he says as I start to shut the door.

I turn to find his gaze on me, his expression shuttered.

"Don't leave town for a while," he says. "We'll have more questions for you."

Despite my best efforts, a single tear slips down my cheek. I hurriedly brush it away. His gaze softens a little, his gray eyes flickering across my face. He looks like he wants to say something, but I don't give him the chance. I have to get out of here.

"Thanks again," I mumble and slam the door before spinning on my heel and darting inside my building. Instead of waiting for the ancient elevator, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time all the way up to the fourth floor. Keeping my head down, I speed walk to my door, the worn Oriental-styled runner under my feet blurring. Somehow, I make it to my apartment without any of my neighbors stopping me.

Once inside, I latch the door and then slide down the wall. With my back against the cool wood, I give in to the tears. They come in gasping heaves and pained whimpers. I've never been in trouble in my entire life. I don't understand why this is happening to me, or who would do this to me. Why would
anyone
do something so awful to another person?

Did Rory kill himself, thinking I'd used him and then told him to die?

I don't even know him, but the thought of him viewing me as that sort of person kills me.

And then I get pissed off. How dare someone use my identity to destroy a life? Brushing my tears away, I climb to my feet and start to pace in angry circles.

I need to find out who did this.

Where do I start?

I need Erin's advice. She'll know what to do.

Grabbing my phone off the charger, I sink down onto the sofa and kick my shoes off before dialing her number.

It rings twice.

"Wassup? It's Erin. If you reached this message, you already know I'm not going to listen to your voicemail. Text me!"

"Hey, it's me," I say after the beep anyway. "I need your help. Please call me as soon as you get this."

I end the call and hesitate for a moment before firing off a text telling her I need her help.

And then I settle down to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do.

chapter four

mad world

"Miss Kendall, please report to the Principal's office. Miss Kendall, please report to the Principal's office."

Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and sigh. It's barely seven o'clock in the morning, and my week is already off to a bad start. This isn't going to make it any better. I was up before the sun this morning, trying to figure out how I'm going to afford a lawyer. The sad reality is that I can't. Even if I worked in the bars every night, it wouldn't be possible. I barely have two-thousand dollars in savings. Everything else goes to paying off loans and my dad's medical bills, and paying my bills.

I drop a stack of worksheets on my desk for the substitute and then straighten my cream blouse before heading toward Bryan's office.

Eloise glances up from the phone call she's on and waves me in. "He's waiting," she mouths.

"Thank you."

Taking a deep breath, I tap on Bryan's open door.

"Ivy, come in," he says, looking up from the newspaper in front of him.

"Morning," I mumble and push the door closed before dropping into the chair across from him.

He cocks his head to the side, frowning as he folds up his newspaper and sets it aside. "You look like shit."

"I didn't sleep well," I say, smoothing my navy blue skirt. I tossed and turned all night, fighting the urge to fire up my laptop and begin searching. I called Erin twice more, but she didn't answer and hasn't called me back yet. Service is spotty at the lake, so hopefully she'll make a run into town sometime today and get my S.O.S. messages.

Bryan eyes me for a moment and then sits back in his chair. "Talk to me," he says.

I open my mouth and then close it again. Where do I even start?

"Is this about the detective?" he asks when I still haven't said anything several moments later.

"He thinks I've been having an online relationship with that missing college student," I blurt, squeezing my eyes closed. "Yesterday, he took me in and showed me a bunch of messages between the kid and someone pretending to be me." I still can't believe this is actually happening to me. It seems so implausible. Will anyone believe me? Popping my eyes open, I focus on Bryan. "I didn't do this, Bryan."

"Of course you didn't," he says immediately, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"There's more," I warn him, refusing to give in to the soft rush of relief threatening to overwhelm me at his immediate acceptance of my innocence.

"Go on." He sits back and crosses his arms over his broad chest. With his sleeves rolled up his dark forearms, he looks so casual, but concern burns in his hazel eyes.

"The last messages were sent the day he disappeared. They were bad. Really bad." My face falls at the reminder. I still can't believe anyone could be so cruel to someone else. "Whoever sent the texts took a bunch of money from him, got him kicked out of school, and then told him to kill himself."

"Shit," Bryan says. "Do they have any suspects?"

"Yeah, me," I mumble.

His eyes widen.

"Detective Lewis t-told me that I need to hire a lawyer. If they don't find this kid alive, they're going to charge me with manslaughter."

"What?" Bryan leaps to his feet, his voice booming throughout his office. "They can't do that."

"They think I convinced him to kill himself. The detective said the phone was registered under my name. Whoever did this used my pictures, too."

"Jesus Christ, Ivy," he whispers, clearly stunned. He paces behind his desk, his long legs carrying him quickly from one side of the small space to the other and then back again. After two circuits, he circles around and sinks into the chair beside me, reaching out to grasp my hands in his. "What can I do?"

Tears prickle at my eyes and my bottom lip trembles at his concern.

"I have to find out who did this and why," I tell him. "I don't want to go to jail, Bryan. I can't pee with people watching me for the rest of my life. I can't even pee with them in another stall!"

He chuckles, amusement dancing through his eyes.

The situation isn't funny, but I can't help but chuckle a little, too. It's the only thing keeping me from falling apart. All night, I tried to prepare myself for the possibility of going to prison for a crime I didn't commit, but I couldn't imagine it. Where do you even begin preparing for something so awful?

Bryan watches me for long moments, not speaking, and then he sighs and pulls me into a tight hug. "I'm so damn sorry, Ivy. We will figure this out."

I bite back a sob, more grateful to him than I can say. He's always been so good to me, giving me a chance when no one else wanted to do so. He's been my friend and mentor since I started teaching here. Erin likes to tease that he wants to date me, but I don't think it's like that for him. It isn't for me. He's just a really good guy.

I pull back after a moment, assuring him that I'm okay.

He grabs a box of tissues from his desk and holds it out to me.

"Thank you," I mumble, grabbing a tissue to wipe my eyes. Mascara comes off on the tissue, and I know I must look like a hot mess.

Bryan rubs my back while I try to pull myself together.

"I have to take a leave of absence," I whisper once I've composed myself. As much as it kills me to think about leaving behind my kids until this is all sorted out, I know it has to happen. I respect Bryan too much to make him be the bad guy here. I won't force him to tell me that he has to put me on administrative leave while I'm under investigation.

"Shit, Ivy." His face falls, guilt flickering in his expression, as if he's already drawn the same conclusion and feels bad for it. "I'm so damned sorry."

"It's okay," I promise with a watery smile before rising to my feet and smoothing my skirt again. "I left a stack of worksheets on my desk for the sub for today. I'll send over a lesson plan for the next couple of weeks as soon as I can." Turning to the door, I hesitate. "Please make sure the kids know that I love them and that I'm sorry I can't be here." I don't want to be another adult who flakes on them, leaving them disappointed and heartbroken. They get enough of that from overworked or addicted parents.

If I could, I'd stay and talk to them myself, but that feels a little too much like goodbye, and I can't ask Bryan to give me that opportunity when doing so could get him in trouble. Instead, I cling to what little dignity I have left, thank him for everything, and duck out of his office, reminding myself that I'll be back before the end of the year.

"Is everything okay?" Eloise asks.

I'm not sure what she sees on my face, but her gentle question makes me want to cry all over again.

"Yeah, fine," I lie with a tremulous smile. "Just not feeling very well."

"Are you headed home for the day?"             

"Yeah. Can you find a sub on such short notice?" I ask.

"Of course." She gives me a sympathetic smile and reaches for the phone. "I'll take care of it. Feel better, honey."

"Thanks." I let myself out of the office and stride toward my classroom. The artwork and stories posted on bulletin boards up and down the hallway tug at my heartstrings. I haven't even been charged with a crime, and already, my life feels a little like it's slipping away from me.

"Can I get you anything else?" the young waitress asks, popping up beside my table at the café on the corner where I've been ensconced for the past two hours, researching identity theft and everything related to my name.

I glance up from my laptop screen and blink. My eyes are bleary and burning with fatigue, but I'm not ready to quit yet. I've found five different Facebook and Instagram accounts using my photos and some variation of my name. I desperately want to message every single one of them and ask what gives them the right to hide behind my identity without my permission, but I've resisted the urge. I don't want to cause more trouble for myself, and I have a feeling letting them know I'm on to them will make finding out the truth that much harder.

"No, thank you," I murmur when I realize the waitress is still waiting for my answer. Pushing my hair away from my face, I glance down at my empty tea glass. "Actually, can I have a refill?"

"Yeah, sure," she mutters like she's irritated.

I almost tell her to forget about it, but don't. It's late afternoon, and, with only a handful of patrons scattered around the two dozen booths and tables, the place is dead. I'm not taking up valuable space or inconveniencing anyone.

I wait for her to grab my glass and saunter off before shifting my focus back to the screen in front of me.

This account is locked down, so I'm only able to see the name and a history of profile photos―all of me from various photo shoots ―dating back to when the account was opened seven months ago. Whoever owns the profile has over four thousand friends.

I don't even know that many people. I start scrolling through the list and don't recognize a single name, though several of them say they're located in the San Francisco area. They just accept that she's me simply because that's what it says on her profile page. They've clearly never met her before or they would know better.

I stop when I get to Rory Clark's name. His profile photo is the typical college-guy photo: him and his buddies with beers in their hands at some sporting event. He looks happy, carefree, if a little reserved. He's a bit on the nerdy side of cute in the photograph, with wire-framed glasses and a shirt depicting the Periodic Table.

I let the mouse hover over his name, fighting the urge to click on his profile, curious about his life. I'm only twenty-three, but he looks so young. He's still a kid, barely old enough to leave home. Are his friends and family worried about him? Are they out there searching for him, cursing my name and hating me?

Will they ever see him again?

The possibility that they won't makes my stomach roil.

"What are you doing?"

I yelp and spin around in my seat as the familiar voice sounds from directly behind me.

Detective Lewis towers over me, dressed in a dark suit and deep red tie. He has his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. He looks pissed as his eyes flit between the screen and my face. In his mind, he probably thinks he just caught me red-handed.

I open my mouth to explain why I'm staring at Rory Clark's profile photo, but no sound comes out. What's he going to say if I tell him that I'm investigating this on my own? Is it a crime to investigate a crime the police are also investigating? Is that obstruction? Anxiety shoots through me at the possibility I could get in even more trouble for this regardless of what excuse I give him.

I stare at him dumbly, at a loss for words.

Every second that passes in silence seems to piss him off even more. His expression darkens as he looks between me and my laptop, those gray eyes snapping like fire. Every muscle in his body is tense and rigid beneath the suit he's rocking like a Gucci model. Yet again, I find myself fighting the urge to shift around in my seat as heat floods my body at the sight of him.

"I asked you a question," he snaps at me as my gaze roves over him, drinking him in.

"I'm…" My face flushes as my gaze flies back to his face in time to see his jaw firm even further. He's furious, and I can't lie my way out of this. I'm not even sure I
want
to lie to him. I just really don't want to go to jail for pissing him off, and I've seen enough of
Forensic Files
to know police officers don't appreciate people inserting themselves into investigations. "I'm trying to figure out how someone like this kid ends up in an online relationship with someone no one has ever met before," I blurt anyway, praying he doesn't haul me off to jail. "Doesn't anyone think that's odd?"

One eyebrow flies upward as if he didn't expect that answer.

"Four thousand people claim to be this woman's friends but have never seen her before."

"Who?" He looks confused now.

"Her," I say, pointing at the name in the top right corner of the profile page. "Ivy Wade. Fake Ivy. If any of these people had actually ever met her before, they'd know she isn't me."