Cruel Love (7 page)

The back of Ariana’s skull went fuzzy and weightless. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “Pause the game,” Palmer ordered.

Rob did as he was told and Palmer got up, then lowered himself onto the arm of the couch, facing April’s TV. On the screen, a half dozen police loaded a black body bag into the back of the ambulance on the banks of a river.

“e remains have been identified as those of international fashion model, Kiran Hayes,” the newscaster’s voiceover continued. Ariana’s blood turned to icy slush as suddenly Kiran Hayes’s smiling face grinned out at her.

“Oh my God,” she uttered, her hand flying to her mouth. “What?” April said. “Ana? Are you all right?”

“M’fine,” Ariana mumbled, even as her life flashed before her eyes. How had they found her body? How? It had been weeks since she’d shoved a very drunk Kiran off a bridge into the raging Potomac on Halloween night. Ariana had thought that with each passing day she was safer and safer from her former friend’s body ever being found. And now, there Kiran was in the flesh and larger than life, strutting down a Fashion Week runway, posing with other models for a makeup ad, getting out of a limo with some half-wasted Hollywood B-lister.

“Widely acknowledged to be one of high fashion’s rising stars, Miss Hayes has not been seen or heard from since Halloween night, when she called an old friend from her former prep school, Easton Academy.”

Now the guys were fully interested, murmuring and conjecturing as they realized that Kiran was one of their own ilk. “Shhh!” Ariana said, holding out a hand.

She caught a few confused looks, but everyone quieted down. On the screen flashed a photograph of Kiran and Noelle taken in front of Billings during Kiran’s junior year. e photo had been cropped, but a hand hung around Kiran’s shoulder in the center of the picture. Ariana nearly blacked out at the sight of it. It was her own slim, pale hand. If they’d shown the entire shot …

If they’d shown the entire shot, everyone in the room would have seen it. Every single one of them would have recognized her.

“And while this looks like a possible accident, police have yet to rule out foul play,” the newscaster was saying. “For WDCW news, I’m Melinda Chang.”

Ariana stood up shakily, strewing papers all over the floor at her feet. She turned away from the screen and stumbled back toward the lobby. Foul play. ey hadn’t ruled out foul play. Had she left some kind of evidence on Kiran? A fingerprint? A fiber? A hair?

“Where’re you going?” Palmer demanded.

Ariana froze. Her spine felt like a long strip of ice. “What?” she said, turning to him.

“at’s the most emotion I’ve seen from you since your so-called best friend died,” he said belligerently, approaching her. “How is it you’re crying over some dead model when I’ve never seen you shed a tear over Lexa?”

“Leave me alone,” Ariana said through her teeth. She could not deal with Palmer and his bruised feelings right now. She started to go again, but he grabbed her arm.

“No. I don’t think so,” Palmer said. “You were the last one to see her alive, you know. What did she say to you? What did you do? Did you upset her or something?

What happened in that room?”

“Palmer,” April said, her voice aghast. “You can’t really think—”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Ariana replied, clenching her teeth as hard as she could to keep from exploding, to keep herself under control. “But just FYI, even if we did have an upsetting conversation, that can’t cause an aneurysm.”

“How can you joke about this?” Palmer spat. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Not even your dead best friend.” “Dude,” Landon said.

Ariana glanced at him over Palmer’s shoulder. Even Palmer flinched. If Landon thought he was out of line, he must have done something really wrong. Before another word could be uttered, Ariana turned on her heel, forcing her chin up, and walked away. But by the time she got to the elevators, she was shaking from head to toe.

Palmer had come far too close to the truth for her comfort. Did he truly suspect something? And what about this foul play allegation that Chang woman mentioned on the news? Did the police really suspect that Kiran had been murdered? If so, how long did she have before they came banging down her door?

As the doors slid open, Ariana stepped inside and tried to breathe.

Kiran’s body had spent five weeks at the bottom of a river. There couldn’t possibly be anything left that could lead them to Briana Leigh Covington or Ariana Osgood. Could there?

Ariana let out a cathartic screech as she smacked the small blue ball with the overly used, seriously abused racquetball racket. e ball slammed against the white wall and thwacked against the gleaming wood floor, ricocheting toward the far side of the two-story-high enclosed court. Ariana sprinted to reach it, her sneakers screeching along the boards, her breath coming quick and heavy. She reached back and executed a perfect return, sending the ball back to the wall. Overhead, one of the fluorescent lights flickered, but she ignored it and returned the ball again. Right now, she was focused, and nothing could distract her.

Then, the door to the racquetball court squeaked open, and her ball went flying out into the lobby. “Whoa!” Maria blurted, jumping out of the projectile’s path. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Ariana said, trying to catch her breath.

She walked over to her bag, wiped her sweaty face with a towel, and grabbed the tube of balls she’d purchased at the gym store before starting her game. ey hadn’t had any women’s rackets left for sale—thus the borrowed, used racket—but at least she’d been able to pop open a fresh sleeve of balls.

“Mind if I join you?” Maria asked, wielding her own borrowed racket. She was wearing short cotton shorts and a gray tank top and already had a patch of sweat on her stomach and another across her chest. Her hair was back in a messy ponytail, and she clasped an iPod in her other hand. Clearly she’d already been working out for a while when she’d noticed Ariana on the racquetball court.

“Not at all,” Ariana said, still catching her breath.

Maria put her iPod down atop Ariana’s bag and jogged in place a bit, her ponytail dancing from shoulder to shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you inside the gym before,” she commented, eyeing Ariana’s tennis whites—a straight white skirt with one pleat and a long-sleeved white polo shirt over Nike tennis sneakers.

“at’s because I’ve never been here before,” Ariana said as she bounced the ball atop her racket. “But tonight, I just felt a dire need to hit something, and the lights weren’t on at the tennis courts, so here I am.”

“Yeah, I guess when it’s thirty degrees outside they figure no one’s going to be up for tennis after dark,” Maria joked, joining Ariana at the service line.

“ey thought wrong,” she replied, without a trace of mirth. Ever since she’d seen Kiran’s face on the news earlier that evening, not a positive, light, or happy thought had passed through her mind. It was all panic, conjecture, worry, and fear. Which was why she was here, sweating it out, trying to clear her mind. “Play to fifteen?” she asked Maria.

“Sure,” Maria said, bending at the waist and shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

Ariana smirked. Maria was a skinny, frail ballerina. There was no way she played racquetball on a regular basis. This was going to be one easy win.

She tossed the ball up and served. Maria returned it with a formidable swing. e ball hit the wall, then the floor and whizzed right toward Ariana, but about three feet above her head. She jumped up and lobbed a return, but it felt short.

“My serve,” Maria said, retrieving the ball.

“Nice shot,” Ariana said, impressed but also slightly annoyed. Maria tilted her head modestly. “Thanks.”

She bounced the ball a few times at her feet. “I’m worried about Soomie. I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long without talking or e-mailing or texting or
something
.”

With a quick toss, she served the ball. Ariana returned it cleanly, so fast Maria had no time to react, and it ricocheted off her thigh. “Ow! That’s gonna leave a mark,” Maria said, rubbing the spot with the flat of her hand.

“Sorry,” Ariana said, jogging to pick up the ball.

“Hazards of the sport, I guess,” Maria said lightly. “So you still haven’t heard from her?”

“No. I’m worried too. It’s not like her to just disappear and not even leave a note. She’s too …” “OCD?” Maria joked.

Ariana laughed, surprising herself. “That’s the acronym I was looking for.”

Maria smiled and Ariana served. ey were quiet for a few minutes as they ran around the court after the ball, ducking one another, racing for the walls. Eventually, Ariana caught a perfect angle and won the point.

“Whoo! Nice one!” Maria said, raising her hand for a high five.

Ariana had never high-fived anyone in her life. Now she shrugged one shoulder and slapped Maria’s hand. ey both laughed. ey looked into one another’s eyes and suddenly, Ariana couldn’t stop smiling.

“I see what you mean about needing to hit something,” Maria said, getting poised for another return. “I already feel loads better.” Ariana took a quick swig of water from her water bottle, then returned to the service line. “Then we should do this more often.” Maria grinned. “Works for me.”

Ariana grinned back and, feeling suddenly like she had been crazy to ever worry that anything could really go wrong, she tossed the ball up to serve.

THE
DUNGEON

Ariana sat at a table in the Georgetown dining hall on Wednesday morning, her nose buried in her Atherton-Pryce chemistry book, which was definitely hefty enough to pass as a college text. To any casual passerby, she looked like a student who had pulled an all-nighter and was now nursing a coffee and getting in some last-minute cramming. In fact, every ounce of her attention was tuned to the conversation taking place at the table behind her.

“I can’t believe she’s really dead,” Reed said, sniffling. “We figured she’d just met some hot guy and disappeared to Tahiti for a few weeks.” Ariana smiled sadly. That
did
sound like Kiran.

“I’m so sorry, Reed,” one of her friends said.

Ariana had seen Reed walk in, all red-nosed, wearing a baggy Georgetown sweatshirt and no makeup, surrounded by concerned tomboys. She imagined one of them putting an arm around her now, giving her a supportive squeeze. As if Kiran and Reed had ever really been friends. Ariana had known Kiran much longer, and if Reed could have heard some of the crap Kiran had talked about her and her wardrobe behind her back, she wouldn’t be so mournful right now.

“I wonder how it happened,” another friend chimed in. Ariana’s ears perked up as Reed scoffed derisively.

“My friend Noelle heard she was really wasted at the Halloween party she was at,” she said. “Classic Kiran. Apparently the police think she must have been so drunk she tripped and fell in the water,” she added, her tone bitter.

Ariana let out a sigh of relief unlike any other. If this was true, she was in the clear.
ank you, Kiran, for your hedonistic ways.
But then a sour taste filled her mouth, tempering her happiness as Reed’s comment about Noelle really hit her. So. Reed and Noelle were still friends.

“Crap. I have to get to class,” one of Reed’s entourage said. A chair scraped back. “Hey … you guys are going to that team breakfast thing on Friday, right?” There was a chorus of assenting murmurs.

“I can’t,” Reed said. “I’m so behind in bio and I’ve got that lab due on Friday morning. I’m going to be spending every free second in the lab until first session starts.” “You’re going to the dungeon, alone,
before
class on a Friday?” one of the friends asked incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

“I know. That place freaks me out even in the middle of the day,” Reed replied. “But I have to ace this lab. It’s, like, fifty percent of my final grade.”

A sizzle of anticipation shot up and down Ariana’s arms. is dungeon lab place sounded like a perfect location for her purposes. And from the tone of the friend’s voice, it would be completely deserted early on a Friday morning, which made perfect sense. ursday night was the requisite party night on college campuses. Only a loser with no life would drag themselves out of bed before dawn on a Friday and into a lab. A loser like Reed. Ariana would have to check out this so-called dungeon after Reed went to class today. But if it was as cold and dark and quiet and windowless as she was currently imagining … she’d just caught the break she’d been hoping for.

A
LOCK

“Are you nervous?” Jasper asked Ariana, sliding into the chair next to hers in the dining hall that night.

e very word “nervous” sent a whole new shockwave of prickling discomfort over Ariana’s shoulders and down her arms. In just a few hours the Stone and Grave vote would finally take place. She’d thought of little else all day, but he didn’t need to know that. Ariana took a deep breath and shrugged casually.

“Not at all,” she said, reaching for a warm roll from the basket at the center of the table. e waiter had yet to come and take her order, but it was no matter. She was certain she wouldn’t be able to eat much anyway.

“Liar.” Jasper planted a kiss on her cheek as he stashed his leather messenger bag under the table. “Personally, I think you’re a lock.” Ariana’s eyebrows shot up. “You do? What have you heard?”

“Nothing really. But why would anyone
not
vote for you?” Jasper replied, flicking his napkin into his lap.

Ariana shook her head with a smile. “You’re my boyfriend. You have to say that,” she whispered, eyeing Palmer and Landon as they strode by. Landon lifted his hand briefly in greeting, but Palmer didn’t even cast a glance in their direction.

“Cocky bastard. He deserves to be brought down a peg,” Jasper muttered.

Ariana clenched her teeth, recalling the look in Palmer’s eyes as he’d accused her the night before. “I couldn’t agree more.”

April dropped into the chair across from Jasper’s, struggling to detangle the straps of the tote bag, duffel, and backpack she was carrying. She finally got it all organized, shoved the bags under her chair, and took a deep breath.