Dead Ringer

54

No. The answer was no.

And yet, a tiny part of me held the offer close, hugging it to my chest like a child with a teddy bear. He still wants me.

After everything. Even knowing I was an informant. Mark had left me for less.

The fact that Donovan was still willing to have me around was a testament to his love for Tilda, but that stubborn piece of me liked to pretend it was love for me.

He still undressed you in front of a camera to lord you over his brother.

Yes, he had. And that was why the answer was no. I would rather be alone than humiliated.

Right?

A knock at the door saved me from second-guessing what was clearly, objectively, the correct answer. I didn't even have to wonder who it was. Ciar wasn't showing up here anytime soon, Donovan had just left, and Clarissa was due to reappear any moment.

Besides, it was her knock. Prim and proper and refined, just like her. Ciar's words rang in my ears. Tilda's complete opposite. I could never figure out how they knew each other.

I got up from the table, my chair scraping loudly across the floor, and answered the door. Sure enough, she stood there, arms folded over her stomach as she stared down at me like I was a challenging pet she couldn't quite figure out.

"Who were those women?" she asked without preamble.

"I don't know." I let go of the door and walked back into the kitchen, figuring she'd follow when she was ready. "That's why I gave them to you."

"But where did you find them?" Her heels echoed on the fake wood, and when I turned around she stood beside the refrigerator. "How did you know to go looking for them?"

"Who are they?" I returned.

"I'm still running their faces. Why do you think I'll find anything?"

I traced my tongue over the inside of my cheek as I considered how much to tell her. Then I shrugged. She already knew most of it anyway. "Someone sent it to my printer."

Her mouth twitched. "Someone?"

It was only one word, but so carefully enunciated that it said much, much more: God help me, Maisye, if you don't tell me everything right this second I will wring it out of you.

"I don't know. I was printing something else"—best not to mention that I may have given the game up to Ciar—"and the next thing I knew, that came out, too."

"From your computer?" she asked, lunging for it.

"I don't know," I said again, feeling stupid as I watched her yank it open. I hadn't even thought to check.

She spun it around so I could enter my password, then took control again, punching keys with alarming speed. "Was there anyone in the apartment?"

"I don't think so. I never know anymore. I don't know what's real and what's in my head."

And I really didn't, not after first Ciar and then Donovan had questioned it. I didn't have a great track record when it came to mental stability, and hallucinating someone's presence didn't feel like much of a stretch after going four rounds with one Cosgrave or another and only remembering one of them.

Clarissa's keystrokes had stopped, and their absence deafened me. I couldn't meet her eyes, afraid she'd be able to dig the answers out of mine without even asking.

"Maisye...." To my surprise, she shut the laptop, leaned her elbows on either side of it, and dropped her head into her hands. With a giant sigh, she asked, "What am I going to do with you?"