Addy
Saturday, July 18
We switched up rides on the way home from the beach—Maeve and Bronwyn taking their boyfriends to their house for a Rojas family dinner, and Phoebe tagging along with them for a ride home along the way. She said it was so she and Maeve could continue their discussion about what Phoebe learned at Conrad & Olsen the other day, but I think it’s actually because she and Knox suddenly can’t be within five feet of one another.
“What’s going on with you and Phoebe?” I ask as we climb into the back seat of Cooper’s car. I breathe in the new car smell, and send a silent apology Cooper’s way as the sand from my flip-flops nestles into the pristine rug at my feet. “You guys barely said two words to one another all day.”
“Nothing,” Knox mutters in a very something voice. He’s gotten lightly tan this summer, his brown hair glinting with highlights from the sun. If he were a different kind of guy, I’d wonder if he’s starting to get conceited about his recent glow-up. But since it’s Knox, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t noticed. “It’s a big group, is all. You can’t talk to everyone.” He shifts restlessly in his seat as Cooper carefully backs out of the parking spot. “Look, I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think we should bring Eli in on this practice makes perfect stuff?”
It’s an obvious change of subject, but I let it slide—especially because I need to shut down that line of thought, pronto. If my sister had any clue what I’ve been up to lately, she’d have a heart attack. I can’t let that happen while she’s pumping blood for two. “No,” I say. “Why would we do that? There’s nothing solid to tell him.”
“There’s a connection, maybe, between Jake’s family and what happened to Phoebe and Reggie,” Knox says.
“The most tenuous connection ever,” I say. “Can you imagine trying to have that conversation with the Bayview Police? Oh, hi, we think the words written on Phoebe’s and Reggie’s arms might be related to a six-year-old advertising campaign created by Jake’s mother and a dead guy she may or may not have been having an affair with. Also, bonus, we’re catfishing the guy’s son.”
Knox rubs his jaw. “Well, we wouldn’t say it exactly like that,” he says. “And anyway, I said tell Eli, not the police. He’s a much better sounding board.”
“You don’t wanna do that,” Cooper calls from the front seat as he merges onto the road with excruciating slowness. “He said he’d fire you if any of us got caught up in stuff like this.”
“He was kidding,” Knox says, but he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“I think we need Vanessa’s intel first,” Kris says. “Otherwise, we’d just be repeating an old rumor, and a potentially damaging one at that.”
“You’re assuming Vanessa can get intel,” Cooper says. “Nate didn’t seem so sure.”
Kris shrugs. “Nate has never appreciated the power of gossip,” he says.
My thoughts swirl as they continue to talk. I started dating Jake during the first month of our freshman year, but I didn’t meet his family until Thanksgiving. I was thrilled to get an invite to dinner with the Riordans, especially since Mom was still married to her second husband, Troy, and planning to drag me to his parents’ house. The Riordans seemed like an oasis back then; the house was so perfectly decorated, the food so gorgeously presented, and Jake’s parents so charming and glamorous, that I felt like I’d stumbled onto a holiday-movie set. The night felt magical to me, and I spent as much time as possible at Jake’s after that. I can’t remember when or how I learned that Ms. Riordan had recently left her job, but I remember thinking how jealous my mother would be that Ms. Riordan had everything—not only the perfect house, the perfect husband, and the perfect son, but a perfectly clear schedule.
I wish I could time travel back a few years, now that I know how much toxicity can hide beneath perfect, and view the Riordan family through older, wiser eyes.
It’s been more than a week since my run-in with Jake at his house in Ramona. At first I’d been relieved to hear nothing from him or his lawyer, because he was right—I’d violated my own restraining order by going there. He could have reported me and twisted what happened to get the restrictions on him lifted. But he didn’t, and after a few days, a new dread started creeping in. All I could think about was what Jake had said right before he went inside: Get used to living life looking over your shoulder, because one of these days, I’m going to be there.
He’s not going to say anything. Why would he? I gave him exactly what he wanted that night: confirmation that I’m still afraid of him. Now all he has to do is bide his time until a joke of a legal system hands him full freedom.
“Turn left for Addy’s street,” Kris says, jolting me back to the present.
“I know,” Cooper says. He slows as he approaches my house, but then comes to a complete stop when we’re still a block away.
“Do you also know this isn’t Addy’s house?” Kris asks teasingly.
“I do,” Cooper says. “But I know that car too.”
I follow his gaze and draw in a sharp breath. Parked down the street, across from my house, is the same ancient red convertible with the tan top that we’d seen idling outside Eli’s office, and later at Nate’s house. The one that Nate’s neighbor Phil most definitely doesn’t own. That’s three times now—and this time, it’s at my house.
One of these days, I’m going to be there.
Unease twists my stomach as Cooper inches the car forward. “Let’s get a little closer,” he says. “Try to get a look at the driver.”
“Whoever they are, they have tinted windows,” I say, trying to keep my voice matter-of-fact. “Nate was only a few feet away, and he couldn’t tell who it was.”
Knox leans forward. “Maybe it’s Chase Alton,” he says. “Maybe he wasn’t kidding when he told Maeve he was already here. Maybe he’s been here all along.”
Or maybe it’s Jake, I think, but I can’t bring myself to say it.
When Cooper is almost to the car, it pulls out and starts down the street, away from my house. “Follow them,” Knox says instantly.
“What?” Cooper taps his brake. “You think? We don’t know—”
“Follow them,” Knox repeats.
So Cooper does—hesitantly at first, until the red car picks up speed as it leaves my street for a busier road. Then Cooper accelerates, too, weaving through traffic until he’s only a couple of cars behind it. “How does a person drive around with their license plate so covered with mud that it’s impossible to read and not get pulled over?” he mutters as the red car shifts lanes.
“Oh, you know,” Knox says. “The Bayview Police can’t be bothered with stuff like that. They have their hands full with not solving murders.”
“Whoever it is, they’re going kind of fast for this neighborhood,” Kris says. “Do you think they spotted you?”
“I think they might’ve noticed me creeping up at Addy’s house, and that’s why they took off,” Cooper said. “But we’re far enough away from them now.” We’re approaching a stoplight that suddenly changes from green to yellow, and the pickup truck in front of us slows. The red car, on the other hand, sails right through the intersection.
“Run it!” Knox says, smacking the back of Cooper’s seat.
“There’s a car in front of me!” Cooper protests, slowing to a stop.
The light turns red, and Knox lets out a frustrated grunt. “Well, that’s that,” he mutters, slumping against his seat. “We lost them.” The red car’s taillights flash in front of us for a few more seconds, then disappear around a curve in the road.
“Don’t be so sure,” Cooper says. “This is a short light. And as Luis likes to remind me, this car can go from zero to sixty miles per hour in five-point-three seconds.”
“It can do what?” Kris asks just as the light changes. Cooper lets the car in front of us make it about halfway through the light, and then—he floors it, zipping around the pickup truck and onto the now-open road. “Oh, okay,” Kris says, sounding both surprised and impressed. “Here we go.”
The Cooper who drove from the beach to my house with carefully modulated speed is gone, replaced by someone who suddenly figured out what the gas pedal is for. Within seconds, I spot the red car’s taillights, and Cooper slows down. He keeps a few cars between us until we approach another intersection, and then narrows the gap so that we both make it through another yellow light. “Fall back,” Knox says once we’re though. “Don’t let them see you.”
“So what’s the plan here?” I ask, my heart beating uncomfortably fast. Cooper was right the first time we saw that car outside Eli’s office; Jake wouldn’t be caught dead in it. Unless the entire point of driving it is to be unrecognizable. Could we actually be following Jake? I can’t do that twice in one month; or at least, I can’t get caught doing it. “We’re not going to confront this person, are we? That seems like a bad idea.”
“Let’s at least see where they’re headed,” Cooper says.
We’re approaching a major intersection, and the red car suddenly veers across two lanes to make a right turn onto a side street. Horns blare as Cooper mutters, “Damn it,” and turns the wheel sharply to follow.
“So much for being stealthy,” Kris says, bracing himself against the center console as Cooper executes a hairpin turn. “Listen, Cooper, I have to admit—you in NASCAR mode is pretty hot. But whoever’s in there clearly doesn’t want to be seen.”
“Which is why we need to see them,” Cooper says doggedly.
We’re on the side street now, houses flashing past us as Cooper keeps within a car’s length of the red car. The driver makes another signal-free turn that Cooper easily follows, his new car handling like a dream. “That was a stop sign, you asshole,” Cooper says as the red convertible flies through an empty four-way intersection. Then he follows.
“Cooper, slow down,” Kris says. “We’re in a residential area. Plus we have no idea how desperate this person is. They could have a weapon, or—” He breaks off suddenly as a building comes into view, and the red car careens wildly into its parking lot.
“Or they could be going to the Bayview Police station,” Knox finishes.
“What the hell?” Cooper says. He slows and pulls into an empty spot behind two squad cars. “Please tell me I didn’t just run a stop sign while chasing a cop. How am I supposed to explain that to my coach?”
The red car hasn’t bothered to park; it’s stopped haphazardly off to one side, engine running. The driver’s door opens, and I take a deep, steadying breath for whoever I’m about to see. It can’t be Jake, right? Maybe it’s Chase Alton, or a cop who’s going to arrest Cooper for reckless endangerment, or—
“Who is that guy?” Knox asks wonderingly.
A short, thin, thirtyish man with wispy dark hair gets out, not bothering to close the door, and stalks toward Cooper’s car. Cooper opens his door and makes a move to get out, but the man makes a wild pushing motion, like he’s trying to shove Cooper back into the car without actually touching him.
“Don’t come any closer, or I’ll report you!” he yells.
Cooper climbs out of the car and steps onto the pavement anyway. “Report me for what?”
“Harassment!” the man calls back. “You think you’re the first person who’s ever tried to run me off the road? Trust me, you’re not, and you…” Then he trails off and seems to shrink a little, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ill-fitting pants. “Wait a minute. You…you’re the baseball player, aren’t you?”
“I’m a baseball player,” Cooper says. “And how am I harassing you, exactly, when you’re the one who’s been following my friends?”
I don’t know who this rabbity guy is, but he doesn’t seem dangerous. I unbuckle my seat belt, step out of the car, and stand beside Cooper. The man goes rigid at the sight of me, his eyes widening. “Ohhhh,” he breathes. He looks wildly over his shoulder toward the police station, and then at his still-running car, as though he’s debating which one to make a break for. “Okay, this…this was a mistake.” His gaze shifts back toward Cooper as he adds, almost accusingly, “You have a new car.”
“How would you know that?” Cooper asks, a hard edge creeping into his voice. The man doesn’t reply, staring at me so intently that my skin starts to crawl. “And why are you looking at her like that? Who are you?”
“I’m…” The man glances over his shoulder again. A couple of people in civilian clothes exit the station, talking animatedly as they head for the side parking lot. Kris and Knox get out of the car then and stand beside Cooper and me, arms folded like twin sentries. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Knox look even a little bit intimidating.
“You’re who?” I ask.
The man swallows so hard that I can see his Adam’s apple move from six feet away. “I’m Marshall Whitfield,” he says.
It takes a few seconds for the name to register—Oh my God, it’s Juror X—and Cooper is already striding forward. “You son of a bitch,” he spits out. Both Kris and Knox grab hold of his arms, and it takes every bit of their combined effort to hold him back. I’ve never seen Cooper this angry; despite his strength, he’s always been the gentlest person I know. But right now, he looks more than ready to start swinging. “You’re the reason Jake Riordan is walking free, and you have the goddamn nerve to come to Addy’s house and scare the life out of her? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It’s not like that!” Marshall protests. He starts backing away, as if he doesn’t trust Kris and Knox to keep Cooper in check. I do, though; I can already tell that Cooper is calming down from the deep breaths he’s taking. “Believe it or not, I was trying to help. The thing is…look, I lost my job and my girlfriend and my apartment after what happened—”
“Good,” Kris snaps.
“—and basically nobody will talk to me except my cousin, so I ended up crashing on his couch with nothing to do. And I thought, well, since I’m the reason Riordan is out, maybe I could keep an eye on some of the people he’s got a grudge against, make sure he doesn’t try anything….”
“Are you serious?” I interrupt, resentment flooding my veins. I can’t believe this man is standing in front of me—the man who single-handedly gave Jake a new trial—telling me that he’s trying to help me. “And what if he does? What would you do?”
“I…well…I’d stop it,” Marshall says.
“Bullshit,” Knox says bluntly, releasing Cooper’s arm. “You couldn’t even deal with getting tailed for a few miles. Why are you really here?”
“I told you. To help,” Marshall says. His pale skin reddens as he adds, “If I did that, then, you know…maybe there could be some quid pro quo….”
Kris narrows his eyes. “Quid pro what now?”
Marshall holds up his palms toward me in a supplicating gesture. “Look, I realize I messed up your life, but I messed mine up too. My family is barely speaking to me. No one will hire me. The reason I thought you guys were running me off the road is because it’s happened before when people recognize me. I get death threats all the time. So I thought, you know, if I helped you out, then maybe you could see your way to helping me out.”
“Helping you out,” I echo flatly. “How so?”
His voice takes on a pleading tone. “Just some kind of statement on one of your social media platforms asking people to back off. They’d listen to you.”
Cooper inhales so sharply that I can tell he’s desperate to answer for me, but he manages to hold himself back. Knox snorts out a disbelieving laugh, and Kris is utterly silent.
There are a lot of things I could say to Marshall Whitfield right now, on top of all the things I’ve been wishing I could say for months. But none of it will make a difference, so I say the only word that matters. “No.”
“Won’t you at least consider it?” he asks. “I know I haven’t done anything to help you with your ex, but I could help out in other ways, maybe.” His expression gets shifty. “There’s plenty going on with your friend group, right? I’ve seen some stuff.”
Seen some stuff. What a creepy little manipulator. “Marshall, listen to me,” I say, carefully enunciating each word. “If you set foot near me or any of my friends again, I absolutely will make a statement on social media. I’ll tell everyone that you’ve been stalking me.”
Marshall’s eyes grow wide and alarmed. “What? You can’t do that!”
“Why not? It’s true,” I say. “Or maybe I should tell the police right now.”
The door to the police station opens then, and a uniformed officer strides outside. Marshall Whitfield doesn’t hesitate; he sprints for his car and gets back behind the wheel, quickly shutting the door behind him. The officer ignores him, heading straight for us, and as he gets closer, I recognize Detective Mendoza. He’s interviewed all of us at least once, so he definitely recognizes the boys, but he doesn’t give them more than a passing glance. Just like Marshall Whitfield, he seems entirely focused on me.
“Addy,” he calls. “I take it you’ve heard.”
“Heard what?” I ask as Marshall zips out of the parking lot.
He stops short, brow creased. “Oh, I…so…your lawyer hasn’t been in touch?”
My lawyer? My pulse skitters as I ask, “About what?”
Detective Mendoza studies me with such an unfamiliar expression on his usually impassive face that it takes a few beats for me to realize that he looks concerned. “Okay, well, this isn’t how I envisioned having this conversation, but…listen, why don’t you come inside?” His eyes flick away from me, scanning Cooper, Kris, and Knox in turn. “We’re going to want to talk to all of you, because Jake Riordan has disappeared.”
