Yet somehow she’d deluded herself into thinking that none of that mattered. That if she didn’t feel anything more, then he would never act on his feelings.
Except, maybe she did feel something more.
That’s crazy, Violet insisted, biting down on her lips and tasting blood. I don’t feel anything. Rafe was her friend, nothing more.
She belonged with Jay.
She glanced at the sky and wondered when it had started getting dark, and how she hadn’t noticed the gradual shift from daylight to dusk as she’d left the city. But she knew why. She felt numb. Worn-down and numb.
Relief trickled through her when she pulled into her driveway and realized her parents weren’t home yet, that they were still at her aunt and uncle’s. She texted Jay, asking him to come over when he got off work.
She had no intention of telling him what had happened at Rafe’s house; there was no point giving him any more reason to be suspicious of Rafe. Besides, Violet assured herself, she had no intention of giving Rafe another chance to share his feelings. At least not those feelings.
For now, she decided, the best thing she could do was to keep her distance from Rafe and hope he got the message.
Violet stretched out on the couch as she wiggled her toes, curling and uncurling them, trying to shake off the irritating prickling sensation she had from sitting too long. She picked up the half-empty Gatorade bottle in front of her and carried it to the kitchen.
Watching the blue liquid slosh down the sink, she squinted at the blinking light coming from the answering machine. She dropped the empty bottle into the recycling bin and pressed the button.
Her eyes widened when she heard Sara’s voice and she leaned closer, not wanting to miss a word.
“. . . I just wanted to let you know that I received a threatening phone call from one of the kids involved in the shooting on Sunday. We’re pretty sure he was the brother of the boy who attacked Violet, the one who was . . . killed.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, he made some vague threats about retaliation, all of which were directed against me, but I figured you should know about it. I didn’t call Violet. I’ll let you decide what to tell her, but I’m going to talk to the local police department to see if they can get someone to keep an eye on her . . . just in case. If you have any questions—” Violet stopped the message and listened again, her skin dusting with goose bumps.
She tried to remember the faces of the other two boys, the ones who’d been in the car, but all she could remember were their tattoos . . . their guns . . . and the music.
Then she remembered her missing purse and she trembled. The last time she’d seen it was right before James Nua had attacked her. What if this boy, James’s brother, had picked it up? What if he had her ID, and knew where she lived?
What if revenge on Sara wasn’t all he wanted?
She leaned forward on the counter, biting her thumb as she stared at the light on the machine. When her parents got home they were going to hear that message, and if she thought it was bad now, it was about to get a million times worse. She’d never be able to leave the house again. She wouldn’t be able to go to the bathroom without an escort.
She’d been so worried about her parents’ decision to keep her from her team—from Sara and Rafe—that she hadn’t really considered the possibility that they might actually be right. That she wasn’t safe working with them.
Her finger moved to the Play button so she could listen to the message one more time, but then she changed her mind and watched as she hit Delete instead.
“Message erased,” the electronic voice announced in the dimly lit kitchen.
What had she done? Did she really intend to keep something like this from her parents?
Of course not, she told herself, shaking her head with conviction. Of course she’d tell them. Just not tonight.
Tomorrow. She would definitely tell them tomorrow.
When the phone rang, Violet jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She hesitated, taking a steadying breath, relieved when she saw it was only Rafe. Part of her wanted to ignore talking to him altogether, to bury her head in the sand and pretend he no longer existed. But she knew she couldn’t do that. It was probably best if she just faced him and got it over with.
On the third ring, she picked it up. “Hello?”
“V, I’m so glad you answered.”
“Um, yeah, that’s what happens when you call someone.” She hoped her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt.
“I have news,” he breathed enthusiastically. “We’ve got him!”
“What do you mean we’ve got him?” Violet asked, taking a step back.
“Him. The collector.”
Violet fell limply onto one of the kitchen stools and watched as rain outside beaded and drizzled down the windows. And then, because she couldn’t manage anything else, she asked, “How?”
She could hear the unchecked emotion in his voice as his words rushed out. “I saw him, V. They found a woman this morning in a cold storage warehouse, wrapped in a blanket. She was much older than the others, but her nails were painted and her makeup was done, exactly the same as the girls he’s killed before. And she was wearing a locket. Sara managed to get it and bring it home to me.” There was a pause, a silence that Violet strained toward, her eyes expectant as she listened for his voice. “Once I touched it . . . oh my God, I saw everything. Everything.”
Violet had never heard Rafe talk about his ability before, about how it really worked. She tried to imagine how he got all that from simply touching a locket. She was amazed. She wanted to hear everything. “What was it like? What did you see, exactly?”