Page 22 of Vengeance (Private 14)

And with one last, pitying look, he was gone.

LIMB FROM LIMB

“That accident was just horrifying, Reed. Just horrifying,” Janice Winthrop said, gesturing around with her mimosa. “I just hope you can find some way to reverse this bad PR, because otherwise . . .”

; She let her thoughts trail off, raising her penciled-in eyebrows as she sipped her drink. I glanced around the crowded party room at Isabella’s, the pretty restaurant I’d commissioned for the Billings Sunday brunch, just hoping that someone, anyone, would save me from this awful conversation.

“Well, I’ve been assured by my team that everything is already back on track,” I told her, forcing a confident smile. “Personally, I think that when a project can bounce right back after an accident like that, it can only create good PR.”

Janice frowned thoughtfully as she eyed me up and down. “I have to admire your pluck.” Then she patted me on the arm with an icy hand. “Good luck, my dear. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said, then walked over to join a group of old friends near the buffet.

All around the sunlit room, Billings alums chatted with Easton faculty and students as they noshed on croissants and fruit. My friends circulated the room in small groups, talking up the former Billings Girls, punctuating their conversations with charming smiles and polite laughter. Everyone was doing their job, but all I wanted to do was go home and crawl back into bed. Left alone for the first time all morning, I decided to take advantage of the temporary freedom and made a beeline for the bathroom for a breather.

But once inside the gleaming, porcelain bathroom, I found myself staring into the mirror. Who was I kidding? A moment alone just meant a moment to obsess. All I could think about last night and this morning was Graham’s rant. Specifically the part where he’d called Josh a liar. What did he mean by that? Did he mean that Josh knew something more about his roommate’s and Jen Hathaway’s deaths? Or did it mean that he’d gone off his meds and not told me?

Or maybe . . . maybe Josh was the one sabotaging the Billings project. Maybe Graham had somehow found out about it and was trying to warn me. But then why not just come out and say it? Besides, I just couldn’t picture it. I couldn’t picture Josh going behind my back. And I definitely couldn’t picture him jeopardizing that worker’s life yesterday. Unless he had gone off his meds and was having a seriously bad reaction—an uncontrollable reaction. Which would mean he was lying to me about two huge things.

I groaned and gripped the sides of the white pedestal sink. Why was all of this happening? Why now? I had way too much to do to be sitting here obsessing about crap like this.

I wondered if anyone back at Croton High ever had to deal with stalkers and murderers and mystery texters. My guess was no.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I quickly washed my hands and walked out, holding the door open for the woman who’d been waiting. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for more butt-kissing and explaining-away-of-disaster, and turned toward the restaurant.

“Um, Reed?”

I whirled around, startled. Sawyer hovered near the end of the short hallway, in front of a brocade bench, looking tense and uncomfortable. His blond hair hung over one eye and he wore a gray sport jacket over a wrinkled black T-shirt. I hugged my arms against the air-conditioned chill in the hall and tried to smile, wondering what he was doing here. I couldn’t imagine that his father would have encouraged his attendance, even though the headmaster had been forced to show up for appearance’s sake.

“Hey, Sawyer.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I tried for a casual shrug. “Just kind of can’t wait until this whole weekend is over. But then I guess I get to go back to stressing about finals, so . . .”

Sawyer cracked an understanding smile and pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Like the rest of us.”

I nodded, wondering if he’d been waiting for me to come out of the bathroom, or if this meeting was just a coincidence. Sawyer toyed with a button on his jacket, twisting it around and around.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked into my eyes, seeming to steel himself. Then he blew out a sigh, his cheeks puffing up and deflating.

“I heard about what happened with you and Graham,” he said, biting his lip.

“Oh,” I said, my heart fluttering with sudden nerves. “That.”

“Yeah.” He sat down on the bench behind him and pressed his hands together between his knees. “That.”

The toilet inside the bathroom flushed. I moved over to the bench and sat next to Sawyer as the woman emerged and headed back to the party.

“I’m really sorry, Reed. Graham . . . he tries to be a good brother, but . . . he has no idea what he’s talking about,” Sawyer said, looking at up at me through that lock of blond hair.

“He seemed pretty adamant,” I said.

“You have to understand, he and Jen, they were inseparable,” Sawyer told me, sitting up straight. “I don’t know if it was the twin thing or what, but they were best friends. When she died, it was like he died with her. He’s had his good moments, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a different person than he used to be. And it’s like he’s always looking for someone to blame for it.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Graham, not to mention Sawyer. If my brother Scott ever died . . . I wasn’t sure how I would ever get through it.