“Pretty doll,” Deacon said from behind the counter, pointing at the screen. “Pretty doll.”
“She’s not a doll, Deacon. She’s a girl who’s gone missing,” Becca said, clearly irritated. She gave me an apologetic look, shaking her head.
“Hey, Becca. Hailey.” One of the police officers took his hat off and greeted them. “How are the cows, Deacon?”
“They’re good,” he said slowly. “A lot of milk.”
“That’s great. So you’re still using them for dairy?” the other officer asked.
“Yes, until I can’t no more. They’re my babies.” He shrugged.
He didn’t look mean or creepy when he spoke to them. I realized it was the first clear sentence he’d spoken since he’d arrived. The officers continued speaking with him and I sat down in my usual spot, clicking on one of the articles, even though I’d already seen what the anonymous caller said.
“I am so tired.” Hailey yawned loudly. “Deacon called me at the crack of dawn saying his stupid sheep ran away and I had to help him go find her.”
“That sucks.” I cringed. “Did you find her?”
“Yes. I swear I never hit anything but I wanted to kill that thing.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Are you going to the toga party tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
Celia had been the one to tell me about it. She’d texted saying her house was one of the ones participating. Apparently, it was a party that went on for an entire block. You paid at one house, got a wrist band, and were able to go to all of the houses participating. If I went, I’d only go to Celia’s though. It wasn’t like I had a ton of friends. Unless you counted Max and Logan and Nolan, and possibly Marcus. I sat back in my seat. When the hell had I become the girl who had predominantly male friends? I’d always had them growing up because of Lincoln, but it wasn’t like I went out of my way to be friends with guys.
“Come on. You should go.” She set down her coffee. “Between your schedule and mine, I feel like we’re never on the same page.”
“Maybe I will.” I shrugged, smiling, but got serious. What if the person sending the texts was watching me? What if they were waiting for me to slip up and go to a party like this? I couldn’t imagine the secret society being behind the texts, not after getting them this morning. That would be stupid. It had to be someone else. Someone connected to both Lincoln and Lana. But who?
“You look worried. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been getting weird texts.” My gaze snapped to Hailey’s. I pulled out my phone to show her.
“Creepy.” Her eyes widened on mine as she held my phone. “Have you tried calling?”
“Of course. It’s always disconnected when I do.”
“It must be a burner phone.”
“A burner phone? Why would they use a burner phone? They obviously don’t want a response from me if that’s the case.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, handing it back to me. “Be careful with that though.” She picked up her mug again. “I mean, why would they say that about your brother when they know you know what happened was drug abuse?”
“It wasn’t drug abuse.”
“Didn’t he overdose on heroin? That’s drug abuse, Mae.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Lincoln didn’t try to kill himself. He doesn’t even . . . he hates drugs.”
“I know it sucks to hear this, but it’s what happened.”
“No. It’s not.” I shook my head as I gathered my things. I could feel myself getting angry the longer I sat there, and worse, feeling watched. Every time I looked up, I saw Deacon standing there. “I should go. I have to get my things ready for later.”
“See you later,” Hailey said, smiling at me as if she hadn’t just completely insulted my brother’s situation. “Text me when you’re on your way there.”
I waved at her, waved at Becca and sort of waved at Deacon. He was talking to the police officers again but his eyes were on me. I walked back to my apartment, thinking about everything that had happened these last few days: the pictures of my brother with Lana, the short entries Lana had written in her computer describing the man she’d been with and how my first thought had been my father, which was absolutely insane. Still. The clues were there. Why would she be arguing with my brother? I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he could be the son of the man she was having the affair with. I couldn’t deny it, especially after knowing Ella was somehow involved with him. I’d seen the way Ella talked about my father. I hadn’t had further contact with her, aside from the thank you responses via email when I sent her pictures, but that didn’t mean much.
I was still lost in my own thoughts when I reached my apartment and bumped into someone, a hard someone. I glanced up, apologizing, and found myself looking at a carbon copy of Logan. Patrick Fitzgerald. He grinned, and it was so beautiful that I had to remind myself what this man had done. He raped women. Well, according to the news. And Max. Max believed the women. Hell, I believed the women, but having him standing in front of me made my brain falter, like what if he hadn’t done those horrible things?
“Let me hold the door for you,” he said smoothly.
“Thanks.” I walked through. He followed. I shot him a look. “Weren’t you leaving?”
“I was, but maybe I changed my mind.” He kept grinning.
There was no warmth in his eyes as he smiled. Even this reminded me of Logan, the way he had the ability to turn his warmth on and off. I heard a conversation and turned my head in that direction. Logan was sitting there with a man that had to be his father, because even though his skin tone was a few shades lighter than theirs, he looked just like them—dark hair, chiseled jaw, green eyes.
“So, you live here?”
“Yeah.” I blinked back at Patrick, whose eyes were now making a slow perusal of my body. Again, I didn’t feel creeped out. What was wrong with me?
“Absolutely not.” The shout came from Logan, and it was more of a growl than a shout. Our attention whipped in that direction and I saw him stomping over to us, a fierce expression on his face. “Weren’t you leaving? Get the hell out.”
“Oh.” Patrick chuckled. “You like this one?”
“Get out. Now.”
“I don’t think I will. I was having a conversation with, what’s your name, sweetheart?” He brought his hand up, but before he could get it anywhere near my face, Logan slapped it down and got between us.
“Try to touch her again and I’ll kill you,” he said, his voice unnervingly low. “If you ever so much as look at her, I will fucking kill you. If you even think about her once you leave this building, I’ll fucking murder you in your sleep. Is that clear enough for you?”
Patrick chuckled again. “Pops, you hear this guy?”
“Please leave, Patrick. We’ll talk later,” their dad said.
Not that I could see him from behind Logan, who took up my entire line of vision. I could feel the anger radiating off him and that was enough to keep me there. If he was acting like this, it was serious.