"There's something you need to see. Tuija's apartment. How soon can you be here?"
"I...twenty minutes." I swallow a lump in my throat. It seems there are things he can't tell me over this phone line.
"I'll see you soon," says Harvey, and then he hangs up.
Nothing about this is right. Harvey provided the escort for me and Leo this morning; he should be back in the building, not at Tuija's place. She has her own security—why would he need to be there?
A sharp ache claws at my temples, only worsening when I get out into the corridor's florescent lights. I hear every footstep ring loud in my ears. When I pass Tuija's office, Leo steps out, a plastic wallet in her hands.
She frowns. "Where are you off to?"
"Have to step out for a while."
"Oh." She's wound all tight, that tilt to her chin I remember from when we first met; as if she eyes the entire world sideways. "Will I see you later?"
"I don't know." I stop pacing, yank her against me, and crush my lips over hers. She yelps into my mouth, her arms rigid against my chest.
"A—Aeron—"
"See you later." Then I leave her sagging against the wall, my fists balled tight. There's nobody I don't glare at.
Fifteen minutes later, my driver pulls up outside Tuija's downtown apartment building. Fortunately, I can't see any press; Harvey waits in the sparse, modern lobby, his big dark frame in stark contrast with all the white plastic and glass.
"Come on," he says, leading me straight to the elevator.
"You going to tell me what's going on?"
"We need to get up there first."
The seconds drag, their claws squeaking along the wall. Tuij has done something stupid. I always thought she was smart, but maybe I'd been wrong; maybe I haven't paid enough attention to the way she's unravelled since Leo came on the scene. Nausea churns in my belly, and the bacon and eggs I ate with Leo earlier suddenly taste foul in my mouth.
Finally, the elevator beeps and we step out on to Tuij's floor.
"She didn't come down to her escort this morning," Harvey says in a low voice as we approach her apartment. "We waited until eight thirty and then we came up to see what was going on."
It occurs to me suddenly that nobody else is here. The hall is quiet. There's no ambulance outside, no police; you could hear a fly sneeze in the silence beyond our carpet-cushioned footsteps. If Tuij is hurt...why is everything so still?
Outside Tuij's thick wooden door, Harvey knocks once, and another member of his team lets us in. Their faces are identically creased. Quiet.
"She's in the bedroom," says Harvey. "Don't touch anything. You've got five minutes before the police arrive—we couldn't stall calling them any longer."
I say nothing.
Even if I had words, they're all stuck behind the horrendous lump of knowing that prods at my gag reflex.
Tuija's bedroom is surprisingly sparse. She must've poured all of her personality into her office because here, the walls are white and bare, the beech furniture awkwardly put together as if she gave up mid-assembly and didn't fix in all the screws. There are no family photos or trinkets. No calendar full of social events. A couple pairs of heels lie scattered by her closet, as if someone kicked their way through them.
Perhaps they did.
I don't want to look on the bed, but I know I have to.
Would you believe it if I said I'd never seen her naked? It's the truth. Tuij and I were only ever platonic. Maybe I could understand Leo and Rachel's arrangement a little better if we'd been anything else, but no. We were friends, if you could even call it that.
We aren't friends anymore.
We aren't friends because Tuija is dead.
She's draped across the bed, half-obscured by a white sheet. Eyes still open and blood shot. Her face is oddly beautiful, all pale and scrubbed free of makeup; she looks like a mannequin. A wax doll. One large breast spills from beneath the cover, its nipple pink and erect. Stiff, probably.
All of lifeless Tuija is soft and stiff at once.
"Firecracker?" I don't sound like myself. I sound like I smoke forty a day.
A messy purple bruise circles her throat. Somebody strangled my redheaded rocket.
My fingers hover above her blank face as if they can somehow conjure new life, but nothing happens, the room is still dim and motionless and smells like damp. There's a faint undercurrent of the clean, sharp perfume I always told her I hated, but suddenly I don't hate it at all.
Harvey comes up behind me. I recognise his heavy gait.
"It was a break-in. The door was just pushed shut. We don't know how long she's been like this—probably happened in the middle of the night."
"Can I cover her?" I find myself asking.
"You can't touch a thing. Aeron—shit. Look at how they did it."
They choked her.
Just like my mother was choked.
"I have an alibi," I grind out. "Leo even has a camera in her kitchen...I'll be on there."
He nods. "It's the police you have to convince. Not me. We both know who's responsible here."
I blink. Am running on empty, scraping the rough edges of my own brain. "Who?"
"Montgomery," he hisses. "His people."
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Shit.
He couldn't have got to Leo; I was with her all night. So he skipped my heart and went straight for my main artery.
He went for Tuij.
"The police have arrived," someone calls through from the living area.
"Better get your ass out of here." Harvey clamps a big hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let them get in here and find something to nail the bastard."
"I can nail him," I utter. "I already did nail him. To a fucking cross."
And Tuija has paid the price, though she warned me. Hell, even Harvey warned me. It's the dead elephant in this cold, cold room.
"Sir," Harvey says firmly. "You need to move."
I take one last look at Tuija, whose hands are thrown above her head—probably where they were held down—in a vague mockery of a salute. Just the way she used to do in the office.
Of all the words that cross my mind, I can only form an apology.
I'm sorry, firecracker. This wasn't your fault.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
#15
Love (noun): an empty, endless pit idiots fall throw themselves into without caring who will catch them or when.
If there was ever a story to overshadow Montgomery and his twink, it would be this one. Two women, both connected to me in various, shadowy ways, both dead in a matter of days. As far as the media are concerned—even my media—Tuija was my ex. So was Rachel. I finally make a public announcement about a relationship and these girls are quickly deceased, one in a suspiciously similar manner to my mother. A murder I was accused of, connected to.
Of course the police have questions. I'm better armed this time with a good lawyer, but I'm still at the precinct for eight hours, until Leo delivers the footage from her kitchen camera. If she sent the whole thing, they'll see her on top of me. See us fucking.
I can't even bring myself to care.
Even with my solid alibi, there are questions of conspiracy to consider. When the fuckers can't find anything to charge me with, they release me into Harvey's custody, and a police escort accompanies us to a hotel where a suite has been rented for me.
I can't go home. There are too many eyes on me; I must hide.
I need a shower.
I need to call Ash.
I need to see Leo, and I need her to bring that fucking scalpel so I can paint myself some rose-tinted glasses in the mess of another cut. At this rate, I'll end up slicing myself open if I can't do...something...
"Is Leo coming?" I ask Harvey as he walks me to my suite.
"She'll be here in ten." He regards me. "Sir. About Tuija. I'm...I'm sorry."
I swallow dry air. "Thank you."
"I should have thought about the possibility, with the photos going out. But I didn't—"
"You didn't know." Because I didn't tell him I was running the story. My petty impulses got in the way and I didn't give him time to plan.
"We're making all the necessary arrangements. Her parents have asked us to delay a funeral until they can come over from Finland."