Suddenly, I didn’t care what was happening or what my father had to do with this mess; I simply wanted to leave and not have to look at either of them.
“You both disgust me,” I seethed. “And don’t bother coming to my dorm. I don’t want to see either of you again.”
Furious, I left the house, got in my car, and drove down the coast back to campus, my mind unable to form a coherent thought. My father and Santiago know each other. My father is in San Diego. He knew I was at Santiago’s house. My father is behind everything! Why would he put me through all this? And is Santiago really gone from my life? My mind whirled and spun and made random loop-the-loops, but nothing connected.
How could my father know some random guy I found on the Inter—
Shit, shit, shit. The photo wasn’t random.
I gasped.
When I’d opened my laptop on that fateful day of deceit to create my fake boyfriend, my browser had been parked on my father’s website. Being a photographer, he had tons of links leading to portfolios, advertising various shoots he’d done over the years.
Christ. That’s it. I’d followed one of the links.
How could I have not remembered that? The link had a gorgeous photo of a man standing on the beach, looking out across the waves. I remember being captivated by that tormented look in his eyes, and thinking how I felt just like him.
So…Santiago is a…supermodel? I burst out laughing. The thought was ludicrous.
I continued to the dorms, my mind an impossible mess. But one thing I knew, I would figure out my own housing. I’m sure the school had somewhere for me to go, so my dad could just pound sand. I mean, what was this? The only rational explanation was that my father was some overprotective bastard who hired someone to stalk me.
When I got to the lobby, there were several housing employees handing out flyers and forms. It looked like they were putting everyone up at the visitor center until the affected rooms could be cleaned. I asked one lady about Christy, and all she could tell me was that there’d be a public statement made later and that I’d better go pack some things while I had the chance.
I took several deep breaths, bolstering myself to go upstairs. Dozens of other students carrying boxes poured out of the building.
When I got to my floor, I instantly noticed the smell of char and dampness. People milled about in the common area at the end of the hall talking about what had happened. Arson. Contraband toaster. Smoking in bed. That’s what people were saying, so I guessed no one really knew. I made my way down the soggy, carpeted hallway to my room and opened the door. There was no sign of a fire, but everything was damp and had a weird smell.
I felt sick to my stomach thinking about Christy next door.
“Hey! You completely flaked on me last night! Where did you go? Why didn’t you answer your cell?” Bridget staggered in, mascara smeared down her rosy face.
“Huh?” My mind snapped to. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Bridget. I ran into that guy, Santiago. We sort of got into a fight.” I looked inside my purse and grabbed my cell. “On vibrate. Sorry.” I shoved it in my pocket.
“Did you hear about our neighbor?” she asked.
“Yeah.” There wasn’t much to say. It was just…sad. Heartbreakingly sad.
“It sounds strange, but a part of me still hopes she’ll turn up at a friend’s house.” She sighed loudly.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d heard they took away the body.
“Well,” she sighed. “Where’d you spend the night?”
“At Santiago’s,” I replied.
“Santiago’s? Normally, I’d be squealing and asking you inappropriate questions because he’s so frigging hot, but that doesn’t seem right.”
She had no idea just how wrong everything was. One more “un-right” thing wouldn’t make a lick of a difference.
“Don’t worry; you’re not missing out on anything juicy.” I shrugged. “Santiago and I didn’t do anything—wait, where’d you spend the night?”
She smiled and made a little bow. “The fire was all over the news, so I stayed with Eric at his place.” She let out a long, happy breath. “Once again, normally, I’d be oozing details and basking in the glory of my conquest, but I’m not in the mood.”
There was a knock at the door and one of the coordinators popped her head in to tell us we had twenty minutes before they closed the floor.
Bridget looked around the room. “Damn. I’m going downstairs to see if they have garbage bags. Everything’s sopping wet. I’ll bring you a few.”
I thanked her and started sorting through my damp drawers. I felt my phone buzz and checked it—my father. I ignored it and kept pulling stuff out, setting down the clothes into soggy piles on the damp bed. My phone buzzed two more times, each call sending my thumping heart into a deeper tailspin of anger. On his fourth attempt, I couldn’t take it anymore. “What?”