Normally,I’m a hundred percent confident walking around Vanier. But sometime between my genius idea yesterday and this morning, I’ve realized this is a terribleidea.
Fuck it. This is forBeck.
I take the elevator at Vanier and knock on the cracked-open door of six-oh-six at the end of thehall.
There’s no answer, but I slowly push it open to reveal a girl with straw-blond hair and alert eyes perched in a chair by one of the twodesks.
“I’m looking for Annie,” Isay.
“She’s in thebathroom.”
“I’ll wait.” I realize she’s the girl who was with Annie at the opening assembly, the one who said she was in six-oh-four. “Elle, right? This isn’t yourroom.”
“Not yourseither.”
She’s got methere.
But Elle returns to a notebook computer, and I stepinside.
I know immediately which half of the room is Annie’s. The cover on the bed is purple, and there’s a stuffed fish on thepillow.
Fish on the desk, too.Huh.
“Working on something for class?” I ask, mostly to make smalltalk.
“New bits for a set. I’m acomic.”
I shoot her an admiring look. “That’sthankless.”
“I get off on being laughed at. Tried eight years of therapy and learned this ischeaper.”
A standard-issue dresser draws my gaze. There are photos on top and a frame turned down. I lift it to find a picture of Annie with Jax, though he’s wearing sunglasses and a grin and is almostunrecognizable.
I set the picture right-sideup.
Under it is a stack ofPolaroids.
It takes me a second to realize what they are. Words in black ink on an organiccanvas.
My tongue wets my lip, and I glance over my shoulder to where Elle’s typing on herkeyboard.
I read the lines on the first picture, absorb them into my soul before turning carefully to the next. There’re a couple of dozen photos. I get through half before a sound drifts into mybrain.
“What are youdoing?”
The sharp voice has meturning.
Annie’s standing at the door, and my gaze drags down her body—her toes, painted the same purple as her bed; long, curvy legs; the dip between her breasts just above the top of a knotted towel; the long hair, darkened and piled on top of her head, a few strands dripping on her bare shoulders; that oval face, full lips and amber eyes brimming withaccusation.
Desire slams into me, but I manage to slide the photos behind myback.
“Elle?” Annie demands before I can respond, but Elle looks between us, eyes narrowing infascination.
“You have a gentleman caller,” shedrawls.
Annie folds her arms over her chest. “Tyler’s no gentleman. Why are youhere?”
I force my attention to her face. “I need your help. The other night you… asked me for something.” From the way Annie sucks in a breath, she gets I’m talking about keeping her secrets. “I want something from you,too.”