Vicious, Page 3

“But . . .”

  Angela leaned forward, her cigarette blazing. “Listen, honey. I highly suggest we use the rest of this time to talk about girl gangs. A girl like you needs street skills. You go in there spouting Shakespeare, taking notes? You’re going to get your ass kicked.”

  Spencer blinked hard. “I thought that if you just minded your business and did what you were told, people would leave you alone.”

  One corner of Angela’s mouth quirked into a smile. “It depends. Sometimes, you slip through the cracks. But sometimes, trying to lay low makes you a target.”

  Suddenly, all of Spencer’s tough resolve crumbled. She shut her laptop, realizing why Angela had laughed at her for wanting to take notes. What was the point?

  “There’s no way to make it better?” she heard herself squeak.

  Angela snorted. “You can survive, sure. But better? That’s why they call it prison. The best approach, honey, is to figure out a way not to go. Prison will ruin your life, mark my words.”

  A shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. “Why were you in prison, anyway?” It was another thing Angela didn’t mention in her book.

  Angela shook another Newport out of the pack. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Did you kill someone?”

  “God, no.” Angela looked at her sideways. “If I did, do you really think I’d be out already?”

  “Then what? Assault? Robbery? Drugs?”

  Angela’s lip curled. “Those aren’t nice things to assume.”

  Spencer suddenly really wanted to know. So she employed an old trick she had used in debate club when she wanted to intimidate an opponent. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at Angela, sphinxlike.

  Angela’s expression soured. She blew out another plume of smoke. Five seconds passed, and finally she threw up her hands. “Jesus. Stop looking at me like that. It was fraud, okay? I created fake identities for people to keep them out of prison. Set up new lives for them. Figured out ways for them to start over.”

  Spencer blinked hard. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  Angela rolled her eyes. “Why would I lie?”

  “Did the cops find these people you helped?”

  Angela shook her head. “All except for this one stupid bitch who didn’t follow the rules—she got in touch with someone from home, and the cops were monitoring the phones. They traced her fake ID back to me. I had to plead guilty to some of the other people I helped, but those people were long gone. As far as I know, the law never caught up to them.”

  Spencer ran her hands over the top of her computer, her heart beginning to thrum a little faster. “So it’s like the witness protection program . . . except not through the police.”

  Angela nodded. “You could say that, sure. It’s a new life.”

  “Do you . . . still do it?”

  Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Only for very special cases.” She stared right into Spencer’s eyes. “It’s not for everyone, you know. You can’t leave any traces behind. You can’t be in touch with anyone you know from your previous life. You have to start over as if you were . . . I don’t know. Dropped down here from an alien craft. Some people can’t deal.”

  Spencer couldn’t believe it. For the past two weeks, lying on her bed, she’d fantasized about someone who, like a travel agent, could get you a passport and travel documents that would extract you from your current predicament and plop you into a world where you were no longer in trouble. And here was someone who actually did it, sitting across from her.

  She considered what it would be like, leaving Rosewood and never looking back. Becoming someone else entirely, and never, ever telling anyone the truth. Never seeing her family again. She’d miss them. Well, maybe not her mom, who really didn’t seem to care that Spencer was on trial for murder, but she’d miss her dad. And she’d miss Melissa, who she’d become closer to lately—Melissa had been very vocal about how Spencer was wrongfully accused, though she’d stayed away from explicitly talking about Ali to the press. She’d miss her friends, of course—it would be so strange not to talk to them ever again. But what did she have to live for here? She had no boy in the picture. No college future. And anything was better than prison.

  She looked up and stared into Angela’s eyes. “Would you do it for me?”

  Angela stubbed out her second smoke. “Starting price is a hundred.”

  “Dollars?”

  Angela tittered. “Try a hundred thousand dollars, honey.”

  Spencer’s jaw dropped. “I-I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Well, then, this conversation never happened,” Angela said, her voice suddenly going scary-cold. “And if you tell anyone that it did, I’ll hunt you down and destroy you.” She recrossed her legs and continued, her voice normal again. “So. Do you want to talk about girl gangs or what?”

  Maybe it was the menthol smoke, maybe it was the pissed-off-looking king and queen staring at her from the tapestry, or maybe it was the threat of that giant chandelier breaking off and crushing her head, but suddenly Spencer felt dizzy. She stood from the chair. “Actually, I-I’m sorry. I think I should go.”

  “Your loss.” Angela waggled her fingers. “I get to keep the three hundred, though.”

  In seconds, Spencer was on the porch again. Angela didn’t follow her out.

  A car honked noisily a few streets away. Spencer slumped against the wall, her breath fast. In those ten seconds when she had thought disappearing was actually plausible, she’d started to envision a new life. Living quietly. Making a few acquaintances, friends. Then going to college as another person. Still living a purposeful life. Still succeeding. Still being Spencer Hastings, just with a different name.

  Prison will ruin your life, mark my words.

  She pulled out her phone and looked at it, suddenly humbled. Angela was right: Prison would eat her alive. She dialed Emily’s number. It rang twice before Emily answered.

  “I changed my mind,” Spencer said before Emily even had the chance to say hello. “I can talk to my dad. Let’s go see Nick.”

  3

  THE INTERROGATION

  Hanna Marin steered her Prius down a winding road that led out of Rosewood. The late-spring air smelled like Flowerbomb perfume, the bright sun was hopefully giving her face a bit of color, her three best friends were crammed into the car with her, and the radio was turned up loud. To most passersby, they probably looked like a bunch of girls on a summer road trip. Not accused murderers on their way to talk to their own almost-murderer, in prison. Her cell phone pinged, and as she slowed to a stoplight she glanced at the screen. What time should I come over? her boyfriend, Mike, had texted.

  Hanna ran her tongue over her teeth. Thank God she hadn’t lost Mike after the paparazzi released those photos of her canoodling with Jared Diaz, her costar in Burn It Down, a movie chronicling her and her friends’ struggles with Ali. Now she and Mike were closer than ever. Since she was let out on bail he’d come over every day, bringing takeout and girly movies that he actually watched with her and tried his hardest not to make fun of.

  She looked around, taking in the wide fields and red barns. For a brief second, she considered telling Mike what they were up to. Bad idea, though: Mike fancied himself as Hanna’s knight in shining armor. He’d probably try and rescue them.

  Didn’t sleep well last night, thinking of taking a nap, Hanna typed back quickly. Maybe this afternoon?

  There was a pause before Mike texted back, Sure. When another text pinged in, Hanna figured it was from Mike again, not buying it. But then she saw Hailey Blake’s name.

  Hanna raised her eyebrows. Hailey was a tempestuous, badass, mega–movie star who’d become Hanna’s friend during her brief stint in Burn It Down. Hanna had thought Hailey would drop her after Hanna was unceremoniously let go from her role as herself—and, oh yeah, after she was arrested for murder—but Hailey had been texting her even more lately. This one said: I just saw another report about you on CNN. Your hair looked REALLY GOOD.

/>   Hanna dropped her phone to her lap. Leave it to Hailey to be unfazed by Hanna’s predicament. It was nice that someone in Hollywood still thought she was the bomb. Hank Ross, Burn It Down’s director, who’d said Hanna was “a natural” and “had a bright future,” wouldn’t even return her calls. Neither would Marcella, Hanna’s brand-new agent.

  Whenever Hanna thought about her almost-shot at stardom, she burst into tears and couldn’t breathe. It hurt more than when she had realized Mona, her old bestie, was the first A and had tried to kill her. It hurt more than when she had found out Ali had a twin and had never told her. It even hurt more than when her father, whom she’d once loved more than anyone in the world, had dropped Hanna cold, saying she “wasn’t good for his political campaign.” Acting had been all hers . . . and she was actually good at it. She’d thought it could be her future.

  But now . . . well. Her only chance at stardom was on America’s Most Wanted.

  “Green light,” Emily croaked impatiently from the back.

  Hanna pressed the gas, glancing at Emily in the rearview mirror. Her old friend looked thinner, and her eyes bugged out from her head. Hanna was still really worried about Emily—because she’d almost jumped off a bridge in Rosewood, and then because she’d had that freak-out at the pool house where they’d tracked Ali, and didn’t tell them. And lately, Em had seemed sort of . . . twitchy. Like an invisible person was giving her electric shocks. She was also incredibly wired this morning, like she’d drunk a zillion Red Bulls. Hanna wondered if she’d slept last night.

  Then again, the rest of them didn’t look so hot, either—Hanna included. Spencer sucked on the straw of her water bottle so forcefully that lines formed around her mouth. Aria wouldn’t stop clanging her bracelets together. Hanna had probably redone her lipstick six times, something she always did when she was upset. Were any of them ready to talk to Nick?

  Hanna turned onto a road marked ALLERTON PRISON, NEXT LEFT. The squat, drab, boxy prison buildings appeared in the distance, surrounded by a menacing mess of barbed wire. Hanna pulled through the entrance and parked. Everyone was silent as they walked into the visitor’s gate and handed over their IDs to a woman behind a desk. As the woman took their names and contacted a guard inside, Hanna glanced surreptitiously around, her heart pounding hard. The air smelled of rotting meat. From somewhere inside the walls came a deep, manly bellow that sounded like a cross between a roar and a moan.

  A guard poked his head into the waiting room. “Visitors for Maxwell?”

  Everyone shot to their feet. The guard motioned for them to follow, and soon enough they were in a long, narrow room. The guard directed them to a private vestibule at the very end, and they shuffled forward. There were no other visitors in the room. A fluorescent light flickered overhead.

  A door on the far wall opened. A guard pushed a guy in a prison jumpsuit and handcuffs into the room. Hanna’s stomach twisted. There he was. Nick.

  He’d lost a significant amount of weight since she’d last seen him in the basement, and he looked entirely different from when she’d first seen him, when he’d fed her and a new friend, Madison, drink after drink at a dive bar in Philly. Without even peeking around, Hanna could tell that her friends were each having their own struggles with the Nick they’d known—the shape-shifter who’d tricked them into trusting him—and the Nick who loved Ali. It was a thrill to see him in prison garb, though. If only Ali were by his side, behind bars, too.

  Nick raised his head and saw them. His eyes narrowed. His mouth set in a straight, angry line. He glanced at the guard and shook his head, murmuring something that looked like no.

  Spencer jumped to her feet. “We’re not here to curse you out. We’re on your side.”

  Nick peeked at them again. There was a shadow of a bruise by his eye. His chest heaved up and down, as if he’d been running hard. Finally, he lowered his shoulders and slumped toward the seat across the table from the girls. He was so close Hanna could reach out and touch him if she wanted. She stared at his hands. The skin under his fingernails was filthy.

  “Look, you know as well as we do that Ali’s not dead,” Spencer started, when no one else spoke. “She’s too smart for that. We heard what she wrote about you in that journal. She lied about us, too. She screwed all of us. We should be on the same side here.”

  Nick’s eyes danced. “I don’t know, girls. Maybe you did kill her.” He cocked his head teasingly. “I distinctly recall the rage in your eyes in that basement when we trapped you. I distinctly remember how badly you wanted her gone.”

  Hanna curled her fist. “Yeah, and I distinctly recall how easy it was for you to torture people, judging by what you did to us that night.” She didn’t blink. “Who’s to say you didn’t do that to Ali?”

  The playful look on Nick’s face vanished. “I loved her.”

  “Do you still love her now?” Hanna challenged.

  Nick muttered something Hanna couldn’t hear.

  Aria shifted her weight. “Look, we’re trying to find Ali. Bringing her back, making her explain—it will help you, too. You’ll serve much less time. We know you didn’t orchestrate those murders. We know you weren’t the ringleader.”

  Nick’s jaw was so tense that ropy cords stood out on his neck. “I hate you bitches,” he whispered raspily. “You were supposed to die in that room. Ali and I were supposed to escape together.”

  “But instead, she left you for the police to find,” Emily pressed. “She framed you.”

  Nick’s bottom lip twitched. “She was trying to save herself. It was part of our plan.”

  Aria snorted. “It was part of your plan for you to take the blame for all her crimes?”

  “Of course it was. We were in love. I love her. She loved me.”

  Emily leaned forward. “No, she didn’t,” she said in a strong voice. “Know how I know? She told me so when she tried to drown me. She said I was the one she always loved. She told me she was just using you. She laughed about it.”

  Hanna turned and gaped at Emily, but Emily didn’t meet her eye. Emily hadn’t talked much about Ali trying to drown her at the Rosewood pool, but Hanna suspected it had shaken her to her core.

  Nick glanced at Emily suspiciously. “She didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah, she did,” Emily stated. “She said you were pathetic. A nothing.”

  A conflicted expression crossed Nick’s face. Hanna’s heart started to pound. He was going to crack. She could feel it.

  Spencer shifted her weight. “Tell us where she is. Please.”

  Nick snorted. “Like I’d know.”

  “She was last at your parents’ property in Ashland,” Hanna pressed, her words coming out in a jumble. “Had you told her about that place?”

  He averted his gaze. “We’d been there a few times. It wasn’t surprising that she hid out there.”

  “Does your family have other properties she might be hiding out in?” Hanna asked.

  Spencer looked at Hanna. “Ali wouldn’t do something so obvious. They’re listed online, remember? I’m sure the cops are searching all of them.”

  “I’m sure the cops are searching all of them,” Nick mocked Spencer. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You girls think you’re so freaking smart, but don’t you get it? The cops aren’t looking for her. They don’t think she’s out there. They think she’s dead, thanks to you.” He pointed at them.

  “So you don’t think she’s dead, then,” Spencer stated.

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Hanna’s heart leapt. “Where do you think she is, if you had to take a guess?”

  Nick breathed in, as if he was about to speak. Then a shadow loomed over them. The guard clapped a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Time’s up.”

  “Wait!” Emily surged to her feet. “What were you going to say?”

  “Time’s up,” the guard repeated angrily.

  “Nick, please!” Spencer called out. “Tell us!”

  Nick l
ooked at them. “Ali really liked gathering seashells in Cape May,” he blurted. “We walked with my grandma Betty on the beach this one time. Senile old lady had no idea who Ali was, kept calling me my dad’s name. It was a nice day, though.”

  Everyone looked at one another. “What do you mean?” Spencer shouted after him. “Is Ali in Cape May?”

  “Is she with someone named Betty?” Aria tried.

  But it was too late. Nick waved blithely. The guard shoved him through the door. It slammed hard, the metallic sound thundering in Hanna’s ears.

  What seemed like moments later, they were back in the parking lot. A skunk had just sprayed, and the air smelled rank. Hanna sighed heavily. “Well. Glad we did that.”

  Spencer touched Emily’s arm. “Did Ali really tell you that stuff about not loving Nick?”

  Emily shook her head. “I just thought it would get him to open up. And it worked.”

  Aria breathed in. “You know, maybe Nick was trying to tell us something.”

  Spencer stopped next to a pickup truck. “Meaning?”

  Aria twisted her hands. “Maybe Ali is in Cape May. Maybe his parents have another property there, or maybe it was a hint about his grandmother having a house there,” Aria said. “Senile old Grandma Betty.”

  “Oh my God.” Hanna whipped out her phone and typed in the address for public property listings in Cape May, New Jersey. “I’ll look for Betty Maxwell.” Data popped up on the screen. It took Hanna several minutes to wade through a bunch of names, but then she gasped. “Guys. Someone named Barbara Maxwell owns a house on Dune Street in Cape May. Betty is a nickname for Barbara, isn’t it?”

  “We need to go,” Emily said automatically. “Now.”

  Spencer pressed her lips together. “But that means leaving the state. Which is a no-no, remember?”

  Hanna paused, remembering the police and Rubens telling them how imperative it was that they remained in Rosewood until their trial. It had been incredible that they hadn’t been ordered to remain in jail without bail at their arraignment, actually—people facing murder charges usually were. Hanna wondered if they’d gotten off because they were still just teenagers. She knew they were risking everything, thinking about leaving. But she couldn’t bear the thought of Ali getting away, again. “What if this is our only chance?” she squeaked.