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Unless it’s on my terms.
“That’s not why I went after Gavin,” I say. Because really, I don’t see the co
“You could have killed yourself up there.”
“No, I couldn’t,” I say, in my most reasonable voice. “I’m really careful. And as for—what did you call it? Trolling for murderers? — I told you, I don’t believe those girls were—”
“Heather.” He shakes his head. “Why don’t you just give your agent a call and ask him to schedule a gig for you?”
My jaw drops.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“It’s obvious you’re aching to get out there again. I respect the fact that you want to get a degree, but college isn’t for everyone, you know.”
“But—” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My hospital ward! My Nobel Prize! My date with him! Our joint detective agency and three kids—Jack, Emily, and baby Charlotte!
“I… I couldn’t!” I cry. Then latch on to my one excuse: “I don’t have enough songs for a gig.”
“Could have fooled me,” Cooper says, his gaze on the numbers of the floors we’re passing at a dizzying speed, 14, 12, 11….
“What—what do you mean?” I stammer, my blood suddenly ru
It’s Cooper’s turn to look uncomfortable, though. From his scowl, it’s clear he wishes he hadn’t said anything.
“Never mind,” he says. “Forget about it.”
“No. You meant something by it.” Why won’t he just admit it? Admit that he’s heard me?
I know why. I know why, and it makes me want to die.
Because he hates them. My songs. He’s heard them, and he thinks they suck.
“Tell me what you meant.”
“Never mind,” Cooper says. “You’re right. You don’t have enough songs for a gig. Forget I said anything. Okay?”
The cab hits the main floor. Cooper yanks back the gate and holds it open for me, looking less polite than murderous.
Great. Now he’s mad at me.
We’re standing in the lobby, and since it’s still pretty early in the morning—for eighteen-year-olds, anyway—we’re the only ones around, with the exception of Pete and the reception desk attendant, the former engrossed in a copy of the Daily News, the latter listening enraptured to a Marilyn Manson CD.
I should just ask him. Just come out and ask him. He’s not going to say it sucks. He’s not his father. He’s not Jordan.
But that’s just it. I can take criticism from Cooper’s father. I can take it from his brother. But from Cooper?
No. No, because if he doesn’t like it—
Oh God, stop being such a baby and DO IT. JUST ASK HIM.
“Heather,” Cooper says, ru
But before I have a chance to hear what Cooper just thinks, Rachel rounds the corner.
“Oh, there you are,” Rachel says when she notices us. “Gavin’s in my conference room. I’m going to have a word with him in a minute. Thanks so much for making him come down. In the meantime, Heather, I was wondering if you could have the student worker go around and tape up these fliers.”
Rachel hands me a sheaf of papers. I look down at them, and see that they are a
“At first I wasn’t going to let them,” Rachel seems to feel the need to explain. “I mean, holding something as silly as a lip-synch contest, in light of two such tragic deaths… but Stan thinks the kids can use something to take their minds off it. And I couldn’t help but agree.”
Stan. Wow. Rachel sure is getting chummy with the boss.
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
“I was just heading into the cafeteria for a refill before tackling Gavin.” Rachel holds up her American Association for Counseling and Development coffee mug. “Anybody care to join me?”
She says it to both of us, but her gaze is on Cooper.
Oh my God. Rachel has just asked Cooper to have coffee with her. My Cooper.
Of course, she doesn’t know he’s my Cooper. He’s not my Cooper. And the way things seem to be going, he’ll probably never be…
Say no.I try to send my thought waves into his brain, like on Star Trek. Say no. Say no. Say no. Say—
“Thanks, but I can’t,” Cooper says. “I’ve got work to do.”
Success!
Rachel smiles and says, “Maybe some other time, then.”
“Sure,” Cooper says.
And Rachel click-clacks away.
When she’s gone, I say, showing no sign that I had, seconds before, been using Vulcan mind control on him, “Look. I gotta get back to work.” I hope he isn’t going to bring up what we’d been talking about in the elevator. I don’t think I could handle it. Not on top of the a
Maybe Cooper senses this. Either that or the fact that I won’t meet his gaze tips him off.
In any case, all he says is, “Gotcha. I’ll see you later, then. And Heather—”
My heart gives a lurch. No. Please, not now. So close. I’d been so close to escaping—
“The ring,” he says.
Wait. What? “Ring?”
“Tania’s.”
Oh! Tania’s engagement ring! The one that looks exactly like the one I threw back in his brother’s face!
“Yeah?”
“It’s not yours,” Cooper says.
Then he leaves.
14
You think she’s got
So much sophistication.
I think she’s just
In need of medication.
Why’d you pick
Her instead of me
When she’s in so much
Need of therapy?
What’s she got that I don’t have?
What’s she give you that I can’t?
How did she become your girl
Instead of
Me?
“What’s She Got?”
Performed by Heather Wells
Composed by O’Brien/Henke
From the album Staking Out Your Heart
Cartwright Records
It’s actually kind of appropriate that the student government decides to throw a lip-synch contest at Fischer Hall. Because, let’s face it, New York College is primarily filled with kids who, like me, love to perform.
Which is probably why they asked me to be one of the judges, an honor I readily accepted. But not because I needed to—as Cooper had suggested—feel the thrill of performing again, but because I figured if I were ever going to find the mysterious Mark/Todd (if he existed at all), it was going to be at some Fischer Hall social function, since the guy evidently lived in the building.
And possibly worked there, as well, as Detective Canavan had—teasingly, I know—suggested to me.
It seemed pretty impossible to believe that any of the people I work with could be a killer. But how else to explain the apparent access to the key cabinet? Not to mention the fact that both of the dead girls had had files in the hall director’s office. Not that that necessarily had anything to do with their deaths. But, as Sarah would no doubt put it, both Elizabeth and Roberta had had issues…
And those issues had been recorded in their files.
The thing is, all fifteen RAs, as well as the maintenance staff, have keys to the office Rachel and I share. So if there really is some guy cruising the files for potentially fragile, inexperienced girls he can easily seduce, then it has to be someone I know.
Only who? Who did I know who could be capable of doing something so awful? One of the RAs? Out of the fifteen of them, seven are boys, none of whom I consider real particular swingers, much less psychopathic killers. In fact, in the tradition of RAs, all of them are kind of nerdy—the sort who actually believe their residents when they insist they were smoking clove cigarettes, not pot. They seriously can’t tell the difference.