Dare You

  I nodded, feeling dangerously close to tears, and unsure why.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who got hurt,” I said.

  “I will. Someday. Today’s not that day.”

  The song ended and a new one started and he turned up the volume just the tiniest bit, bouncing his thumb to the beat, making little plastic tapping sounds with each bounce.

  “Fair enough,” I said. And I didn’t know what compelled me to say the next thing. Maybe it was because he had shared something, or maybe it was because I was tired of hiding it, or maybe it was because I was scared he was really overestimating my detective abilities and if I didn’t come clean, he would push me into becoming something I would be really bad at. “So these hunches,” I said.

  He turned and raised his eyebrows, which shot squiggles of fear through me. “The infamous Nikki Kill hunches,” he said in a radio commentator voice.

  “They’re not, like, from out of nowhere.”

  He gave me a curious look.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t sure how to go on. How did I tell him about myself without sounding like a crazy person? “Peyton and I had something in common. It was about . . . God, this sounds so crazy . . .” I took a breath. “We see things differently. I mean, we see them the same as each other, but different from everyone else. And also kind of different from each other.”

  “Wait. You see things the same but you see them differently?”

  “Yes. No. That’s not at all what I meant. We have this thing. I don’t even know what you call it. A disorder or a condition or a . . . a skill. I’m not sure. All I know is—”

  A car came out of nowhere and settled into the space behind us. I could make out the shadow of a person in the rearview mirror—dark hair, perma-frown. It was the man who’d been at the auction. The one who’d bought Rigo’s cane.

  A Basile. The Basile? The one who’d told me he would kill me if he saw me again? Could be. I wouldn’t know for sure until he came back to finish the job. Which he was definitely going to do if he saw me here.

  He parked and got out of the car. He was going to walk right past us.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “What?”

  I frantically looked around for somewhere to hide. My first inclination was to duck, but if Perma-Frown Basile looked in the window and saw me hunched on the floorboard, he would for sure get curious. Not to mention that the man who had attacked me knew what Detective Martinez looked like, which meant that even if Perma-Frown hadn’t been that guy, there was a pretty good chance he knew, too. Where was Martinez going to go? Under the steering wheel?

  The man got closer—so close I could hear his shoes on the pavement.

  “Just go with this,” I said, grabbing Detective Martinez’s biceps with my hands.

  He didn’t say anything. I didn’t give him time.

  I twisted my body and leaned in, pressing myself hard against him, and kissed him. Deep, slow, melty, letting my hair fall like a curtain in front of our faces. At first he just sat there, tense, breath held, but then I felt his hands clutch the small of my back, soft, warm, and then move up to the sides of my face. Our lips parted and we kissed again, more delicate and purposeful, and he pulled me toward him. When we parted again, I could feel his breath mingle with mine, our noses touching. I peeked past him and saw that the man had gone by and was pulling open the door of Tesori Antico.

  My hands dropped away from Detective Martinez’s shoulders and I slumped backward, reeling over the rainbow that had burst under me. Violet screamed at me, but it didn’t come alone. And, just like last time, it terrified me. I had no idea what it meant.

  “What was—”

  “A Basile,” I interrupted. “Don’t get all excited. I didn’t want to do it any more than you did.”

  “Was he the one who threatened you?”

  I shrugged. “Could be. I didn’t exactly make eye contact with him. I had to do something quick. Kissing you was the only thing I could think of. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. Next time you might give me a little heads-up, though.”

  Violet. Violet, violet. The whole damn car was violet. Grapes and passion fruit and neon signs and every purple thing that was ever purple paled in comparison.

  I leaned toward him, closing the distance between us further. “There will be no next time,” I said. I stared straight ahead. We sat in awkward silence. I felt like an ass for saying that. And I felt like an ass for kissing him. I basically just felt like an ass.

  “We should probably go,” he said, reaching for the ignition.

  I nodded. Please, God, please, get me out of this car. “Maybe next time we’ll find a van.”

  He pulled away from the curb, steering us toward the highway. “So you were saying? About your condition or skill or whatever it was?”

  Every color imaginable was popping in my head. Confusing me. Overwhelming me. The moment was definitely over. I couldn’t believe I’d let it get so close. I definitely wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “You going to finish?” he prompted, glancing at me.

  I aimed my face toward the window, watching the trees and cars and buildings whiz by. “Today’s not that day.”

  I WAS RESTLESS when I got home. Too much stimulation. Too many new details. Too many roads leading out of the same damn family. And, of course, that kiss. It had been spur-of-the-moment. It had been practical. But it had also been that swooping color wave. Not just violet. And I didn’t know what that meant.

  Dad was awake from his nap and eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table.

  “There you are,” he said. “Home for the night, or is that wishful thinking?”

  I pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

  “So it is wishful thinking,” he said. He took another bite. “Oh, to be eighteen again.”

  “Yeah, it’s bliss,” I said, but I didn’t feel jokey.

  He paused, milk dripping from his spoon back into the bowl. “That boy stopped by. He didn’t look so blissful, either.”

  Boy? The only boy who might stop by would be Jones. “Jones was here?” I asked. I waved my hands over my biceps. “Big muscles? Dimpled chin?” Damn it, I told him I was sick and to stay away.

  Dad dropped his spoon back in his bowl and clasped his hands beneath his chin. “And, oh so dreamy!” When I grunted, he scooped another spoonful of cereal. “Sorry, sorry. Yes, that’s the one. I’m guessing there’s trouble in paradise.”

  I remembered Jones storming out of the dojang, his fists clenched by his sides, and how tense it had been between us since. How would I have talked my way out of it if he’d seen that kiss? “Something like that. I’ll call him.” But what would I say? Sorry I missed you, Jones. I was busy making out with Detective Martinez in the front seat of his car. Something told me he wouldn’t take that very well.

  Dad gave me a suspicious glance. “Something else going on? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Is there something you need to tell me? I wanted to counter. Something you’ve been hiding for about eighteen years, maybe?

  What I knew about Dad and Hollis made me so uncomfortable, I could barely stand to be in the same room with him. I had to know for sure. “Hey, Dad? Do you remember when Dru Hollis was taken to jail and we were watching it on this TV? You said that family was trouble. That they thought they were above everyone else. Remember?”

  “I suppose,” he said, his cheek full of cereal. “Not really. That was a while ago. And a lot of stuff has happened with that family since.”

  “But you remember seeing it on TV, right?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “But you didn’t know them before that? The Hollises?”

  He set his spoon in the bowl and regarded me, his brow creased. “No.”

  “You’d worked with Bill Hollis on a shoot, though, right?”

  His eyes flicked up and to the left. “I don’t remember that, no.”

  “Y
ou said you did.”

  “Okay, I must have, then, but I don’t remember it. We wouldn’t have had much of anything to do with each other, even if I did.”

  “And Mom never worked with him? Like on a film project or something?”

  The crease in his brow deepened. “No, Nikki, why?” And there it was. Cheater blue. Right there in the bowl of cereal, on the table, on the walls. I let out a defeated sigh.

  Because you’re lying to me.

  I WAS COMPLETELY on edge from our failed stakeout and my run-in with Dad. Detective Martinez might have been able to just go on about his night knowing that someone was trying to run us over with a van, but I couldn’t. Especially not since I knew for certain that Luna was out there and her family was connected with the business. These things were not coincidental. It was so obvious it was laughable. It was just a matter of flushing her out.

  The hard part was finding her.

  All I needed to do was find out where Viral Fanfare was playing, and I could get to that someone. But someone knew how. At least according to Blue.

  My laptop wouldn’t pull up. Just a blank black screen, no matter what I did, what buttons I pushed, or how much I cussed at it. Talk about the shittiest timing of all shitty timing.

  I slammed it shut and ran downstairs with it tucked under my arm.

  “Hey, can I use your computer?”

  “Something wrong with yours?” Dad asked.

  I held it out for him to see. “It’s dead.”

  “That’s weird. Was it having problems?”

  No. And in the grand scheme of my life, a dead computer was the least weird thing I’d encountered. A pain-in-the-ass thing. A thing that would slow me down. But normal nonetheless. “Hard drive probably fried itself,” I said. “It’s old, anyway.”

  Dad took it from me. “We’ll get you a new one, I guess.”

  “In the meantime . . . ?”

  He waved his hand at me. “Yeah, sure. Use mine. Just don’t mess with any of the photo files.”

  It only took about three minutes of trolling Facebook to figure out where Viral Fanfare was playing that night. Lowery’s Body Craft, an auto body shop in Culver City. Not surprising—auto body shops and basements and fields and abandoned churches were just the type of places Viral Fanfare made their name playing. When they weren’t playing at Hollis Mansion, of course. Which they wouldn’t be doing ever again. A sobering thought.

  Most likely, somebody’s stepdad or uncle or brother’s friend owned Lowery’s Body Craft, and said stepdad or uncle or brother’s friend was stupid enough to go out of town and leave his keys behind. A perfect situation for Viral Fanfare to swoop in and organize a “private” party.

  I called Jones as soon as I pulled out of my driveway.

  “Hey,” he said, when he answered. Flat.

  “You stopped by?” I asked.

  “So glad you’re feeling better, by the way.” Bitter.

  I merged onto the highway. “I’m going to hang up if you’re going to act like that.”

  A breath thundered into the phone. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry. He just sounded mad. “I stopped by because I missed you. That’s all. Where were you?”

  “I was just out,” I said.

  “With him?” I didn’t know what to say. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Jones,” I said. “Come on.”

  “No, Nikki, you come on. The least you could do is be honest with me. If you’re with someone else, tell me and I won’t keep wasting my time.”

  “I’m not with anyone,” I said, realizing that I was kind of yelling now. “I keep telling you that. Besides, what happened to all that crap about you not caring if I was?”

  There was a long pause. I tried to just concentrate on the road and ignore that I felt a catch in my breathing. I refused to be upset about a boy. Refused.

  “You’re right. Can I come over now?” he asked. “So we can talk this out?”

  I hated having to say this. “I can’t.”

  “I figured,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

  “Yeah.” I felt about as small as my voice sounded. There was no way to convince Jones that nothing was going on between Martinez and me. Especially after that kiss.

  “I should let you go, then,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said. “And Jones?”

  “Huh?”

  I swallowed. I didn’t want to do this—I knew I was hurting him—but I really felt like I had to. It was the best for both of us. “You should probably stop wasting your time.”

  I was met with the click of the line disconnecting.

  I HADN’T BEEN to Culver City in a long time. Mom used to take me out there to climb to the top of the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook. We would climb the long staircase and find a place at the top where we could sit and look down over the Los Angeles basin. From the top of the overlook, the Hollywood sign looked so small and far away, a proud, white necklace on Mount Lee. In my mind now, though, the sign was rusty peach, the memory so sweet it was almost painful.

  I was glad for the darkness, and the oppressive summer heat, even in the nighttime, to distract me. I was afraid if I looked around too much, I would see everything in crimson. Probably not, but these days I never really knew when crimson would show up, it seemed.

  Or violet, I thought. Because that seemed out of control these days, too. I wondered if it was possible for your synesthesia to go on the fritz as you got older. Wishful thinking, Nikki.

  Lowery’s Body Craft wasn’t yet hopping. I checked the clock on my dash. The band wouldn’t get up and running for at least another hour, probably. People would likely begin streaming in at the very last minute, nobody wanting to be hanging around an empty and silent auto body shop.

  Nobody but me, that was.

  Shelby had answers that I needed, and I intended to get them.

  I parked directly in front of the shop but walked around back to get in. I didn’t need to try the front door to know that it wouldn’t be open. What was the point of having a private party, starring a popular underground band, if anybody could walk in off the street and listen?

  I could hear chatter as soon as I opened the door, but Seth—the drummer—was the first person I saw. He was coming out of the bathroom, tugging on his zipper.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, instant belligerence. Seth and Gibson were not exactly my biggest fans. With good reason, probably. No doubt Gibson still sported a scar where I’d once beaned him with a rock.

  “I need to talk to Shelby,” I said, breezing past him. I wasn’t their biggest fan, either.

  “About what?” he called, following me. I didn’t answer; just pressed on into the spacious lobby, where a door led to a basement. Lights were on. He grabbed my shoulder from behind. “About what?” he repeated.

  I shrugged off his shoulder and whirled around. “About my business,” I said. “Is she downstairs?”

  “Any business of the band is my business too,” he said, squaring himself up tall.

  I had to force myself not to laugh. “Any business of the band,” I repeated in a voice meant to mock his. “Whatever, dude. Just move. I don’t have time for you.”

  He didn’t move, so I pushed around him, my shoulder bumping into his. He didn’t make an effort to stop me, but he followed me close as I went down the dusty wooden stairs.

  “Why don’t you just go?” he said to my back. “You’re not wanted here. Don’t you get that? Why are you always around?”

  “I just can’t quit you, Seth,” I said in a droll voice, not even pausing to give him a second of my attention. Seth was nothing to me. A speed bump on the highway to answers.

  Shelby was testing a mic when I walked in. She stopped, her face going ashen, and then quickly recovered with her usual dead-eyed smirk. Vee, busy plugging cords into an amp, also looked up.

  “Hey, Nikki,” Vee said uncertainly. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Neit
her did I,” I said. “But I need to talk to her.” I pointed at Shelby, never letting my eyes leave hers. In some ways it felt like I was staring down something dangerous and deadly, like a wolf, and the moment I looked away, I would be mauled.

  “So talk,” Shelby said into the microphone. The sound felt like it came from everywhere. It was unsettling, and suddenly I had the creeping sensation of slate. Just because Vee talked to me sometimes now did not mean we were friends. Would she stop Shelby from doing anything stupid? Would she stop Seth and Gib? Probably not. I was definitely outnumbered here.

  I didn’t respond.

  “What’s going on?” Vee asked, but still Shelby and I were staring. I felt like I was being sucked into those black-hole eyes, and like there would be nothing but hell on the other side of them. “Hello? What’s the deal?”

  Finally, Shelby peeled herself away from the microphone and came to me, her gait steady and confident and maybe even a little bit cocky. I wanted to rush her, to choke her, for being so sure of herself. She was wearing a pair of very high-heeled brown boots—totally out of season, and she had to be roasting in them—and they clacked along the floor as she made her way to me. When she was just a foot or so away, she stopped.

  “Talk,” she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

  “Have you been helping Luna frame me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You really do think the whole world revolves around you, don’t you? Why would I want to frame you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because your best friend will get off the hook if she can convince everyone that I killed Peyton. Were you the tipster?”

  She adopted her typical Shelby arrogant, flirty personality. “I’ve told you. I haven’t talked to Luna since she got out. I have no idea where she is.”

  I sighed like I was bored, even though I was almost in full-on yellow-orange fire at that point. So fiery I felt my feet begin to sweat. “Come on, Shelby. We both know you gave her a ride the other day. Luna is out of jail and suddenly my things end up in Peyton’s car. At the same time, a mysterious eyewitness tells the cops that Peyton and I were fighting. You were that eyewitness, weren’t you?”