Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

“Seriously, how did you get this?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the picture.

“You know Mrs. Peabody in the front office?” he asked. I nodded. “This morning, when I was supposed to be in second period, I took her some donuts. When she went to the break room to get her coffee, I took a peek at the security footage. It’s all digital, so I typed in the date, zoomed in on the clearest image, and printed this sucker out. It was easy.”

I finally looked up at him. Genius. Why hadn’t I thought of that? And why did I keep underestimating, distrusting, and generally misjudging him? I could have reached over and kissed him in gratitude, but instead I said, “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Our eyes lingered on each other’s, until I had to look away, blushing. His neon sign was back on, and mine had blinking red lights. And in this situation the red lights didn’t mean STOP.

I wondered if he felt the same. If he could forget all the awfulness of the evening. After all, we didn’t need to go all the way. We could just—

“So now that we have proof of what he looks like, it should be enough for the police to ID him, right?”

OK. Not what I was expecting.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Isn’t this good news? This could help clear you. It shows that the guy is following you. He’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be.” He reached toward me, not to touch me or comfort me but to take back the picture. “If we show this to the police, they have that face-identification technology—”

“I told you, Liam,” I said, standing up. “I can’t go to the police with this. Not yet. Just having a picture of some dude doesn’t prove anything. How do we connect him to any of the abductions or killings? How do I prove he made me do anything?”

“Hang on,” he said. “Just a few minutes ago, you were ready to plant one on me for getting this picture.”

“I think it’s time for you to go.” I crossed my arms, ready to close the doors on the vault. I knew I was being ridiculous, but exhaustion, shame, and confusion were drowning me just like Father M—

“Look, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. I promise.” He held up his hands and moved toward me slowly, like he knew what I was capable of. “I’m just trying to help you.”

I bit my lip, unsure of whether I should believe him. I couldn’t even trust myself. Just moments ago I was ready to kiss him, and now I could just as easily knee him in the jewels if he said the wrong thing.

I dropped my head and ran my fingers through my damp hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to feel anymore. I don’t know who to trust or where to turn. I should probably just run away to Mexico where no one can find me, and then I wouldn’t have to kill anymore or go to prison.”

“OK, let’s go,” he said, smiling and moving in closer again. “Let’s just get some sleep before we make a run for the border, all right? You’ve had a busy day.”

It was true. It had been one freakishly long day, and I didn’t want to spend any more energy or emotion recounting it. I was ready to collapse.

“Come and lie down.” He took me by the waist and guided me back to the bed. Part of me wanted to steel myself against his charm, but there was no denying the larger part of me wanted to give in to him. I wanted to believe him that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. He wouldn’t do anything stupid behind my back, like talk to the police. Whether I was willing to admit it or not, the vault had been unlocked. I’d let him in completely somewhere along the way.

I was falling— out of control, into bed, and for Liam Slater. Falling hard.

I slid under the covers and felt him slide in right behind me. Within moments I was drifting. Not just into sleep, but closer to another human being than I’d ever been before. He pulled me tight to his chest, and I melted into him. Every part of him entwined with every part of me, like I didn’t know where he started and I ended. My head rested on his arm, and our breathing slowed to match one another’s. I’d never experienced anything like it. His hot breath near my ear sent prickles up my neck.

I lay there, waiting to feel his lips against my skin, or his free hand on my thigh. I wanted it. But apparently not as much as my body and mind wanted sleep.

The last thing I remember was his arm reaching over me to turn the lamp off, and the feel of his body against mine. I didn’t even care if my mom came home to find him in my bed. What was she going to do? Kill me? She could get in line.

In the morning, Liam was gone, but his scent wasn’t. I breathed in my pillow, the smell of his cologne and shampoo reminding me of his warm skin and soft hair. I longed to feel him again, to be held by him. So much for my aversion to touch.

I wondered when he’d left. It was Saturday, so he probably had early-morning practice or something. I hadn’t even asked if he’d won his game last night. It didn’t seem like it mattered at the time, but now my omission just felt rude.

My stomach rumbled. It had been nearly a day since I’d eaten anything. I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. The smell of coffee not only alerted me to my mom’s presence but also spiked my awareness of a possible confrontation with her. I almost went back up to my room to search for a granola bar in my backpack when I heard her voice.

“Is that you, Rue-girl?”

I gulped and shuffled into the bright light of the kitchen. I felt like I needed sunglasses just to enter this side of the house. Maybe I had some kind of hangover from last night’s horror.

“Hey, sunshine,” she said.

“Hey, Mom.” I went straight to the fridge without looking at her. As I searched for the quickest and easiest nourishment, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She put down the paper and watched my every move. Why was she just staring at me without her normal assault of judgment or cross-questioning? She knew something.

“Good night’s sleep?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said, grabbing the orange juice.

“Not too tired this morning?” she prodded.

“Nope.” I filled up a glass and sipped the juice while studying the fruit bowl for something I could grab and get out of there with. But damn it, the bananas were too ripe and the oranges looked a day or two past edible.

I turned to the cabinet to snatch some bread instead while Mom continued staring. Had she seen Liam in my room—or had she seen him sneak out this morning? Did she know something about what I’d done last night?

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” she pushed.

We were exceeding our spoken word limit for the day. I didn’t have time to toast this bread. Butter and jam would have to be enough.

“Not that I can think of,” I said, throwing a fake smile in her general direction.

She took off her reading glasses, sat back in her chair, and crossed her legs. One of her signature D. A. moves that meant, OK, I’m getting serious now . I bet it worked great on unwitting criminals ready to plead out, but it wasn’t working on me. At least, I was trying not to let it work on me. It would be a lot easier trying from my room. I started to go, but then she said, “Ruby, why do you lie to me?”

I skidded to a halt. I didn’t even know which lie to cover for.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, turning and accidentally making eye contact.

“How long has this been going on?” she said.

What? Stalking people, killing murderers, or having sleepovers with a boy? “Could you define what you mean by ‘this,’ counselor?”

“It’s not a game,” she said, standing up and making her chair scrape against the tile floor. “You could be jeopardizing your future.”