I took a deep breath and counted slowly to ten. "That's very generous of them," I finally said. "However, accepted or not, there is still the minor matter of tuition. I can't afford it, and I'm not letting you throw away enough money to buy yourself another sports car just so that I can pretend to go to Dartmouth next year."
"I don't need another sports car. And you don't have to pretend anything," he murmured. "One year of college wouldn't kill you. Maybe you'd even like it. Just think about it, Bella. Imagine how excited Charlie and Renée would be. . . ."
His velvet voice painted the picture in my head before I could block it. Of course Charlie would explode with pride - no one in the town of Forks would be able to escape the fallout from his excitement. And Renée would be hysterical with joy at my triumph - though she'd swear she wasn't at all surprised. . . .
I tried to shake the image out of my head. "Edward. I'm worried about living through graduation, let alone this summer or next fall."
His arms wrapped around me again. "No one is going to hurt you. You have all the time in the world."
I sighed. "I'm mailing the contents of my bank account to Alaska tomorrow. It's all the alibi I need. It's far enough away that Charlie won't expect a visit until Christmas at the earliest. And I'm sure I'll think of some excuse by then. You know," I teased halfheartedly, "this whole secrecy and deception thing is kind of a pain."
Edward's expression hardened. "It gets easier. After a few decades, everyone you know is dead. Problem solved."
I flinched.
"Sorry, that was harsh."
I stared down at the big white envelope, not seeing it. "But still true."
"If I get this resolved, whatever it is we're dealing with, will you please consider waiting?"
"Nope."
"Always so stubborn."
"Yep."
The washing machine thumped and stuttered to a halt.
"Stupid piece of junk," I muttered as I pulled away from him. I moved the one small towel that had unbalanced the otherwise empty machine, and started it again.
"This reminds me," I said. "Could you ask Alice what she did with my stuff when she cleaned my room? I can't find it anywhere."
He looked at me with confused eyes. "Alice cleaned your room?"
"Yeah, I guess that's what she was doing. When she came to get my pajamas and pillow and stuff to hold me hostage." I glowered at him briefly. "She picked up everything that was lying around, my shirts, my socks, and I don't know where she put them."
Edward continued to look confused for one short moment, and then, abruptly, he was rigid.
"When did you notice your things were missing?"
"When I got back from the fake slumber party. Why?"
"I don't think Alice took anything. Not your clothes, or your pillow. The things that were taken, these were things you'd worn . . . and touched . . . and slept on?"
"Yes. What is it, Edward?"
His expression was strained. "Things with your scent."
"Oh!"
We stared into each others eyes for a long moment.
"My visitor," I muttered.
"He was gathering traces . . . evidence. To prove that he'd found you?"
"Why?" I whispered.
"I don't know. But, Bella, I swear I will find out. I will."
"I know you will," I said, laying my head against his chest. Leaning there, I felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the number. "Just the person I need to talk to," he murmured, and then he flipped it open. "Carlisle, I -" He broke off and listened, his face taut with concentration for a few minutes. "I'll check it out. Listen . . ."
He explained about my missing things, but from the side I was hearing, it sounded like Carlisle had no insights for us.
"Maybe I'll go . . . ," Edward said, trailing off as his eyes drifted toward me. "Maybe not. Don't let Emmett go alone, you know how he gets. At least ask Alice keep an eye on things. We'll figure this out later."
He snapped the phone shut. "Where's the paper?" he asked me.
"Um, I'm not sure. Why?"
"I need to see something. Did Charlie already throw it out?"
"Maybe. . . ."
Edward disappeared.
He was back in half a second, new diamonds in his hair, a wet newspaper in his hands. He spread it out on the table, his eyes scanning quickly across the headlines. He leaned in, intent on something he was reading, one finger tracing passages that interested him most.
"Carlisle's right . . . yes . . . very sloppy. Young and crazed? Or a death wish?" he muttered to himself.
I went to peek over his shoulder.
The headline of the Seattle Times read: "Murder Epidemic Continues - Police Have No New Leads."
It was almost the same story Charlie had been complaining about a few weeks ago - the big-city violence that was pushing Seattle up the national murder hot-spot list. It wasn't exactly the same story, though. The numbers were a lot higher.
"It's getting worse," I murmured.
He frowned. "Altogether out of control. This can't be the work of just one newborn vampire. What's going on? It's as if they've never heard of the Volturi. Which is possible, I guess. No one has explained the rules to them . . . so who is creating them, then?"
"The Volturi?" I repeated, shuddering.
"This is exactly the kind of thing they routinely wipe out - immortals who threaten to expose us. They just cleaned up a mess like this a few years ago in Atlanta, and it hadn't gotten nearly this bad. They will intervene soon, very soon, unless we can find some way to calm the situation. I'd really rather they didn't come to Seattle just now. As long as they're this close . . . they might decide to check on you."