She shrugged. “The cops think she’s dead. And I’m the only one who saw her in New York.”
“Well, maybe there are cameras in the subway. Or the station.”
Spencer thought about this. “There could be. But you’d need police permission to get those. And like I said, the police don’t believe Ali’s alive.” It was the same reason they couldn’t go to Jordan’s prison themselves and ask for surveillance records. Besides, Ali was too smart to let anything get on camera. Only, did that mean she was too smart to let herself be seen on the cameras they’d set up around the pool house, too?
“The cops are ass**les.” Greg looked angry.
“Yeah.” Spencer pretended to pick lint off her T-shirt.
“Well, I believe you.”
Spencer looked up as Greg took her hand. A lump formed in her throat. It felt so good to hear someone say those words. “Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s nice to hear that.”
Greg shook his head. “It’s a horrible thing to feel like you have no one to turn to and no one who will listen. But I will always listen. You can always talk to me. What’s your plan?”
“We have no plans,” Spencer said automatically. There was no way she was telling him about the pool house or the surveillance cameras. But his voice was so tender that tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, though. For . . . being here.”
“You’re welcome.”
They stared at each other meaningfully. Then Greg moved into the seat next to Spencer and touched his lips lightly to hers. The coffee smells and faint French music fell away, and all Spencer felt was his soft mouth. Her head throbbed with pleasure. She pulled Greg closer, his firm, strong chest pressed against hers. She could feel his biceps through his shirt, his strong back muscles, too. Even his body felt safe. He really would protect her. And maybe, unlike the other boys she’d known, he wouldn’t leave when things got scary.
They pulled away, grinning at each other. Spencer sought for something cute and witty to say, but then she blurted, “Will you go to a benefit in Rosewood with me?”
Greg looked amused. “I’d be honored. When is it?”
“Tomorrow.” Spencer grimaced guiltily. “I’m sorry I’m inviting you so late. But I would love it if you could make it. It’s for troubled and disadvantaged youth around Rosewood. Apparently, I’m their honored guest—maybe because I’m so troubled.” She winced.
“Ooh,” Greg said. “Well, in my book, you’re always the honored guest.”
Spencer was about to playfully punch him, but her buzzing phone threw her off. She glanced down into her open bag. NEW EMAIL FROM DOMINICKPHILLY.
She groaned. What could he want? She knew she should ignore it, but she was still thinking very much about Dominick’s presence in New York. Especially how he’d sauntered out of the room saying, I hope you’re happy, little liar.
“Excuse me,” she said to Greg, reaching for it. Slowly, she pressed the button to bring up the message. Her face fell.
“What is it?” Greg asked.
Spencer swallowed hard. “A new note from Dominick.”
“That guy who heckled you?”
She nodded, then turned her phone to show him. Greg’s brow furrowed as he inspected the screen. “You can run to Philly,” he read aloud, “but you can’t hide from the fact that you’re a fraud.” He set his jaw. “How does he know you’re in Philly?”
She ran her hands down the length of her face. “I don’t know,” she said shakily. She stared out the window, half expecting to see him on a park bench across the street, glaring. But the park’s only visitors were some pigeons. “Maybe he’s following me,” she said softly.
“But . . . why?”
Suddenly, Spencer had a horrible thought. She turned to Greg. “Have you heard of the Ali Cats?”
Greg frowned. “That Alison fan club?”
“Yeah. I haven’t wanted to think they’re dangerous, but who knows? Maybe Dominick is one of them.” Spencer had discounted Emily’s theory until she’d reread the Ali Cat post. The person who’d said they hated all enemies of Ali did seem pretty vehement. There were a lot of crazy people out there in the world—and Dominick seemed right up there.
“So he’s out to get you?” Greg looked skeptical.
“I don’t know.” Spencer felt like she might cry. She blinked again and again, trying to wipe away the image of Dominick’s scowling face.
Greg curled her hand in his. “I do know, Spencer. I get it, I promise.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Spencer,” he said in a warm, soft voice.
Spencer sank her face into his chest, holding on to him tightly, wishing she would never have to let go.
20
ROCK BOTTOM
Emily’s sleep was interrupted by knocking from somewhere muffled and far away. She opened one eye, then the other, and then looked around. Clothes on hangers loomed over her head. A dirty sneaker lay on its side next to her nose. She’d fallen asleep in her closet. Again.
She uncurled from a tight ball and kicked open the door. Sun streamed through the window onto her neatly made bed. Then she heard the knocking again. Someone was at her door. “Emily?” came her mom’s voice. “Something came for you.”
She glanced around her room, noticing the heap of blankets in the closet, Jordan’s picture on her bed, and the surveillance video screens already up on her laptop—it wasn’t her turn to monitor yet, but somehow she felt safer with them on all the time, and so she’d left the feed up all night. She tucked Jordan under the mattress and closed her laptop lid, then padded across the room and opened it a crack.