Page 80 of False Idols

“What?” Nevaeh raises her head and blinks a few times. She’s cute when she’s like this. The thought is concerning, because I don’t think anything is cute. But Nevaeh is. She wipes at her face and frowns. “Where are my pants?”

I nod at where I folded them on the couch beside her and Nevaeh groans and reaches for them. “What time is it?”

“Just after five.”

“What?” The sleepy look on her face vanishes and she sits straight up. “That means I slept for hours.”

I shrug. “You needed it,” I say and play for nonchalant. Of course she needed the sleep. She fought off two psychopaths in twelve hours. Nevaeh was running on fumes, if that. “Drink this,” I tell her and bring a glass of water to her. “We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?” Nevaeh asks, but she takes the glass from me and drinks obediently. Satisfaction settles in to me watching her finish the glass. My good fucking girl always listens. I love it when she listens to me, even if she’s a pain in my ass most of the time.

“Somewhere safe. My apartment is fucked if Ali got in here. We’re going to my parent’s lake house.”

Nevaeh nods and follows me but I watch her face darken when I mention Ali. I catch her hand and lead her out of the apartment and into the elevator. “Nothing to be jealous of, angel.” The doors slide shut and Nevaeh tries to move away from me but I keep a firm hand on her. I don’t care if we’re in the elevator and there’s nowhere to really go. I want her with me.

She scowls at me and pulls on her hand but I hold fast. “I’m not jealous. I just…I don’t like her.”

I jerk Nevaeh right up against me and wrap an arm around her waist. “Neither do I,” I say and watch the elevator lights flash before it stops on the ground floor. Nevaeh doesn’t say anything, but I know she liked what I said. When we step out of the elevator, she’s leaning into me like the good fucking girl she is.

“We’re going to your dorm. We need to grab a bag first.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve got plenty out there. Doesn’t matter,” I say, but I’m not looking at her, I’m scanning the lobby of the building. Things are tense. There’s cops in here and I see three cruisers and an ambulance out front along with a fire truck. Nevaeh grabs onto my side and we both stop in the middle of the lobby.

“What’s going on? Is someone hurt?” Nevaeh asks. Her eyes are on the cops. She’s twitchy around them, which I get after she spent the whole fucking night with them.

“Mister Du Pont,” the door man steps and waves me down. “There’s a few officers here that would like to speak to you.”

“About what?” I ask, but it’s not the door man that answers me, it’s the plain clothes cop I clock as a detective that speaks.

“Beau Du Pont, we’re here to question you on the murder of Ali Simpson.”

30

NEVAEH

As much as I didn’t like the girl I’d seen with Beau, I didn’t want her to die. I rub my temples and lean back in the armchair I’m sitting in. It’s leather and plush, much nicer than the metal chair I had to sit in during my questioning with the cops earlier today. But that’s because we aren’t down at the station like the officers who arrived wanted. We’re still in Beau’s apartment building and he’s refusing to let them take us.

I glance towards the doors and see Mr. and Mrs. Du Pont power walking up to the front doors. The door man must have called them, or maybe their network of cronies did, because I haven’t seen Beau reach for his phone once and yet, here they are. Right on time. Mr. Du Pont shoves open the door and Beau’s mother wastes no time laying in to the officers present.

“What exactly in God’s name do you think you’re doing questioning my son?! After everything you’ve put him through!” Her voice echoes through the lobby, loud and strong. I guess it’s good that Claire Du Pont has never thought herself below anyone in this town, because she’s ready to go toe-to-toe with the police department and I know this time she’ll win.

Mr. Du Pont puts an arm around her and shakes the officer’s hand that just sauntered up. He’s local, dressed in a uniform, not like the detectives that had us pinned from the second we stepped out of the elevator. The detectives must be from Kansas City with the way they’re handling this. I can tell they don’t give a shit who Claire Du Pont is, which is a mistake all in itself.

I look outside at the rapidly darkening sky. It’s going to be well and truly dark soon. The sun set half an hour ago, but it’s still painting the sky in orange and pink. It’s hard not to feel nervous with the dark falling. Dark is when The Reaper strikes. The curfew is going back into effect, I know it is.

Get Home. Get Safe.

The Reaper’s warning is hanging over all of us. It’s just a matter of time before I hear that first siren. My hands shake and I tuck them under my thighs. There’s a flash of a camera going off outside. Beau’s building is all floor length glass windows on the bottom floor, so I can see just about everything happening outside.

I really wish I couldn’t. If I couldn’t, then I wouldn’t know that Ali’s body is just around the corner. I can see the corner of the yellow marker they’re using to mark the crime scene. The photographer takes another photo and the flash lights up the area again. I look away and try not to replay the past few hours in my head. If we had let her stay, or Beau had walked her out, would she still be alive?

Why did The Reaper kill her? How did he do it in broad daylight?

When is this ever going to end?

Never.

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