Page 60 of Romance Is Dead

As everyone else filed off set, Teddy and I fell in step together.

“Are we calling the police now or later?” he whispered in my ear as we hopped into one of the waiting carts.

“Later. We don’t have a lot of time, and I’m not sure how long they’ll want to talk to us.” I paused. “Plus, I’m starving.”

The situation was dire, but so was the grumbling in my stomach.

Arriving at the lunch tent, I lined up for my entrée, walking along the table and looking for the container with my name on it. But as soon as I located it, a hand appeared out of nowhere, snatching it from right out in front of me.

Grinning at me from the other side of the table was, of course, Brent. Not bothering to take the food to his seat, he ripped open the top of the container, dug in his fork, and shoveled a big scoop into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said around the mouthful of food.

I grimaced in disgust. Brent was clearly going to have it out for me as long as he thought I’d spread the rumor about him. My mood darkened as I looked for something else to eat—I was in the crosshairs of a killer, and I couldn’t even eat my Chinese chicken salad in peace.

I’d made it to the other end of the table when I heard it. A choked gurgle, like someone hacking up a loogie. I bit back a snide comment. I was already annoyed about my stolen lunch; I didn’t need people doing gross, immature things around the food. But when I turned around, all I saw was Brent’s face, stricken and red, his eyes bulging. Then, clutching his throat, he collapsed on the ground.

I rushed over, picking up the still-full container that had originally been meant for me. “NO PEANUTS” was scrawled across the lid in Sharpie, a special order to accommodate my allergy. I ripped off the lid and peered closely, careful not to touch it. Sure enough, the salad was covered in crushed peanuts.

Someone had added peanuts to my food, knowing it would be a death sentence. But unfortunately for him, Brent was allergic, too.

Chapter Nineteen

Once Brent collapsed, all hell broke loose.

A nearby props assistant called 911, Chloe started shrieking at an alarming decibel level, and Mara knelt down to check his vitals. I rushed to the first aid kit, frantically trying to locate an EpiPen, but it was missing. By the time Natasha heard the commotion and made her way over, it was almost certainly already too late—but that didn’t stop her from yelling at Brent to “get the fuck up”.

Feeling helpless, I stared at Brent’s horribly still face, frozen in an expression of terror as he lay on the grass. I was allergic to peanuts, and it had been my lunch, and it was supposed to be me. I, very easily, could have been the one unconscious on the ground. And it hadn’t escaped me that my lunch had been tampered with the day I’d received another note.

Had the killer run out of patience mere hours after warning me?

Standing under the food tent, surrounded by screaming cast and crew and mere feet away from someone I was pretty sure was dying, I started to hyperventilate. I gasped for air but it didn’t feel like it was coming fast enough—my lungs felt tight and I was growing light-headed. Had I somehow ingested the peanuts, too? Was I minutes away from my own death?

“Hey, look at me.” Teddy grabbed my shoulders and eased me into a chair on the opposite side of the tent. “Focus on me. I want you to breathe in for four seconds, hold it, let it out for four seconds, and hold it again.”

“Hold my breath?” I swatted his hands away. “It feels like I’m having a heart attack—I need more air, not less.” I bent at my waist, gulping for oxygen.

“You’re having a panic attack—you need to get your breath under control.”

“How would you know? You’re not a doctor.”

“Because I’ve been having them since I was seven years old.” He kneeled on the ground, looking up at me patiently. “Trust me, it’ll help.”

For a moment, I was distracted from my heart hammering in my throat. Then the pieces started clicking into place: Teddy forgetting his line because he was so nervous the first day, the way he’d learned to anticipate and plan for worst-case scenarios, the way he’d helped his brother when he struggled with anxiety. But before I could ponder it further, a fresh wave of panic swept over me and the pressure returned to my chest.

“Ok, fine,” I gasped. “What am I supposed to do?”

Staring into his steady blue eyes, I attempted to follow his directions. He knelt on the grass, breathing along with me, until my panic attack finally subsided. I squeezed Teddy’s hand gratefully as the ambulance blared onto the scene and the paramedics swarmed Brent’s very still body.

He was gone.

As soon as the paramedics pulled away, Teddy and I locked eyes.

Police. Now.

“We’re driving.” Teddy held my hand as he helped me out of the folding chair. “I don’t want you anywhere near this set right now.”

“Ok.” I was still too in shock to argue. “Let me just grab my wallet.” But I’d lost track of it in the chaos—knocked off the table or kicked under a chair. “Damn it, where is it?”

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