Chapter 3

I was still crawling around in the van's cargo area when something thudded against the back bumper.

I froze, wondering what had just happened. I glanced toward the rear cargo doors, and was just about to fling them open, when something made me hesitate.

It was the sound of male voices. At least one of them was slurring. Drunk? It sure sounded like it. Determined to avoid them, I clamped my mouth shut and waited for them to pass.

But they didn't.

Instead, they stopped somewhere near the back of the van and kept on talking.

"Oh yeah?" the drunk guy slurred. "What? You think you're one of us? Well, lemme tell you something. You're not." He gave a derisive snort. "And you're never gonna be."

The other guy gave something like a laugh. It was a low, dangerous sound that made me shiver in the cold, dark van. "Got that right."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. Whoever the second guy was, he sounded stone-cold sober.

The drunk one demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're smart enough. You'll figure it out."

"I don't wanna figure it out. I want you gone. We all do." His voice rose. "So why don't you get the fuck outta here?"

"I'll tell you why." An edge crept into the sober guy's voice. "Because it's my house."

My breath caught. Oh, crap. Now, I knew who the sober guy was. It was Zane Bennington. It had to be. Along with the massive fortune and business empire, he'd inherited several estates, including this one.

"Your house?" the drunk guy said with a nasty laugh. "Yeah, well, not for long."

Zane's voice remained cool. "We'll see about that."

"No! You'll see."

Holding myself very still, I glanced around the cluttered van. I so didn't want to eavesdrop, but it's not like I could jump out now. Not only would it be incredibly awkward, I'd probably get tossed out on my ass – if not by Zane Bennington, then definitely by Ms. Hedgwick.

And damn it. I needed this job, now more than ever, considering that I'd already quit my other one.

I said a silent prayer. Just go away.

But they didn't. Outside the van, they were still going back and forth, first about the estate, and then about the chain of luxury hotels that bore the Bennington name. The way it sounded, the drunk guy's dad was planning some sort of hostile takeover.

Funny, I was a feeling a little hostile myself. Of all the places for them to argue, why here? The estate probably had fifty rooms. Couldn't they just pick one and talk there instead?

Idiots.

Afraid to move, I was still on all fours, and my knees were starting to ache. I felt like a dog ready to bolt.

If only I could.

Already, I'd been out here for way too long, and the delay wasn't even my fault. Normally, the back of the van was neatly organized, with every box and bin in a predictable place. But thanks to that earlier incident, the whole cargo area was a giant mess, with boxes and bins strewn everywhere.

And I just knew there were meatballs rolling around somewhere.

I could only imagine how messy the van would look under decent lighting, but all I had was a small keychain penlight, and the thing was practically useless. Even now, its narrow beam illuminated next to nothing.

I hesitated. Maybe that was a good thing. I couldn’t see the mess, and they couldn’t see me. If I were smart, I'd keep it that way. On instinct, I cut the light and tried not to breathe.

Outside, the guys were still arguing. Or – more accurately – the drunk was arguing with Zane, who said only enough to keep the other guy ranting. Why, I had no idea. Already, the guy was repeating himself.

For the third time, he slurred, "Everyone hates you. You know that, right?"

"Uh-huh. Now tell me something I don't know."

"All right." The guy gave a drunken laugh. "You're an asshole."

"Sorry, try again."

The drunk paused. "What?"

"That, I already know." Zane's voice hardened. "Now tell me something I don't."

Another pause. "I've gotta pee."

I rolled my eyes. Fine. Whatever. There's a dozen bathrooms. Go find one.

The night was cold. Naomi was waiting. And I still needed to find the candles.

Stupidly, all I could think was, "I hope they like cold crab cakes."

Outside, I heard a quick zipping noise, followed by the distinct sound of – What the hell? – liquid splashing against the side of the van.

Oh, my God. Was the guy seriously peeing on the catering van? I gave a disgusted shudder. Talk about unsanitary.

Searching for a silver lining, I reminded myself that it could always be worse. At least, he hadn't said he had to poop. I made a face. Not yet, anyway.

When the splashing stopped, I said yet another silent prayer. Just go. And I don't mean number-two.

Sounding more sloppy than ever, the drunk mumbled, "Man, it goes right through ya, you know?"

Whether Zane knew or not, I had no idea, because a new voice sounded in the distance. It was a male voice, filled with hearty good cheer. "Hey, there you two are!"

From near the bumper, I heard a muttered curse. But from who? Zane? Or the drunk? I couldn’t be sure either way.

A moment later, the new voice, sounding much closer now, said, "So, what are you two young bucks up to?"

I gave another eye-roll. Young bucks. Seriously?

I wanted to scream in frustration. Outside, the crowd was growing, not shrinking, which meant that I was more trapped than ever.

Fearful of rocking the proverbial boat, I was still on all fours. My hands were freezing, and my thin pants were doing nothing to pad my knees from the cold metal of the van's floor.

When neither of the "young bucks" responded, the new guy said, "I hear you caused quite a ruckus."

The drunk mumbled, "So?"

"So, I called James. He's waiting with the car out front."

The drunk whined, "But I'm not ready to go."

The stranger gave a friendly chuckle. "Still full of piss and vinegar, huh?"

I gave another shudder. Nope. Not piss, anyway. I tried to think. Was the car-wash still open? Doubtful. It was, after all, nearly midnight – or later, for all I knew.

The new guy said, "Hey, uh, Teddy?"

"Huh?"

"Your, uh, fly's open."

The drunk guy muttered, "Son-of-bitch." I heard another zip as the guy said, "Fuck, Zane. Why didn't you tell me?"

Zane replied, "Because I wasn't staring at your cock."

"Oh yeah?" the drunk said. "Well, I wasn't staring at yours either." He snorted. "Asshole."

The new guy spoke up. "Aw c'mon guys. No harm, no foul, right?"

I frowned. Yeah, tell that to the van, buddy.

Finally, after some additional back-and-forth, Teddy the Drunk shuffled off with a belligerent promise to deal with Zane later – whatever that meant.

I gave a quiet sigh. And then, there were two.

The new guy said, "Hey, thanks for looking out for him."

"I wasn't looking out for him," Zane said. "I was looking out for me."

The new guy chuckled. "Yeah, who needs a scene, right? I'm just glad you got him outta there when you did."

When Zane said nothing in response, the guy added, "Listen, I know that you and your granddad weren't close, but he was a fine man." His tone grew sympathetic. "And it was a damn shame what happened to him."

I tried to recall. What had happened to him?

The stranger was still talking. "But I guess when your time's up—"

"Fuck you," Zane said.

Long pause. "Pardon?"

"You heard me."

The new guy cleared his throat. "Hey, if you wanna talk…"

"I don't."

After a long, awkward pause, the guy tried again. "I'm just saying, I know it's gotta be overwhelming – with the hotels, the houses, hell, the financials – but if you ever need a shoulder to lean on…"

"I don't."

"Yeah, well…" The other guy hesitated. "I'm just saying, I know there's a lot on your plate."

"Right," Zane said. "My plate. Not yours. Speaking of which, you're moving."

"What?" the guy said. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Zane said, "the house on Longwood. It's mine now. So get the fuck out." In a voice that held the barest hint of a smile, he added, "By Monday."

The stranger gave a strangled laugh. "Oh come on. You're not serious?"

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Because we've been living there for years. It's our family home. The deed – it was just a technicality. I mean, everyone knows it's our house."

"Not anymore."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

The stranger gave a low curse and was silent for a long, terrible moment before saying, "Even if I agreed – and I’m not saying I do – we couldn’t possibly move by Monday. I mean, come on. That's only two days away."

"Right. So you'd better get packing."

"But that's not even legal."

"So sue me."

"Maybe I will," the stranger said. "You do know that I’m a lawyer, right?"

"I don't care if you're the fucking president. You're in my house, and I want you gone."

"Is that so?" The stranger gave a derisive snort. "Why? Aren't the other houses enough?"

"No. They're not."

"But—"

"Move. Or I'll have it done for you."

"What the hell?" the guy sputtered. "You can't do that."

"Yeah? Watch me."

"But what about Teddy? He's your cousin, for God's sake."

"So?"

"So that's his house, too."

I tried to think. Teddy? As in Teddy the Drunk?

Zane replied, "Not my problem."

The stranger was silent for another long, awful moment, and I held my breath, wondering what on Earth he'd say next. Cripes, what could he say?

In the background, I could still hear the muted sounds of music and laughter coming from inside the house. But out here, no one was laughing – not me, not the stranger, and definitely not Zane.

Asshole.

Finally, the stranger gave a long, sad sigh. "You know, it really pains me to say this, but if your grandfather were alive, he'd be utterly ashamed of you."

"I know," Zane said. "But he's not. So fuck off."

It was one of the strangest things I'd ever heard. He didn't even sound angry, just matter-of-fact. It was truly chilling.

The other guy made a scoffing sound. "Is that all you can say? Fuck this and fuck that?"

When Zane made no reply, the guy practically spat, "Look here, you ingrate. I don't know how they do things in the dirt you crawled out of, but around here, we treat people with dignity and respect."

"Yeah?" Zane said. "Well in the dirt, you've gotta earn it."

"And I haven't?" the guy said. "You do know I spent three decades working for your family."

"So?" Zane said. "You didn't work for me."

"But I worked for your grandfather. I was his right-hand man."

"Yeah. And he's dead. So like I said, Bob, get the fuck out."

I tried to think. Bob? Bob who?

Outside the van, Bob spoke again. "You do recall it was me who threw you this party, right?"

Oh, crap.

That Bob?

The stranger had to be Robert Something-or-Other, the silver-haired gentleman who'd been so friendly when we'd been setting up.

At the time, I didn't even realize that he was the one throwing the party, but in hindsight, I should've. After all, he'd taken a pretty keen interest in all of the details.

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that he'd already paid the catering bill, because if he hadn't, I had a horrible suspicion that we were about to get stiffed.

Outside, Bob was sounding more frustrated with every passing moment. "And let me tell you," he was saying, "it wasn't cheap."

In a deadpan voice, Zane said, "I noticed."

"Jesus," Bob muttered. "If you were gonna toss us out, why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Because I’m saying it now."

"But the band, the catering – hell, the parking attendants – they weren't free, you know."

"Again, not my problem."

Bob made another scoffing sound. "Listen here, you reprobate. If you think I'm leaving that house, you're dead wrong."

"Is that so?"

"Damn straight. In fact…" Bob paused a long moment before blurting out, "You'll get the house over my dead body."

"You think that can't be arranged?"

"What?"

"Lemme ask you something, Bob." Zane said the guy's name like it was some sort of insult. "You got a good security system?"

"What? Well, uh, yeah. Of course."

"Uh-huh," Zane said. "You do know those things fail all the time."

"Yeah, well not mine."

"Except it's not yours. Is it, Bob?"

"What?"

"It's mine. Funny how that works."

"What is this?" Bob said. "A threat? Because lemme tell you something. I'm not afraid to fight you."

"Is that right?"

The guy cleared his throat. "I mean in court, like civilized people, not that you'd know anything about that."

"You're right," Zane said. "I wouldn't." That now-familiar edge crept back into his voice. "So if I were you, I'd get packing."

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, the conversation ended with a string of profanity and fading footsteps as Bob stomped off, leaving a trail of curse words in his wake.

I gave a quiet sigh. And then, there was one.

My legs were cramped, and my hands felt like ice cubes. Desperately, I waited for the sounds of additional footsteps – Zane's footsteps, heading away from the van.

But I heard nothing.

And the longer I waited, the more I started to doubt myself. Maybe he'd already wandered off. After all, Bob's departure hadn't been terribly quiet. For all I knew, Zane had left at the exact same time. Maybe, he was already back inside the house, or wherever jerks went when they weren't spreading their misery.

And yet, I still waited.

Finally, when I couldn't stand it another moment, I crawled silently toward the back cargo doors and listened.

Nothing.

Slowly, I reached up and lifted the nearest door-handle. Praying for the best, I gave the door a gentle push. It swung outward maybe half a foot before it stopped, bumping into something on the other side.

I gave a little gasp.

No. Not some thing. Some one.

Oh, no.