24. Theron

24

THERON

WHERE IS MY MIND? - SAFARI RIOT AND GRAYSON SANDERS

"You just might be perfect," Josalyn giggled. She peered up at me as she lay in the tall grass, the spring sunshine warm on our skin.

I was sitting up, a book propped open in my lap. We were in the clearing deep into the campus's pine forest, enjoying what we could of the rest of our afternoon.

It was one of the rare chances we'd had in recent months to spend time together. Soon I'd be graduating and taking the bar exam. Josalyn had been preoccupied with her own personal matters…

I grinned down at her, some locks of hair falling into my face. "If I were so perfect, you'd be with me, Jos."

"You know that's not possible. You're better off without me."

"Says who?"

"The world," she answered. "Everyone."

"Not me. Not you. So not everyone."

"Close enough." She sat up and brushed the loose lock of hair from my brow. "You need a haircut, Theron. "

I caught her hand in mine. "You need to stop avoiding the situation."

"Not this again."

"I'm worried about you. If you get caught…"

She rolled her eyes and then started gathering her books. "I don't have time for this. I've told you it's my choice. I'll see you later. If you'll stop ruining our time together."

I watched on as Josalyn slung her bookbag over her shoulder and strode off until she disappeared among the thick pine trees…

The same pine trees whose branches sway in the afternoon's wind. I watch from my office window, a mug of Earl Grey in my hand.

Students still wander off into the forest, often late at night for bonfires and hookups, but I'll always remember the forest for other reasons.

Knuckles tap against my half ajar door. I look over my shoulder, expecting one of the students who received a failing grade on their papers, or the department head, Pamela, seeking me out with a tasking.

In a surprise twist of events, it's neither of these. Theo enters with her usual caffeinated offering.

Strange, but not entirely unheard of. She's an apartment manager over one of the town buildings that often houses students from campus. A few times a year, she's at the university housing office for meetings and other events.

"I didn't know you were going to be on campus today."

"I didn't either until a few hours ago. You available?"

"You wouldn't be asking unless you hoped I was. Sit."

We approach my desk from opposite ends. I take my seat behind the desk while Theo claims the visitor chair on the other side. She sets down the white paper bag of baked goods and slides my peppermint mocha from the student union toward me .

"We need to talk, Theron."

My head cants to the side at her severe expression and tone. I choose biting humor to counterbalance her. "Don't we do that about every day, sister? It was just yesterday you were calling me about how you got drunk at the Midnight Ale and went home with… what was her name? Emma? Or was it Chloe this time?"

"Shut up, assface. This is about you, not me." She grabs her coffee cup—presumably her favorite, a cinnamon dolce latte—and takes a sip. "You need to tell me what's going on."

I sigh. "If this is about what happened with Dad on my birthday, I'm aware he's still pissed?—"

"It's about what you're doing."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

Though she's hated it her entire life, Theo has always resembled our mother—large, open, amber eyes and bushy hair that pairs with an oval face and slim nose. Right now as I give an answer she doesn't want to hear, her features sharpen. Her face morphs into our mother's.

No amount of fringy haircuts and nose rings can change the phenotypic similarities.

"If you're not going to come clean, then we'll do it the hard way. What's this?"

She smacks her palm onto the smooth wooden surface of my desk. I'm half a breath away from making another wisecrack when my gaze drops to a set of polaroids that are trapped under her hand. She slides them across the desk toward me.

I take the top one between my fingers for a closer look.

It's a candid photograph of Nyssa and myself, seated in the front row of my BMW. The photo was snapped during conversation as we sit parked against the curb of her apartment building.

I recognize the night immediately—the very first time I'd given her a ride.

Nyssa had been stranded outside Samson's place and I'd happened by.

My right brow arches. I pin Theo with an unimpressed stare. "This is nothing more than me giving a stranded student a ride home. Is there a problem with that? Was I supposed to let her walk home late at night?"

Theo yanks the photo out of my grasp, then replaces it with another. "And this? What the fuck is this?"

The second photograph, unsurprisingly, features me in a baseball cap and shades… as I head into Nyssa's apartment building.

The same building Theo manages.

A cold sweat breaks out onto my skin. I stare at the photo, trying to maintain my poker face while simultaneously thinking up an excuse.

"Or this ," Theo says when seconds go by. She brandishes yet another photograph.

This one is most damning of all.

It's of me outside Nyssa's apartment, the door drawn open as Nyssa smiles up at me, right about to step aside and let me in.

The icy beads of sweat trickling over me disappear for a hotter, more venomous heat. My face fixes into a deep scowl as I spit, "Have you been spying on me, Theo?"

"Don't you dare get self-righteous with me! Tell me what the fuck this is, Theron."

I have several options.

I can throw together some clumsy excuse like I did the day Nyssa's mother showed up at her apartment. I can pretend the photos aren't me or are misleading (particularly the ones where I am disguised in a hat and dark glasses).

Or I can come clean.

Sighing, I toss the photos back toward Theo. "Alright, if you must know, I am seeing her. She is a student of mine… but she's also a consenting adul?—"

"Fuck, Theron! Do you know what could happen if you two get caught? It's against university policy."

"I'm aware."

"Then why the hell would you ever…" she cuts herself off, her nostrils expanding in frustration. She lowers her voice as if we're not alone. "Is it happening again, Theron? I need to fucking know."

A new current of hot anger rushes me. I snap, "You know nothing. You knew nothing then. And you know nothing now."

"I know enough. Everything that's been going on around here lately? Valentine being back?"

"We're done talking. See yourself out."

"What is it this time? What is it about this girl? Nyssa Oliver? Who is she?" Theo stands her ground like she usually does, scrambling to dig around in her purse some more.

I sit back, still scowling, a pulse throbbing in my neck. I'm half a second away from forcibly removing her. My best friend, my sister , or not.

This kind of interrogation won't stand.

"I was sent those photos, you know," she says. She holds up a few more, then throws those at me. "And these. They're from inside her apartment, Theron. Please… please tell me you didn't… you're not…"

Anger fades in a flash. The icy cold sensation returns as I shift in my seat, my gaze on the various photos of Nyssa's private space.

Her bedroom.

Her bathroom.

The little corner in her living room she reserves for her artwork and sculptures.

Peaches dozing on the windowsill.

The last photo is of Nyssa at home, unaware of the fact that she's curled up in a baggy T-shirt and nothing else on her sofa, yet she's being filmed.

"What the fuck is this?!" I growl, popping to my feet. "Who took these?!"

Theo blinks up at me, her brow knitted. "You don't know? I thought?—"

"Leave," I snap. "You have to leave right now, Theo."

"No way. You're clearly involved in some shit again and I refuse?—"

"LEAVE!" I roar so loud, she almost slips out of her chair.

I've never raised my voice like this before.

Not at her.

She's rightfully startled.

And though, as my sister, I'd never hurt her, she sees the side of me she rarely has before—the darker, impassioned, intense man that I am beneath my cold mask of composure.

"Oh god," she sighs, splotches of color on her face and neck. "I wish you'd let me help you."

"You need to go. This is none of your concern."

She goes to collect the photos, but I slam my hand down on the desk.

"Leave them."

Theo tosses several hurt looks over her shoulder on her way out. The second she's gone, I rush toward the door and twist the lock.

What the hell is going on?! Who has been watching us? Who's been… inside Nyssa's apartment to snap such intimate photos of her and her space?

Other than me.

"It wasn't me," I whisper to myself. "I didn't… but… but who?"

I race home, going thirty over the speed limit. My first instinct was to head straight to Nyssa's apartment—she had no classes this afternoon—but then I stopped myself. If someone's been watching us, then that's exactly what they'd expect me to do.

Instead, I head home, firing off several texts to her. She had some kind of social engagement tonight with the likes of the Fairchilds and other well-to-do families in Castlebury. I could certainly show up myself as an Adler, citing I've come in my father's absence.

But I'm much more preoccupied with her apartment and what the hell's going on.

Atticus whines as he chases up the stairs after me. Normally, when I come home early on Fridays, I take him to the park and we play fetch.

"Not today, Atty," I snap. "I'll make it up to you this weekend."

The sunny golden retriever lays down on the floor and lowers his head between his paws, his tail flopping morosely side to side.

I rip off my put-together professor clothing—the crisp button-up shirt and well-fitted pants. The tweed blazer gets tossed onto my bed. I stride straight into the dark mouth that's my closet and emerge only once I'm in my disguise.

A hoodie with jeans and the skeleton mask I'd used the night I followed Nyssa and Jackson Wicker.

Checking my phone, I'm unsurprised to see Nyssa hasn't responded to me.

A bad habit of hers she takes on from time to time. That I'll have to address next time we're in the bedroom…

For now, I try to keep my messages even keeled and nondescript.

I read an article about Chauncey Ives and his artwork. Couldn't help thinking about you…

The sun has set and drizzle's started up by the time I leave the house. My first order of business is figuring out what the hell's going on inside Nyssa's apartment. Who else would've had access to film her in that way?

I might've set up my own means of watching her, but that was because I was looking out for her. I was making sure she wasn't entertaining Wicker and that she wasn't in harm's way. My surveillance might have been intrusive and a violation of trust, but it was warranted.

For Nyssa's own good.

These rationalizations and more play out in my head on the drive over.

Her apartment windows are dark. She's nowhere in sight. I check her iCloud and verify she's en route to the Fairchild's dinner party.

The rest of the five-story apartment building feels quiet and unpopulated.

Slipping my mask on, I use the side entrance instead of the front. Then the stairwell instead of the elevator. I come up on her door with the spare key I've swiped from Theo's office—and she apparently hasn't noticed is missing—and let myself inside.

When Nyssa's gone, she only leaves the dim light above the stove on and a few other strategically placed plug-in lights for Peaches's convenience. I flick on the hallway light to survey the space and then scope out the rest of the apartment.

Peaches's soft little meow comes out of nowhere as the ginger cat makes her first appearance. She stops in front of me with her eyes innocent and bright. I kneel and give her an affectionate scratch under her chin.

Though I have my mask on, she still seems to sense it's me.

"Hey, Peaches. Don't be alarmed. I'm here to find out who's spying on your mom."

She meows in answer, then trots at my side as we explore the apartment together.

I'm fast canvasing each room, picking up photo frames and books in search of any tiny spy cameras. In several of the photos Theo showed me, it seemed like a camera had been positioned directly in front of her sofa.

Retracing the area from the same angle, I gently check around the shelves nailed to the wall, coming up empty.

I move on to the bedroom with my new ginger sidekick, where I do the same. Any time I move an item, I'm careful to place it back in the exact same way. I'm considerate of her space, forgoing the urges to take my time and indulge in smelling her pillowcase or admiring her artwork.

That can wait for a less pressing time.

Right now, it's imperative I find out who has been watching her.

Us.

I finally resort to checking things like the air vents and outlets. I swipe my hand across the blade of the ceiling fan and even remove the thermostat's cover on the wall. The stupid thing refuses to slide back on as easily.

My teeth clench, and I try to muscle the cover back on.

Peaches meows from where she's stationed at my ankles.

"Not now, Peaches," I say. "This damn thing is..."

I go still.

In the loud silence of Nyssa's apartment, there's a clack in the front door. The sound of the metal gears turning from the inside as someone sticks a key in the lock.

Someone's about to come inside Nyssa's apartment.

Someone who's not Nyssa.

"Damn it," I breathe under my breath. I abandon the thermostat, leaving it without the cover, and scan her bedroom for a quick hiding spot.

I'm diving inside her closet and drawing the door closed in the same moment the front door's creaking open.

Heavy footsteps clatter on the wooden floor tiles.

The person's hardly trying to be subtle. Whoever they are, they've explored this space before.

My adrenaline has spun into overdrive. Senses on high alert, my body tenses up and I strain my ears to pick up every sound, gauging where the person is in her apartment.

They move through the living room, then predictably come into the bedroom .

I step further back, trying to disguise myself among the racks of clothes.

The person opens and closes the drawers in her dresser. They sit down on her bed and rummage through her nightstand.

I grit my teeth, barely containing my temper. The sudden, pulsing dark urges demanding I act.

Stay calm. Stay hidden. Stay… shit!

The bed squeaks as the person stands up and lumbers over toward the closet. They grapple with the handle, then jerk it open.

The shadows conceal me enough that I go unseen.

But the intruder isn't so lucky.

Samson Wicker peers into Nyssa's closet like the meaty oaf he is before he gives a grunt and then slams it shut. His heavy footsteps begin to fade.

"What are you doing here, Wicker?" I whisper to myself, my knuckles white and clenched into a fist. "And just why have you been watching us?"