Page 29 of The Perfect Accomplice

“Actually, that would be great,” he said. “I finished my last bottle about an hour ago and I don’t have another one.”

“Not a problem,” she said, motioning for him to come in and closing the door after him. “Besides, it looks like you could use a little break from the elements. You’re shivering.”

“I have to confess,” he said, turning to face her as they walked down the hall, “I’m not shivering because of the cold. I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” Chloe asked. “You’re one of the most chill people I know.”

In fact, now that she thought about she couldn’t remember him ever seeming ill at ease.

He shook his head, looking awkward. “It’s just that I have to do something soon and I’m starting to have second thoughts about it, like maybe I should reconsider whether it’s really worth it.”

Chloe smiled. “I don’t know what this ‘something’ is, but in general, I think it’s a good idea to go for it. You know, try to push past your fears. I apologize if this is overstepping, but may I ask if this is related to a woman?”

“It is, actually,” he answered bashfully.

“Exciting,” she said as they made their way through the living room toward the kitchen. “Do I know her?”

“That’s the thing,” he said, pausing for several seconds before continuing. “It’s you.”

Chloe, about to open the kitchen door, stopped in her tracks. Behind the door, Missy yapped excitedly, sensing a visitor on the other side.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Chloe said as diplomatically as she could, “but you should know, you’re talking to maybe the most happily married woman in L.A. Sorry if that bursts your bubble.”

He smiled back at her, almost apologetically.

“You misunderstand,” he said slowly. “I’m not confessing a crush. That’s not what I meant that I have to do.”

It was only then that she noticed what he was gripping tightly in both hands. Before she could do or say anything, he had swung it around her neck. He began to twist and squeeze it as she stumbled back, falling to the floor. He climbed on top of her, pulling at the ends, his knuckles white from the effort.

Chloe gasped, trying to catch her breath, but no air could get in. She stared up at his eyes, so warm earlier, now full of frenzied rage. Her vision began to blur as her arms, batting futilely at his chest, grew weak.

Even though Missy was a mere few feet away, only separated from them by a door, her yelps sounded like they were coming from a great distance. And then Chloe couldn’t hear them at all.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hannah approached the Omega Sigma fraternity house with trepidation.

It was 9:15, late enough for some people to be out partying on a Thursday night but not so deep into the evening that things had started to get raucous. The last—and only—time she’d been to this place, there had been a huge, raging party going on, with a line of people waiting to get in. But tonight she was able to simply walk up to the pleasantly modern if antiseptic three-story structure and ring the doorbell.

As she waited, she could hear the sounds of The Steve Miller Band's "Take the Money and Run" playing inside. It wasn't blasting too loud, but she found it hard to imagine anyone inside could concentrate. She also noted with some amusement that this wasn't the same kind of music they'd played at that party two weeks ago. That night, it had been Dua Lipa and Olivia Rodrigo. But with no coeds to entertain, these guys had apparently retreated to the comfortable world of 1970s classic rock.

For a moment, she considered bailing. This place made her uncomfortable, and she had no obligation to this Reggie Calderone person. But she knew she wouldn't do it. If this guy had really been wronged in some way, she knew she had a better chance of helping than most folks.

And she had to admit, there was something exciting about possibly taking on an investigation, even if it just involved college kids. It scratched the itch that was constantly irritating her, making her look for thrills in otherwise less altruistic ways.

The door opened and she was face to face with a scruffy, curly-haired guy with a weeks’ worth of unkempt stubble, wearing a plaid work shirt. “Who are you here for?” he asked chipperly.

“I’m supposed to meet Finn Anderton,” she said, far more reserved than her greeter.

“Okay, come on in. I think he’s in the kitchen,” he said, opening the door before turning and screaming, “Hey Finn, visitor!”

“Thanks,” she said, stepping inside.

“Sure,” he said. “He should be up in a minute.”

Instead of waiting with her, the guy headed over to one of the three ratty living room couches spread out in a “U” formation around the giant screen TV showing an NBA game. He plopped down next to another guy and immediately started complaining about how the Nuggets were totally going to choke.

"Hey, Hannah," someone called out, pulling her attention away from the living room scene. It was Finn coming up the stairs from what she assumed was the kitchen. He was wearing faded jeans and a gray school sweatshirt. Unlike this morning, his blond hair was brushed, though it still looked casually mussed, as if he couldn't be bothered to spend the time on it. In his hand was a bag of cookies.

---