Page 75 of The Matchmaker

I shake my head.

“There you go,” she says. “And they did find GHB in your system, didn’t they? You obviously didn’t inject yourself with that, right? GHB can cause memory loss. Whoever gave it to you wanted to knock you out and make sure you wouldn’t remember.”

But will this be enough for them to back off? They may be more careful with flinging accusations, but that’s not the same as moving on. They’re probably digging as we speak, just digging more quietly. And they’re digging because someone wants them to. Whoever did this knew the type of bracelet I had and slipped medication into my purse. They orchestrated my accident. And hurting me wasn’t the only objective. They’re trying to get me to go down for what happened to Lena and Tanvir.

“Any guesses on what happened with the car crash?” she asks.

“Borzu says the car was remotely attacked. Modern cars arebasically giant smartphones,” I tell her. “There have been reports of windshield-wiper hacks to prank people, ditto for blasting music…. Hackers can even mess with brakes remotely.”

“Are you still keeping tabs on Logan? I looked him up—it’s hard to imagine he’s behind it, but people can have sides to them we’ll never fully understand.”

“He’s in New York at the moment.”

“Not that those pills are yours,” Amara says, “but even if they were, you wouldn’t be the only one in our fine city with a bottle of oxy on their person. You have an alibi for the day Lena and Tanvir were kidnapped. Your face is on your aunt’s security camera at the exact same time they were taken.”

I look out the window. From this vantage point, the trees dotting the concrete walkways below look like stalks of broccoli. “It’s killing me that whoever is behind this is out there somewhere, watching this circus unfold.”

“It’s enraging. I wish I could help you more directly, but luckily, I can do the next best thing and get you some amazing recommendations. The lawyer I connected Darcy with is top-notch. And, hey, I know you got your kick-ass team for investigating, but we have great private investigators we contract with too. If you want more eyes on this, or anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll help you however I can.”

“It helps to talk everything through with you,” I tell her. “I appreciate you taking an hour out of your billable day for me.”

“Anytime. Let’s hope they catch the fucker behind this as soon as possible.”

—

Darcy and Genevieve are glued to Borzu’s desktop when I get to the office later that day. This is becoming an all-too-familiar sight.

“Any updates?” I ask.

They swivel toward me—bleary-eyed as though they’ve done nothing but stare at the screen until I arrived. Which, perhaps, is true.

“Nura, thank God you’re okay.” Darcy wraps me in a tight embrace. I wince. My ribs are still incredibly tender. The discharging doctor offered me pain medication, but after the accusations hurled my way by the police officers, I don’t even want to touch an Advil.

“Cracked rib. Mild concussion,” I tell them. “The car is totaled. But it could have been much worse. Thank you for cat sitting while I was in the hospital, Darcy. And thanks for sorting out the bodyguard, Genevieve.”

“You were long overdue for some personal security,” says Genevieve. “I should’ve gotten on that way sooner.”

“We thought the threat was over,” I tell her.

“Well, now you have a second set of eyes. And they’re the best of the best.”

Genevieve glances at Fiona, who’s standing outside the office door, leaning against the gray brick wall, her cat-eye sunglasses concealing her watchful gaze.

“Did the police have any insights?” Borzu asks.

“At best, they think I’m an addict who veered off the road. At worst, they think I was in cahoots with Farhan.”

“Could Farhan’s father be behind all of this?” Darcy asks. “He’s got limitless resources. He could easily have people do his bidding for him from afar.”

“I doubt it,” Borzu says. “I haven’t seen any movement to indicate anything’s awry. He’s not exactly smart about encryption with the things he gets up to. If he was behind this, I’d know.”

“Logan feels more likely to be the culprit than Basit. He turned up at thewedding,” I tell them. “Funny how trouble follows him. He was at Avani’s wedding when the faked papers were slipped into her dressing room. He was in town when someone stole Gertie. Now he’s at a wedding where my car was tampered with?”

“There’s no such thing as coincidences,” Darcy says grimly.

“But his phone pinged him at the wedding at the time of the accident,” says Borzu.

“What difference does that make? He could’ve hacked in remotely from the wedding if he wanted to. Or paid someone to sabotage Nura, no?” Darcy asks.

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