Page 60 of Uncontrolled

I set the can on the end table. This isn’t like her, the nerves. “Talia, what’s going on?”

She fiddles with the necklace she’s wearing, sliding a tiny blue stone on a delicate chain of silver. “I did a thing. I’m not proud of it. Something just never sat right with me when it came to Ploy.”

“Christopher,” I correct, the name cracking out of me.

“Yeah,” she says quickly, as if what she said doesn’t matter. I’m about to lay into her but her expression stops me short. “At the gym, you mentioned he was acting strange.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It was a split second of doubt. Probably has to do with you constantly putting it into my head that my boyfriend is out to get me.”

She winces. “I’ve been following him, Allie. For a few days.”

“You what now?” It’s such a crappy thing for her to admit it takes a second before my rage kicks in full throttle. “You’re obsessed with him! What you’re doing is so far past rational behavior I can’t even—”

“Allie!” she yells, cutting me off. “You said you’re not giving him up. I needed to prove to myself we can trust him.” She pauses. “He knows too much.”

“I suppose saving your life doesn’t cut him any slack?” I’m over it. Done. Crossing my arms over my chest, I face her. “Well, have you stalked him to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“And?” At the least, I expect an apology. “And?” I say again.

I don’t understand why she can’t see him how I see him. I wish for one instant she could feel what I feel, the safety of knowing he’s close, the touch of him calming the constant anxiety of my existence.

She’s been my best friend for more years than she hasn’t. Every important event in my life, and Talia’s in the memory, too. Now, I’m going to lose her to jealousy over the only person who means as much to me as she does. “Don’t ask me to choose,” I warn.

But Talia doesn’t look mad. She looks heartbroken. Maybe she knows how this will end.

“He studied those pictures on my wall and swore he never set eyes on those hunters.” There’s a careful edge to her voice I don’t like, as if I’m fragile. “Ploy was with them,” she says. “Today. Just now.” She pauses as if prepared for a blow before her fingers dig into her pocket. “I took pictures.”

“Fine,” I say, reluctantly. “Show me.” Whatever she thinks she saw, it rattled her. The sooner we clear this up, the better.

She unlocks her phone and holds it out. Another flick of her finger and I’m staring at the headshots and closeups of several hunters we saw displayed on the wall at her apartment. She goes through them one by one, but I don’t need to commit them to memory to recognize them when she moves on to the first picture she apparently took today.

They’re in a group, downtown. I see the stream in the background, the black wrought-iron railing to keep anyone from tumbling into it, the benches under the live oaks. But no Christopher.

“He’s not even—”

Except in the next shot, he is there, on one of those benches, sharing it with the pretty girl with her unnaturally red hair. Her fingers grasp a fold of cash. She’s passing it to Christopher. In the following picture, the handoff has already happened. The girl lounges, sprawled out beside him, utterly at ease.

“I’m not sure if it’s information they’re paying him for or—”

She keeps scrolling, hesitating on each snap. I was expecting blurred shots. Indistinguishable shadows. Instead, there’s Christopher, angled toward the camera enough that there’s no mistaking him for anyone else. No mistaking the bright red hair of the female hunter beside him, the same girl on Talia’s wall.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper, but the last word chokes into silence. This can’t be right. It has to be a trick. Photoshop. How desperate is Talia to get him out of my life? I glance up at her to ask.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she moves her finger across the screen. A new picture. In this one, he’s got an arm around a younger girl of about thirteen. His chin rests on the crown of her head, comfortable.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and she scrolls to another. A female with black hair and drawn-on eyebrows is leaning against the familiar fence. Christopher’s yelling at a guy with muscles cording his neck. They’re not quite fighting, though. None of the others seem alarmed.

Talia’s opening her mouth to talk again when the first laugh bubbles from my throat. I can’t help it. The sound is maniacal, building, and I wonder if she’s right to look a little afraid which makes me laugh harder.

She says my name, this time all caution. I lean my palms on my knees as I fight for control.

“Allie?” Talia says. “You need to hear the rest.”

“There’s more?” Those pictures don’t lie. He was with them. Why would he be with them? I think of the money he offered me toward rent. The pride in his eyes. Nothing shown indicates he’s in danger or they’re forcing information from him.

“I didn’t want to get too close in case he saw me, but they were louder when they started arguing.” Every word that leaves her mouth makes this whole thing worse.

---