Page 119 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
Tabby—the fierce, indomitable Tabby—blanches to the color of a bedsheet. “She told you who she really is?”
“Not in so many words. But she admitted it when I confronted her.” I think for a moment, and then correct myself. “Actually she didn’t admit it, but she didn’t deny it, either.”
When Tabby and Darcy both give me the same bug-eyed look, I say impatiently, “Look, the bottom line is that I figured out she was Polaroid, I confronted her about it after showing her a bunch of my own skeletons so she’d feel secure that she could trust me, we agreed on marriage, and then this.” I point to the note in Darcy’s hands. “And I need to know where she might have gone, so I can go after her and fix this. Which is why I’m here—because I assume you two are my best chance at figuring out where she went. I would’ve come sooner, but the St. Thomas police held me up; I had to cooperate with the investigation there. I got back to New York only yesterday, and I spent most of the day with the NYPD.”
There follows a silence so wide and cavernous I can hear my own heart beating. Then Tabby says hollowly, “Polaroid.”
“Yeah,” interrupts Connor with a wry shake of his head. “Blew my fuckin’ mind, too. Never woulda thought a skirt could pull off the shit she pulled off. Un-fuckin’-believable.”
Tabby’s face goes from white to red. The look she gives Connor should melt him into a puddle, but he remains unscathed, just shaking his head at the impossibility of it all.
An obviously befuddled Darcy asks, “Who’s Polaroid?”
I can tell Tabby knows, but maybe Victoria didn’t disclose quite as much to Darcy as she did to her assistant. It makes sense, I suppose; Tabby was with Victoria every day, all day, running her schedule, basically running her entire life. She’d mentioned once that Tabby was her right hand, the support she couldn’t live without. Tabby must know where all the figurative bodies are buried.
In a casual tone at direct odds with the sharp look in his eyes, Connor asks Darcy, “You’ve never heard that name before?”
Darcy opens her mouth, but Tabby cuts her off before she can utter a word.
“Victoria didn’t tell her about Polaroid, or about her past. She doesn’t know anything.” She cuts Darcy a warning look. “Isn’t that right, Darcy?”
Darcy carefully sets the ice cream carton on the table. Staring right at it, she nods. “Yep. I mean, nope. I don’t know anything. We weren’t even really that close.”
Connor looks at Tabby, then at Darcy, and then chuckles. “Ladies, that’s just about the shittiest lie-telling I’ve ever seen.”
“Agreed,” I snap. “Somebody better start telling me what the hell is going on, or I’ll get the police in here to get the story for me.”
Tabby says coldly, “We’ve both already been interviewed by the police. And no, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t tell them about Polaroid. Did you?”
“Of course not! I want to protect her, not put her in jail!”
Her lips twist. “That’s clearly not what she thought, evidenced by that line in her letter, ‘any other institution.’ She was obviously talking about prison.” Her look darkens. “Or a hospital.”
She’s glaring at me with such disgust, such open hostility, I’m taken aback. “I didn’t hurt her, or threaten to hurt her! I only wanted to make her happy—”
Tabby leaps to her feet. “Make her happy? You drove her to the edge and pushed her off, you fucking moron!” she shouts. “Whatever you said to her that night forced her to do this! And now we’ll never see her again—thanks to you!”
That hurts, all of it, mainly because I’ve been thinking the same thing. I never would have disclosed Victoria’s real identity to the police or anyone else, but the way I worded it…thinking back, I realize my attempt at trying to convince Victoria to marry me was an absolute fucking disaster. Never in a million years did I think she’d do something like this. Worst case scenario, I thought she’d refuse me and call my bluff, and I’d run home with my tail between my legs.
I’m such a dick. And Tabby sees right through me.
I try to deny it anyway. “We don’t know that we’ll never see her again. She could just be spooked, lying low—”
“She’s not coming back,” Tabby interrupts bitterly. “She’d never have accessed the bug-out bag if she planned on coming back. I checked; it’s gone. And so is she. For good.”
Now I’m confused. “What’s a bug-out bag?”
Connor says, “A portable kit with supplies, typically used for short-term survival situations when you have to leave an unsafe area due to disasters. Earthquakes, terrorist attacks, the outbreak of war, that kind of thing.”
He and Tabby lock eyes. He adds softly, “In this particular bag, I’d guess we’re looking at new identity papers, passport under a different name, and lots and lots of cash. Right, sweet cheeks?”
Darcy groans. “Oh Lord, another fake name? That poor thing!”
The three of us look at her, Connor and I with eagle-eyed interest, Tabby with a death glare.
When Darcy realizes her mistake, she winces. “Oops.”
I whisper, “Her real name isn’t Victoria Price?”
