Page 32 of Cross My Heart

If I’d seen the signs sooner… If Wren had opened up… Maybe I could have found a way to pull her back from the edge…

No. I stop myself, before I can spiral into the familiar abyss. ‘What ifs’ won’t lead me anywhere now. I’m not to blame for this, and neither is Wren. Whoever took her, hurt her, they’re the one who needs to pay.

And I’m going to find them, no matter what.

I’m on the right path here. If Lara is right, and those words are a motto, perhaps I’m not just looking for some random evil monster, maybe it’s bigger than that. Because it’s clear that whoever attacked Wren wasn’t just some drunk frat boy. It was organized. The isolated cell, the drugs slipped into her drink, the way she was kept there—and then carefully returned to her student rooms without a shred of evidence to track the perpetrators down.

Whoever did it had resources. Planning. Connections.

Could it have been some kind of secret society? I feel a chill, remembering Wren’s odd reading list. Did she have the same suspicions, too? Her attack could have been a hazing, or initiation ritual. Or just some sick game those bastards enjoy to pass the time—no matter what the cost. And then there’s the mysterious note with that motto. Somebody sent it to me for a reason. They wanted me to know those words. To look in a new direction.

I can’t be sure of anything just yet. All I have are wild theories and assumptions. But there are clues hidden here somewhere, I can feel it in my bones.

I finally makemy way back to Paddington and take the train to Oxford. The sky darkens with every passing mile, and by the time I step out of the station, it’s raining hard, a torrential downpour splattering the High Street and sending shoppers fleeing for cover.

Ashford College is a couple of miles away, but there’s a soggy announcement pinned to the bus stop announcing that services have been suspended. It looks like I have no choice but to walk.Damn. I wish I’d worn a waterproof jacket; my woolen coat and sweatshirt offer zero protection from the rain, and I haven’t even made it to the end of the block before I’m soaked through. My budget doesn’t stretch to a cab, not after that trip back from the country hotel, so there’s no option but to trudge determinedly through the rain, trying my best to ignore the cold water trickling under my collar and running down the back of my spine.

The sound of a car horn breaks through my miserable hike. A car has slowed at the curb beside me. It’s a sleek, silver sporty number.

I pull my soaked coat tighter around me and walk faster.

The car follows, flashing its headlights at me.

Shit. I’m just about to try and cross the street to get away from them, when the window closest to me rolls down, revealing Saint behind the wheel, looking annoyingly warm and dry—and handsome. His blue eyes twinkle at me, amusement clear on his chiseled face.

“You know, tryouts for the swim team were last week,” he jokes, as I squelch along.

“Thanks for the tip,” I say, cursing the fact he looks so damn handsome. Already, I feel that kick of adrenaline that sparks whenever he’s around, my mind going back to the illicit moment we shared at the party—

SPLASH.

I distractedly step straight into a puddle. Cold water flies up, soaking my jeans all the way to my knees. I wince. “Any other advice, or are you just out enjoying a pleasant drive?”

He chuckles. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to college.”

“No thanks,” I answer automatically, still walking.

Saint sighs, keeping the car in pace with me—despite the vehicle honking angrily behind him. “You’re soaked through. Come on, it’s a two-minute drive, not a date.”

“I’m fine,” I insist stubbornly. My teeth may be chattering from the cold, but something tells me that getting in the car with this man might be a choice I can’t take back.

And won’t want to.

Suddenly, Saint angles the car, mounting the curb and driving straight onto the sidewalk in front of me to block my path.

“Are you crazy?” I exclaim, shocked, but Saint just reaches over and opens the passenger door, fixing me with an exasperated look.

“Get in the damn car, Tessa.”

A shiver rolls down my spine—and it has nothing to do with the rain.Damn. He says my name like we’re already something, fondness mixed with irritation, as if we’ve had this fight a hundred times.

I hate to admit, I like the way it sounds.

It is raining, after all. And it’s just a friendly ride…

Saint waits there behind the wheel, exasperated, so finally, I give in to temptation, and get in the car.

Chapter11

---