Page 42 of His to Haunt

And who is she referring to? The mystery phantom or Zand? Or are they one and the same? What does she mean by phantom?

Then there is the question of the legality of selling blood and organs, or blorgans as Rachel referred to it. This must be the dark secret she was referring to. Her dad was making money on the side by selling human remains, the byproduct of his profession. Rachel was sworn to secrecy, even threatened.

You tell, you die.Threatened by her own father?

Beyond that, she was interested in exploring the family art collection without permission. Secrets to be discovered. An Egyptian riddle. Not sure what this has to do with the family side business, if anything.

I suppose it’s just another thing that they were keeping from her that she was curious about. Maybe the art collection is worth a lot of money. She said in her letter that some of the pieces are complicated and not for sale and that I would understand whatshe meant after going through her things. Guess I haven’t gotten far enough yet, let alone found the missing key to the gallery.

I sifted through a lot of technical notes relating to her work before being interrupted by Mom over the leaking roof situation, which occurs any time it so much as drizzles outside. After helping with pot placement and promising to call that guy, Jay, again, who was recommended by Stacy, I tended to still-sick Kimmie.

I’ve never seen her so hung-over before, breaking out in a cold sweat, and her complexion utterly pale. She said she thought it was Zand’s wine that did her in, that it made her dizzy. She also said something odd: that the wine tasted like blood. But she was just drunk.

Besides, if it truly tasted like blood, why did she suck down half the bottle so quickly rather than spit it out?

It took a whole day and night before I nursed her back to health. Just in time to see her off, wishing we could have had more time together and regretting wasting it on men and hangovers.

I have no interest in seeing Ritter or Silas ever again. Especially considering how Zand feels about them. But they must live nearby, so running into them when I’m out doing errands is possible.

Zand’s comment that they aren’t my friends and his cryptic words to Silas about not seeing anything after returning from the basement, then Sila’s response that this was by accident and that he wasn’t in Zand’s shit—i.e. here snooping—is strange food for thought.

Also, the weird names he mentioned. Devika? Templar? The way he threatened Silas, saying they would hear about this.

Who are they? His parents?

I sigh, heading to the closet.

Mostly, it’s my sister’s words that haunt me as I pluck my clothes from the hangers, trying to switch my brain into work mode. Enough, Leena! No more thinking for now.

I’m happy with my work outfit, at least. It’s something I splurged on to dress to impress and give no indication of how my life really is.

My phone beeps and I grab it from the dresser, reading a message from Kimmie.

Yes, I’m feeling fine. Better than ever! Stop worrying. Luv u.

Luv u too,I text back.

I stand in the mirror, pulling on a pair of black fitted dress slacks and a burgundy silk blouse, V-neck in the front and pleated in the back. Burgundy is my second favorite color after black, and the silk feels light and cool to the touch. But by the time I’m done with my hair and makeup, the blouse is as warm and natural as my skin.

I throw on a pair of new black wedges with an ankle strap and grab my leather tote on the way out the door, gladly ready to spend the day away from this place. But not before answering a pressing text message.

Z: You were supposed to come last night, Leena.

Kimmie was sick. I’ll be back today around 3.

Z: Be at my place by five, and I’ll provide dinner. Wear black lace.

Dark Triad

Leena

Thirty minutes North, in San Francisco proper, the modern rectangular building with glass walls overlooks the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. The staff inside matches the impeccable modern style of the building. This isn’t a community clinic but one where clients pay top dollar to be seen.

The office of Hodge’s Psychology and Associates feels far removed from Moonvine as I tour the facility and meet the staff and a few of the doctors who are in today.

Dr. Sherwin has me in her immaculate office for a chat. She wears a grey business pantsuit, her red hair tied into a neat bun, with dark-framed glasses over her eyes. She smiles, cocking her head at me.

“So, Leena, are you aware that California tops the U.S. states with the highest occurrence of psychopaths?”

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