The Third Twin (26 page)

I start to rise out of the booth, but Zane pulls me down. “Relax. He’s just getting some coffee,” he says, indicating the cop, who’s now making jokes with Rose. “They have nothing to do with you.”

The panic is rising in my chest until I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m responsible for this mess. “I don’t have time to just sit here—I have to get moving. I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice desperate. I feel trapped.

Rose walks up to our table, steam rising from the glass coffeepot in her hand. “A warm-up?” she asks.

“No, thanks, Rose.” I pull a crumpled twenty out of my pocket and shove it toward her. “Keep the change.”

She follows my eyes to the cop I’m trying desperately not to stare at. “You kids need a quiet way out of here?” she asks in a hushed tone.

Zane gives her a grateful smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives a barely perceptible nod backward. “Through the kitchen and out the back door by the walk-in freezer. Follow the alley down toward the streetlights. That’ll put you on the corner of Lincoln and Cleveland.”

“Perfect,” Zane says. “I’m parked on Cleveland.”

“Thanks,” I say, following Zane out of the booth and into the unknown.

“Here,” Zane says, reaching behind his seat. He hands me a pair of black flip-flops.

I hold them up. “They’re miles too big.”

He glances down at my dirty bare feet. “Better than what you have right now.”

“True,” I say, slipping them on. “Thanks.”

I watch the cars speed by in the other direction. I don’t have a clue where we’re going, but I want to put as much distance between me and the club as possible. I catch my reflection in the side mirror and marvel at how much has changed since I put the makeup and pendant on so many hours ago. If only I had it to do over—I never would have brought Ava to the club, never would have led her straight to him. And Eli might still be alive.

Reaching behind my head, I unclasp the diamond necklace,
and then hold it in my palm. So many things have come from being Alicia, and not many of them good. Before I have time to think about it, I roll down my window and toss the pendant out, leaving it to be crushed by the cars behind us. It’s way past time.

Zane glances over but doesn’t say anything.

My mouth tastes sour, like a night that’s gone on too long. “Do you have any gum?”

“In the glove compartment.”

I flick it open and root around in the dim light among the parking tickets and expired insurance cards. I spot a bright green package in the corner, and when I lift it, I see something long and black underneath. It’s heavier than I expect as I pull it out, and when I press a tiny silver button on the side, I’m so shocked to see a sharp blade pop out that I almost drop it, nicking my finger in the process. Zane has a knife—a very long, very sharp knife—hidden in his van.

“What the hell?” I demand, holding the blade out toward him.

“What?” Zane says, taking his eyes off the road to glance at me.

“I found a knife in the glove compartment!”

“So? When I surf, I change my clothes in the van, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in sketchy neighborhoods. Everybody should have a switchblade on them. It’s for protection.”

I stare at the shiny metal blade, sharp on both sides and honed to a fine point. The perfect weapon to kill someone
quickly. I feel panicked and sick. I knew Zane was being too nice to me, too helpful. Why after all this time would he want to help unless he’s in on it somehow? It’s not me he wants to help—it’s Ava.

The yellow lines are whizzing by on the asphalt below our tires, but I reach for the door handle anyway. Anywhere is better than sitting here right now.

“Holy shit!” Zane says as the wind rushes in through the open door. He swerves across three lanes of traffic toward the side of the highway. “Shut the door!”

“No!” I say, waiting for him to slow down enough so that I can jump out. “I shouldn’t have called you. You’re in it with her!”

“Now you’re just being crazy,” Zane shouts, easing the van to a stop at the side of the freeway. The jerk as we stop is enough to slam the door shut. “You called my house! I wasn’t anywhere near the club.”

“You can get a house phone forwarded.” If anyone can figure that out, Zane can. I should have known. I unbuckle my seatbelt and lunge for the door in one movement, but Zane grabs my arm and pulls me back into my seat. “Let me go!” I scream. I kick and claw at him, frantic movements that match my thoughts.

“Lexi!” Zane shouts. “Stop! This is crazy!” He grabs both my arms and holds them tight to my sides. We’re both breathing heavily, and the sounds of the cars rushing by inches from the van fills the space around us. “I’m not in on anything! I keep the knife in my van for protection, that’s it.” His brown eyes are panicked as they search my face.

I stare at him, not knowing if I can believe anything he says. It feels like I can’t trust anyone. Ever.

“I’d never hurt you. There’s no way I would do anything to hurt you. All I want to do is help you.” His voice is barely a whisper now as he slowly releases my arms. “You’ve got to believe that.”

“You’re in on it with Ava,” I say, although my conviction is starting to waver. I want to believe him, but it seems like every little thing is stacked against me right now.

This seems to deflate him, and he reaches around me to open the door. “If that’s what you think, then go ahead. Take off. Nothing I can say is going to convince you.”

I look at the darkened ditch that stretches next to the freeway. If I get out here, where am I going to go? I glance up at Zane, but he’s staring out the front window, his jaw sharp in the light of the oncoming cars. I have to trust him—at least for now. “I’m keeping the knife,” I say, slamming the door shut.

“Fine,” Zane says. He grins slightly. “How many serial killers would send their victim straight to the spot where they keep their weapon?”

“Only the stupid ones,” I say, relaxing a little.

Zane glances up at the rearview mirror, the light reflected there illuminating the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Lex? I need you to duck down and slowly move toward the back of the van.”

“Why?” I ask, turning to look.

“Don’t turn around! There’s a cop pulling up behind us. The van’s windows are tinted in back, but they’ll still see your
shadow with the lights on us. Crawl into the back and get under the pile of old towels behind my board. Then don’t move. I’ll take care of everything.”

Without thinking, I do as he says, and am getting to the back just as the van is flooded with bright white light. I pile the damp, musty-smelling towels on top of me, doing my best to make sure everything is covered. My chest is heaving and I concentrate on taking tiny, shallow breaths as I hear a voice outside the van.

“Yes, sir,” Zane says, answering some question. “My phone rang, and I pulled over to answer it.” His voice is amazingly steady. “I know it’s illegal to talk and drive.”

There’s a pause and then more deep rumbling from outside. I realize that I’m still clutching the switchblade in my hand. I drop it, knowing that I’m not going to use it here. If we’re caught, it’s all over.

“Sure,” Zane says. I hear the glove compartment open and him rustling around.

There’s another pause that seems eternal. I’m getting so antsy, it feels like I’m going to jump out of my skin, but then I hear the voice again.

“Thanks,” Zane says. Another pause. “Yes. Definitely, I will.” I close my eyes and stop breathing entirely as he starts the van and pulls slowly into traffic. Neither of us says anything for what seems like hours.

“Stay down for a few more minutes,” Zane calls toward the back. “I want to make sure they’re not following.”

I press my cheek into the floor of the van, bouncing along in the empty back until Zane calls that the coast is clear.

“What did they want?” I ask, climbing back into the passenger seat.

“Just to know why I was stopped on the side of the freeway,” he says, his eyes on the road ahead.

“And you didn’t give me up?”

“Jesus, Lex,” Zane says, shaking his head sadly.

We stay quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until I realize we’re turning onto Zane’s street. He and his dad moved here after the divorce, and I haven’t been here for years. “No,” I say firmly. “Not your house.”

Zane slows and pulls into an open parking spot down the street from his building. “You have other plans?”

“I shouldn’t have called you,” I say, regretting letting him in this far. If he wasn’t involved before, he is now. “If the police catch you helping me, you could go to jail too.”

“I’d be pissed if I found out you were in this much trouble and
didn’t
call me,” he says, opening the car door. The street is empty this late. “Look, Dad’s not going to be home until morning. He’s been taking overnight shifts in the cab. It’s after one—there’s nothing else you can do tonight. At least come in and let’s figure out what our next move should be.” He tosses his keys into the storage space under the armrest and shuts the door.

“You’re leaving your keys?” I ask as I get out and shut my door.

He pulls the surfboard out of the back. “Yeah. I lose the car keys all the time—this way I know where they are. Nobody’s going to steal a fifteen-year-old van. And if they do, they’ll be doing me a favor.”

I follow him onto the sidewalk, feeling like eyes are watching from every curtained window. “What if you get caught? What if the cops find me here?”

Zane looks up at the building. Most of the windows are dark. “How are they going to find out? I’m not on your dad’s radar anymore, and it’ll be tomorrow before they can trace your phone calls.” He heads for his apartment. “And besides, where else are you going to go?”

I hate to admit he’s right, so I don’t say anything, just follow him toward the apartment building. The metal gate to the courtyard clangs behind us and makes me jump, but there’s no other movement as we walk up the concrete steps to the second floor.

“Come on in,” Zane says, unlocking the door and holding it for me.

From the second I walk in, I can tell that only guys live here. Not that it’s messy. It’s just that it’s full of necessities and nothing else—no pictures on the walls, unless you count surfing posters and a calendar from last year. The main decoration is a giant bookcase against one wall that holds years of gold surfing trophies of all sizes, behind a plaid couch that’s probably older than I am. Zane looks around as if seeing the apartment for the first time. “It’s not much,” he admits.

“It’s fine,” I say, grateful to have four relatively safe walls around me for the moment. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Zane puts the surfboard against the wall and takes a few steps into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?” He’s suddenly strangely formal and uncomfortable.

“No.” I look down at my pants. Even though I can’t see it, I know that they’re covered in dried blood. Eli’s blood. I choke back emotion as I picture Eli on the ground—I have to keep it together. If I lose it, I can’t help anyone, not even myself. “Can I … Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Sure!” Zane rushes into the hallway and pulls a faded red towel out of a cupboard. “There’s some shampoo and stuff in there already. Probably not what you’re used to, but it should be okay.”

“I just want to get out of these clothes,” I say. “Do you have some sweats or something I could borrow?”

“Everything’s going to be too big,” Zane says, walking into his bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, and I’m a little shocked to find that his bed is actually made. He moves a heavy duffel bag from in front of the dresser and shoves it into the closet. “Here’s a pair,” he says, pulling some gray sweats out of a drawer. “You can roll these to make them shorter.” He dives back into the drawer and comes up with a blue T-shirt from a Baja surf competition. “This was always too small.”

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the clothes and walking into the bathroom. After I shut the door, I realize that underneath the scent of laundry detergent, the shirt smells like Zane, and before I can stop myself, I bury my face in it and breathe deep. Like surfing and summer. And now safety.

I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, steaming up the small room within seconds. Long after my hair is washed and the dried blood is gone from my legs, I stand under the pounding spray, my normally whirling thoughts a total blank. After putting on Zane’s sweats and shirt, I find a comb
in the drawer and tease the knots out of my wet hair. I look like a wreck, but I feel a little better. Almost like I can handle whatever comes next. I pull my stray hairs out of his comb and am opening the drawer to put it back, when I notice a letter stuffed into the corner of the drawer. I pull it out and see the red-and-black logo of San Diego State.

I glance at the lock on the door. I really shouldn’t be snooping in his stuff, not when he’s been so great about everything. The envelope’s already open, so it’s not like I’m breaking and entering. This is just entering. Or removing. I pull the letter out and scan it quickly.
Dear Zane … pleased to offer you … congratulations.
I look at the letter in disbelief. He got in. And never even mentioned it.