“It was him.” Malaika feels the ripples across her forehead.
“No,” Calan says. “She thinks it was him who had the affair. Or has been having the affair, I don’t know.”
Malaika feels her heart pick up speed. The same thought had occurred to her just now, but she had chalked it off to her overactive imagination.
“She just drove off in a hurry,” Calan continues. “She’s not answering her phone. Hold on.” A pause. “Shoot, my dad’s home. I have to go. I have to tell him.”
“Are you sure?” Malaika brings a hand to her throat. “Maybe you should let them handle this themselves.” There’s a reason Malaika is saying this. A selfish reason.
But Calan isn’t listening. “I have to go, sorry.”
“Calan, wait—” Malaika begins, but it’s too late. He has hung up. “Scheisse!” she curses under her breath and flings her phone on the bed. It bounces off the comforter and lands on the floor, skittering away.
Should she call him back? It would be unbelievably selfish to do so, but…
This is what Malaika’s mind has worked out in the last few seconds: if Gina is right and Nick is the one having an affair with Eva Stone, then that most likely means that Nick is somehow involved in a plan to intentionally harm his own brother. Malaika doesn’t have a big family—it’s always been just her mom—but she can guess what will happen next. The twins’ relationship won’t survive this.
This will destroy the Dewars.
And Malaika will be collateral damage.
When Calan talks to Bobby, her name will come up. It might have already, when Calan showed Gina the video. Nick and Alice won’t forgive her role in exposing Nick—they’ll fire her. Unless she can stop the bleeding, somehow. Malaika feels selfish, worrying about her job security when Calan’s family is in the middle of what is clearly a very messed-up web of lies. But she needs this job.
Please don’t tell anyone I was with you today.
She waits for a reply, but none comes. Will Calan resent her self-centeredness? Their friendship is a genuine one—she admires Calan’s talent and kind heart—but he is still a boy. A sheltered boy with a bright future who isn’t wired to think of the consequences that their detective work will have on Malaika’s life—not until it’s too late.
She tries calling him, but he doesn’t pick up. She stares at her phone, willing Calan to call her back. But he doesn’t.
She doesn’t think about her next move. Her fingers move of their own volition, as if controlled by someone else. She makes the call.
“How’s my favorite Swiss?” Andy says, answering the phone.
“Andy, how are you?” She sounds apprehensive, tense.
“I’m better now that you called. What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if you knew of any work.”
When he first approached her, Andy had promised her two jobs a week. According to her initial calculations, she would have been able to reach her goal in eight weeks. But so far, she has only gone out with two men.
“Got a taste for it, have you?” Andy laughs.
“I’m just looking to make some more money.” She almost adds, “I may be out of a job,” but decides against it.
“Yeah, I wish I could help you, but the market for single losers looking for platonic company isn’t that big.”
“You had said I’d have two jobs a week.”
“Up to two jobs a week,” Andy corrects her. “Like I said, most guys are looking for a little more action and you’re not the only girl on my guy’s list.”
She sighs. “If you hear anything, will you let me know?”
“Sure thing,” he says. “But you’re still talking about gigs that don’t actually involve any, you know…”
“Yes, absolutely,” she says. “Just pretending to be a date or girlfriend.”
“Are you sure? That guy I mentioned is still really interested in you. He’d want the girlfriend experience.”
A beat. “Does that involve sex?”
“Of course.”
“Then no.”
“OK then. It’s tough out there, but I’ll keep my ears open. If you were open to at least some physical contact—”
“I’m not.”
Andy laughs again, as if Malaika has made a joke. She wants to punch his throat, though she isn’t sure why. Andy is being honest with her. Straightforward. “Got it. It’s a shame, because it pays a lot more. But I respect your boundaries.”
Boundaries. There’s that American word again. Malaika is beginning to hate her boundaries. Why is she so uptight? Why can’t she be freer, cooler?
Malaika feels a sour taste in her mouth as she ends the call.
Forty-Six
Gina
Friday, November 1st
Eva Stone’s building is a mammoth construction on West 23rd Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenue. Finding her address hadn’t been hard—Eva’s personal information was listed in the dreaded report. Gina pushes through the heavy revolving doors and heads straight to the elevators, keeping her gaze confident and unwavering. It works: the doorman barely glances in her direction.
The hall is narrow and brightly lit, filled with cookie-cutter doors—Unit 914 is no exception. This is New York City living: overpriced shoeboxes rented for thousands of dollars. Gina doesn’t miss it at all.
She raps her knuckles on the door, her heart matching the beat of her hand. She isn’t sure what to expect. The drive from Alma had given her plenty of time to come up with a plan, but she has none. She is a woman acting on instinct alone.
Seconds later, the door opens. Gina is now face to face with the woman who, for the past weeks, has upended her life.
“Do you know who I am?” Gina asks. Her throat is dry, her palms are sweaty—but her tone is remarkably calm.
Eva squints her large, dark eyes ever so slightly. Gina catches herself admiring her eyebrows: dark and full and perfectly shaped.
“I’m sorry, I—” Eva stops herself short. Her eyes flicker with recognition. Recognition and fear.
“You do,” Gina says.
The door slams shut. Gina knocks again. She hears movement inside—the creaking sound of another
