Page 84 of Burn Bright

“I don’t know, dude,” Tom whispers, his voice getting softer. “She ran out of the buildingcrying.That’s all I saw.”

“Likewise,” Eliot says. “They weren’t tears of joy either.”

My stomach knots, and while I talk, I send her a text, asking where she is. “What was she running away from?”

Beckett takes a deep, readying breath. “She was in the parlor with Charlie before she ran out. He won’t tell me what happened.” He glares at the back of Charlie’s headrest, and I wonder if this has been a point of contention.

I lean forward, prepared to stick my head between the driver and passenger seat to strangle my eldest brother. “So you did do something,” I accuse as both Eliot and Beckett pull me back against the seat.

Of my brothers, I’m the most hot-tempered, and that’s very blatant tonight. Hockey used to help—I blew off a lot of steam on the ice. I just let all the tension go.

That outlet is gone, and my fuse has been cut shorter.

“I did nothing.” Charlie rotates in his seat to face us. “And like I told Beckett, I’m not in the mood to recount the events of tonight. She’s your so-called friend. If she wants to tell you, she can. Otherwise, I guess we’ll never know what happened in the Library.”

“I bet it was Professor Plum with a candlestick,” Eliot quips. “That purple bastard.” His attempt at eradicating the animosity falls flat with me. Charlie cracks a smile though, and it ramps up my festering anger even more.

I’m hanging on to something he said.So-calledfriend. Charlie doesn’t mince words. He says exactly what he means.

“She’s my friend,” I tell him. “There’s nothingso-calledabout it, Charlie.”

“Whatever you say.” He flips on the radio. Soft pop fills the car, and I can’t stop thinking about how Charlie didn’t even tellBeckettwhat went down. Why? Who the hell is he protecting? I’d say himself, but Charlie has never cared about being painted as a villain.

He’s never given a shit what people think about him.

I rest my forearms on my thighs, feeling winded. I’m not sure interrogating Charlie will get me anywhere. I just need to find her.

Beckett has a hand on my back. It’s calming, and I take a few deeper breaths.I’ll find her, I assure myself.

I’ll find her. Because I’m not stopping until I do.

No one talks the rest of the way. Mostly so Tom quits interjecting. We help save his voice for him, and when Oscar pulls up next to the apartment building, I’m already unclipping my seatbelt before he even brakes.

“All of you stay here,” I tell them as Eliot unbuckles too.

He reluctantly nods. “As you wish.”

Beckett locks eyes with me. “Let us know if you find her.”

“Yeah, I will.” The car rolls to a dead-stop, and as I grab the handle, Oscar says, “Wait for your bodyguard. The other vehicle is stuck at a red light.”

I don’t have time to wait. Shaking my head, I open the door.

“Ben!” Oscar yells, and I just barely hear him mutter, “Novak is going to love this,” before I launch myself toward the brickapartment complex. It’s about a third the size of the luxury high-rise I’m living at. Chunky AC units stick out from windows, and the fire escape looks rusted.

Less than a minute later, I’m inside the echoey building and waiting for an elevator. I’m so focused that it takes me a second to realize Charlie has strolled up next to me. Oscar lingers behind, speaking hushed in a mic at his collar.

I frown at my brother. “I told you to stay in the car.”

“And I didn’t. Whoops.” His sarcasm surprisingly doesn’t grate on me. I have a feeling he jumped out of the car so Oscar could follow. So I could have security by proxy just being around him. Still, he’s being eyed by a young white woman who grabs mail from a brass 92 box. I figure she’s trying to place where she knows Charlie from.

He notices her, then holds out his hand to me. “Give me your hat.”

I pull my baseball cap out of my back pocket and unfold it into his hand.

Putting it on, he dips the brim down over his eyes. It’s not a great disguise, but not the worst either. I study him. How he angles his body but strangely braces more weight on his right leg—the one he’s had surgery on. And are his knees wet?

Since he wears black pants, I can’t tell exactly, but glass had been scattered all over the parlor, so… “Are you bleeding?”