Page 35 of Ice-Cold Obsession

He hesitates. His eyes lower to the letter again, and he’s quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. A girl died last year. But it was suicide.”

My stomach tightens, but I keep my face neutral. “Oh no. What happened? Were you friends?”

“More like acquaintances. We worked together on a project.”

A project? He’s lying. Carla didn’t have any classes with him. I know it because I checked her schedule more times than I can count. I went through every syllabus, every group assignment list, and every campus event roster. They never worked on anything together.

“What project?” I ask.

“I don’t remember.”

He’s definitely hiding something. His voice is too flat, but I have to be careful, or he’ll figure out I knew Carla.

“Do you remember her name?” I ask.

“Carla,” he says quietly.

Hearing him say her name out loud makes my throat constrict. I swallow hard. “How did you find out? About her dying?”

“Someone told me. I don’t remember who.” He folds the letter and hands it back to me. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to her. But whoever sent you this is just trying to scare you. It has nothing to do with me.”

“But what if it does? What if someone thinks you had something to do with it?”

“I didn’t.” His voice is firm now. “I barely knew her. We talked a few times, worked on some project I can’t even remember, and then she was just gone. That’s it.”

I stare at him, trying to read his expression. He looks sincere, but I know better. He has to be lying.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “But I’m actually scared. The whole thing is creepy.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “I’ll figure out who sent it. Don’t worry.”

I nod, but before I can respond, I hear the whir of wheels. An e-scooter barrels toward us way too fast. Gabriel grabs my arm and yanks me out of the way, but my ankle twists under me as I stumble. Pain shoots up my leg.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Are you okay?”

I try to put weight on my ankle and wince. “I think I sprained it.”

“Let me see.”

“No, I’m fine. I just need to—”

“Scarlett.” He crouches in front of me. “Let me help.”

Before I can argue, he scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing.

“Put me down. I can walk.”

“Not on that ankle, you can’t.”

I want to protest, but people are starting to stare. A few of them pull out their phones, and I realize they’re taking pictures. Of course they are. Gabriel carrying some girl across the campus is exactly the kind of thing that people love to gossip about. This is probably going to be all over social media within an hour.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Health center. You need to get that looked at.”

I don’t argue. Instead, I let him carry me, his arms steady and strong around me. People whisper as we pass, and I catch fragments of their conversations.

“Is that Gabriel?”