Page 35

THIRTY-FOUR

NATALIE

This will cost me a job and money and might put me in danger, but I can’t watch another person being poisoned.

I dart to the locker, set down the tray with drinks, and retrieve my phone. I have to get help for the girl.

Hands trembling, I dial Detective Dupin’s number.

She picks up right away. “Detective Dupin.”

“Hello? Detective? It’s Natalie Olsen from the hospital. It’s about my friend Cara, the unconscious girl from the bus stop,” I blurt as fast as I can and, phone pressed to my ear, dash toward the library.

“Yes, Miss Olsen. How can I help you?” Detective Dupin rasps.

Dave is still in the hallway, talking to someone through the earpiece. He makes a move to stop me, but I raise my phone in front of me.

“Emergency! Step aside!” I blurt, registering his wide-eyed confusion. While he hesitates for a second, I slip past him, dart into the library, lock the door, and press my back to it.

“Miss Olsen?” the detective repeats.

The first thing I see is the blondie’s motionless body splayed in the armchair, her limp arms hanging down the sides, chin resting on her chest.

Julien, down on one knee, has his fingers on her neck, checking her pulse. Right away, his startled eyes dart to me, then shift to my phone.

“I’m at Geoffrey Rosenberg’s house,” I blurt into the phone as Julien shoots up to his feet. “I’m here because?—”

Julien crosses the distance between us in several quick strides and knocks the phone out of my hand. In a split second, his arm is around me, restraining me from behind, his other hand tightly covering my mouth.

I try to thrash and scream, but all that comes out of my mouth is a low, inarticulate sound as Julien’s arm holds me tightly against his hard body.

“Be. Quiet,” he whispers in a voice laced with danger.

“Miss Olsen?” I hear the voice on the phone that lies on the floor several feet away.

“Don’t fight,” Julien whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “Don’t scream,” he warns. “What you do next is very important. Understood?”

My heart is raging against my ribs. Blood pounds in my head.

“Shhh,” Julien calms me. He’s not hurting me, but his hold is steel-hard, making it impossible to move.

“Tell me that you understand,” he repeats.

A nod is all I can manage. He can kill me, kill me right now. Or poison me. Or whatever he does here with women.

“Who did you call?” Julien asks. “I’m going to let my hand go, and you won’t scream, okay? It’s very important that you stay quiet, Natalie. You scream, and things are going to turn bad. I need to know who you’re talking to.”

Slowly, he lets go of my mouth.

“Detective Dupin,” I answer, my voice breaking.

My mind is silently screaming. This might be the end of me, but at least if I disappear or end up in the hospital, the detective will be able to trace my phone call to this house.

“I’m talking to Detective Dupin,” I say, panting, my body shaking against Julien’s, who’s still holding me against him. “If I don’t answer, she will track the signal and send the police here.”

Abruptly, Julien’s arm loosens around me, and he steps in front of me, his eyes burning with an intensity I’ve never seen before. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but the way he looks at me is the extreme opposite of friendly.

“I need you to pick up your phone,” he says calmly, “and tell the detective that you will call them back, understood?”

“I just told her where I am,” I quip. “You can’t harm me. It’s too late, Julien.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he slowly picks up the phone off the floor and passes it to me.

“Answer,” he says barely audibly. “Say you will call back. Nothing funny, Natalie. Or you won’t walk out of here tonight.”

“They will find you,” I snarl at him.

“Not before they find you ,” he says, anger flashing in his eyes.

I swallow hard and do as I’m told. “Detective? Sorry,” I blurt into the phone. “I’m at work and just had a question but dropped my phone.”

“Is everything all right?” Detective Dupin asks in a concerned voice.

Julien’s eyes drill into me. He’s towering above me. He’s intimidating. He’s waiting. And he can’t do anything about me now, because the person on the phone—a detective, no less—knows where I am.

Blood is pounding between my ears, my chest rising in heavy breathing, and I want to cry, but in relief. I outsmarted them. I have backup. No matter what happens now, Rosenberg’s house is already on the detective’s radar.

“Miss Olsen?” Detective Dupin insists. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

Julien blinks slowly and tips his chin at the phone. “Answer,” he mouths.

“Hi. Sorry again. I… Um…” I try to bring my thoughts in order, my entire body trembling, and so is my voice. “I got a job. At Geoffrey Rosenberg ’s mansion,” I repeat, accentuating the name. There. I tip my chin at Julien in victory. “I wanted to talk to you about Cara’s case. I have some information for you. Can I call you later though?”

“Sure,” the detective says.

“This is my number.”

I would’ve smiled in triumph at Julien if I weren’t petrified right now—of Rosenberg, of what happened to the girl, and of what happens next.

I pant so hard that my throat and chest hurt. Julien is frozen in his spot, his unblinking stare on me.

I have to be smart about this. So I add, “Detective, if I don’t call you within a couple of hours, will you call me back? Please?”

The last words make me want to punch the air. I think I might’ve just avoided something horrible.