yourself.” Even the splashy, bright pieces of art on the walls, and the geometrically designed rug beneath the glass coffee table couldn’t dissolve the disturbing feeling that overcame her.
Cassie had been here before, of course, a handful of times, the last visit having occurred on the day that Allie fell off the face of the earth. Her stomach clenched at the memory and the ragged remnants of the bitter fight that had ensued. Their argument had escalated, tempers flaring, egos rising.
“You hate me,” Allie had charged, her hair still wet from her shower, a robe cinched around her waist. Without makeup she looked so much younger. “You’ve always hated me.”
“Of course I don’t—”
“Liar!” Tears had tracked down her face. “You always hated me. From the time we moved to Oregon when we were kids!”
“I did not.”
“Save it. I know,” Allie had choked out, her round eyes wounded.
“If I hated you so much, why did I ask you to come down to Hollywood?”
Allie had swiped at her face with the back of her hand, the sleeve of her oversized robe drying her tears. “You thought I would fail. That’s why you wanted me to come.” Conviction had set her jaw. “But that didn’t work out for you now, did it?”
“No, it didn’t,” Cassie whispered now, wishing she could replay that argument again, could convince her sister that despite their deep rivalry and their petty jealousies that had started when they were teenagers, she loved her. She blinked hard and felt a lump fill her throat. If she could live her life over, she swore, she wouldn’t have been so wrapped up in herself, her own needs, her own damned pride.
Sure, Cass. Don’t delude yourself. Allie was right; she knew that you always felt the need to prove that you were the better sister.
With an effort Cassie shoved the nagging voice back into the dark hole where she kept it and turned her attention to Allie’s apartment again.
This penthouse unit had come furnished as Allie had only intended to inhabit it during the filming in Portland. Though she snapped the blinds open the apartment felt lifeless, the bedroom reminding Cassie of an upscale hotel suite decorated in the same tone-on-tone shades of gray. The bathroom and walk-in closet were bare. The place had been cleaned and all of Allie’s personal items had been removed either by the police or Jenna.
There was nothing here to see, not even a solitary picture of Allie.
It’s like walking through a tomb.
Her skin prickled as she made her way to the front door. Her cell rang as she reached for the handle and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was her mother.
Then she noticed the text. Again from Jenna: Call me.
“Okay, okay.” Walking out of the apartment, she glanced down the corridor as she locked the door behind her. It was empty, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She carefully looked all around. No one was walking the hallway or waiting for the elevators or at the wide spot in the hallway where two side chairs, a table with a lamp, and a potted palm with bristling fronds created an alcove for sitting or reading, or catching a glimpse of the Portland skyline through tall floor to ceiling windows. The chairs were unoccupied and no one was lingering nearby.
Cassie was alone, yet she had the sensation that someone was silently observing her.
Your imagination. She slapped the elevator call button and was startled when the doors opened immediately, as if someone else had pressed the button before her.
No one was in the car and she gratefully sped down to the lower parking lot without the car stopping on any other floor. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, though, of course, she had to call her mother. Jenna was worried about her or, Cassie thought, she might even have news about Allie. Unlikely, but maybe.
She winced as a stabbing pain cut through her skull, a headache that was nearly blinding and sometimes
Cassie had been here before, of course, a handful of times, the last visit having occurred on the day that Allie fell off the face of the earth. Her stomach clenched at the memory and the ragged remnants of the bitter fight that had ensued. Their argument had escalated, tempers flaring, egos rising.
“You hate me,” Allie had charged, her hair still wet from her shower, a robe cinched around her waist. Without makeup she looked so much younger. “You’ve always hated me.”
“Of course I don’t—”
“Liar!” Tears had tracked down her face. “You always hated me. From the time we moved to Oregon when we were kids!”
“I did not.”
“Save it. I know,” Allie had choked out, her round eyes wounded.
“If I hated you so much, why did I ask you to come down to Hollywood?”
Allie had swiped at her face with the back of her hand, the sleeve of her oversized robe drying her tears. “You thought I would fail. That’s why you wanted me to come.” Conviction had set her jaw. “But that didn’t work out for you now, did it?”
“No, it didn’t,” Cassie whispered now, wishing she could replay that argument again, could convince her sister that despite their deep rivalry and their petty jealousies that had started when they were teenagers, she loved her. She blinked hard and felt a lump fill her throat. If she could live her life over, she swore, she wouldn’t have been so wrapped up in herself, her own needs, her own damned pride.
Sure, Cass. Don’t delude yourself. Allie was right; she knew that you always felt the need to prove that you were the better sister.
With an effort Cassie shoved the nagging voice back into the dark hole where she kept it and turned her attention to Allie’s apartment again.
This penthouse unit had come furnished as Allie had only intended to inhabit it during the filming in Portland. Though she snapped the blinds open the apartment felt lifeless, the bedroom reminding Cassie of an upscale hotel suite decorated in the same tone-on-tone shades of gray. The bathroom and walk-in closet were bare. The place had been cleaned and all of Allie’s personal items had been removed either by the police or Jenna.
There was nothing here to see, not even a solitary picture of Allie.
It’s like walking through a tomb.
Her skin prickled as she made her way to the front door. Her cell rang as she reached for the handle and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was her mother.
Then she noticed the text. Again from Jenna: Call me.
“Okay, okay.” Walking out of the apartment, she glanced down the corridor as she locked the door behind her. It was empty, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She carefully looked all around. No one was walking the hallway or waiting for the elevators or at the wide spot in the hallway where two side chairs, a table with a lamp, and a potted palm with bristling fronds created an alcove for sitting or reading, or catching a glimpse of the Portland skyline through tall floor to ceiling windows. The chairs were unoccupied and no one was lingering nearby.
Cassie was alone, yet she had the sensation that someone was silently observing her.
Your imagination. She slapped the elevator call button and was startled when the doors opened immediately, as if someone else had pressed the button before her.
No one was in the car and she gratefully sped down to the lower parking lot without the car stopping on any other floor. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, though, of course, she had to call her mother. Jenna was worried about her or, Cassie thought, she might even have news about Allie. Unlikely, but maybe.
She winced as a stabbing pain cut through her skull, a headache that was nearly blinding and sometimes
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