“She broke the story about Kash and me.”
“I know.” She bit down on her lip, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, she targeted you?” Matt interjected.
She looked up, her eyes widening. “Uh. Just that. She was friendly with a few of the staff, then somehow she started always being in the bathroom when I was. We laughed, joked that it was meant to be. We were supposed to be friends, but she knew I was on the IT staff there. We became friends. We, huh”—another visible gulp from her—“we used to meet up at our apartments. Sometimes we went to a movie, but mostly it was just gabbing like girlfriends do. She likes to drink wine and talk.”
Hoda’s eyes found mine, silently pleading. “I just thought she was being a good friend to me. I didn’t realize she had an agenda, but she steered conversations toward you, about Kash. She took the pic from me. I confronted her about it, but she said she was helping me out in the long run. She insisted that that pic would keep you from coming to Hawking. I didn’t know how it would stop you, but she was adamant it would.”
A very, very bad thought was coming to me.
A truly bad and horrific feeling. It was so bad, I tasted acid in my mouth.
I swallowed it back and kept listening.
“I don’t know how to make it up to you, except I’ve been sticking around her.”
“You what?” Melissa snapped at her.
That was surprising.
Matt thought so too, sharing a look with me.
Hoda flinched, turning to Melissa. “It’s not what you’re thinking. When I got kicked out of my apartment, I’ve been staying with her. I was thinking I could stick around and, if I heard something, I could let you know. I mean, she thinks I’m firmly anti–Bailey and Kash, so it could work out perfect.”
Matt moved into me, brushing against my side, and I was feeling what he was thinking.
She had access to Camille Story’s apartment, to her actual lair. She was behind enemy lines.
“She’s got a room in her apartment. She locks it up, keeps the key on her, and it’s not a normal lock. It’s like a dead-bolt lock, and she’s even got a keypad just for that room.”
I glanced over. Erik had his phone to his ear; his eyes were speculative.
I’d bet a million bucks he was relaying word for word to Kash right then and there, which I felt like a kick in my stomach if he was. Kash was available twenty-four/seven to the guards but not to me. That wasn’t sitting well with me. There were other bad tastes going on with me, too, and I needed to block all of them out. If I didn’t, my head would explode.
“That’s why I’m here.”
God. Hoda was shaking. She was so scared.
I felt a wall loosening inside me.
She spoke right to me. “We were watching the game on TV today when the camera showed you guys. Two seconds after that, her phone started ringing, and man … Her eyes lit up. She looked like she won a Pulitzer Prize. She took the phone, sprinted for her room, and I heard a few words before she sealed herself inside. She answered the phone with ‘Hello, Quinn.’”
Ice blasted my insides.
Everything that’d been getting riled up—dead. Total deadness inside.
Quinn.
Matt swore next to me. “No fucking way. No way.”
Hoda frowned, her eyebrows pulling together. “That’s what I heard.”
“We know.” I surged forward, touching her arm to reassure her. “He’s saying that about Quinn.” I tried to say more, but the words shriveled up in me.
Quinn had been on the phone with Camille Story.
That’d been the sick feeling before, but I hadn’t wanted to give it time to grow.
“Quinn was behind those articles. Your face. Kash’s identity coming out. She was goddamn behind—” Matt broke from the group, his face furious, and he started pacing back and forth in clipped and almost frenzied steps. “I can’t.” His voice was strangled. “I can’t be here. I can’t be in the same fucking city as that bitch. I stay here and I will do major damage, and I know Kash has things planned. I can’t get in the middle of it.” He stopped abruptly, turning to Erik. “Is that Kash?”
Erik nodded. He started to hold the phone out, but Matt was across the room in a flash. He took it from him before it even cleared away from his ear.
“I need that plane now. I need to physically be far away from that bitch, or I swear to God I will—” He stopped talking. He started listening. A second later, his eyes turned to me. His voice sounded hollow. “Okay. I’ll do that.” He handed me the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
I took it and moved to a corner of the room. “Hey.”