Tell Me No Lies Read online

  The phone blocked most of Tessa’s face, but he could see the way her eyes went round. “Um. OK. Why are you taking your shirt off?”

  Eric chuckled deep in his throat. “Force of habit.”

  Tessa lowered the phone. “Eric, you’re doing it again. Stop deflecting. This isn’t a joke!”

  “No, I’m serious. This way Dorian will know the picture is legit.” Eric pointed at his bare chest. “See?”

  Tessa didn’t look so pale now. A flush of color spread upward from her collarbone as her eyes came to rest on his well-sculpted pecs. He hadn’t followed his daily workout regimen since they ran away, and he’d lost a touch of muscle tone, but he still had some decent definition when he flexed.

  “How does that prove anything?” she asked. Her color deepened, and she flicked her eyes back toward her lap. “Pretty sure there are a few million other shirtless photos of you floating around the Internet.”

  Eric grinned. “Not like this.” He lowered his head to view the coating of soft fuzz that grew darker every day. “There’s never been a published photo in which I was not fully waxed up top. PR wouldn’t allow it.”

  Her eyes went far away for a moment. Eric knew what she was doing: mentally reviewing the catalog of Eric Thorn pics she’d once kept on her camera roll. “I guess that’s true,” she said. “It never occurred to me before, but you were always…”

  “A life-size plastic action figure?”

  “And you think Dorian will notice the difference?”

  Eric nodded. “Chest waxing,” he explained. “It’s the universal curse of the male celebrity.”

  Tessa looked doubtful, but Eric had his mind made up. Before she could protest, he took the phone and snapped the picture himself. He only paused to add a quick caption before he hit Send.

  It’s me. This is real. Let’s chat.

  • • •

  Tessa took the phone from Eric. She flicked the home button to prevent the screen from going to sleep. The account displayed their recent activity: one sent Snap with a solid red arrow to indicate its unopened status.

  ShowYouTheDor

  “Now what?” Eric asked.

  “Now we wait and see if he opens it.”

  She could sense Eric’s nervous energy from the way he drummed his palms against his thighs. Tessa wasn’t holding her breath though. She’d never been much of a Snapchatter, but she knew how it worked. Celebrities had filters in place to weed out random fans. God forbid they saw something illegal, like a nude from an underage teenager, and ended up in trouble for viewing child porn. The filters meant that fans were essentially on mute. They could scream and yell and send selfies every day for a year with zero chance that their idol would ever notice them.

  There was a time when that reality might have hurt her fangirl heart. Now, Tessa clung to it like a security blanket. No one would ever see it, she chanted inside her head. The pic Eric had Snapped would never be opened. No one. No way. Not ever.

  Not by Dorian.

  Not by Eric’s record label.

  And certainly not by Blair.

  At the thought of Blair’s name, Tessa felt the automatic spike in her heart rate. She recognized it for what it was. A chemical reaction. Nothing more. Lately, she’d been reading about the body’s fight-or-flight response. She could pinpoint the exact sensation when her adrenal glands kicked in and released a dose of hormones into her bloodstream. Epinephrine. Norepinephrine. They were the same kind of chemicals used in EpiPens to treat people with allergy attacks—but to her brain, it felt like fear.

  Tessa closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Her pulse rate had returned to a tolerable level when she felt Eric’s hand close around her wrist.

  “What happened?” he whispered. “Something changed.”

  Tessa’s eyes sprang open. She blinked at the Snapchat icon on her phone. No more solid red. The little arrow had turned into a hollow outline.

  ShowYouTheDor

  “What does it mean?” Eric asked. “Did he open it?”

  Not only that, Tessa thought. Her jaw went slack as a new icon appeared in the arrow’s place.

  ShowYouTheDor

  The little blue speech bubble could only mean one thing: an incoming message.

  6

  INSECURE

  Eric clicked the Chat window open. He sprawled on his stomach and laid the phone on the mattress in front of him. Tessa peered at the screen over his shoulder.

  ShowYouTheDor: Eric! My friend, I had a feeling you were out there somewhere.

  My friend? Eric snorted. Dorian had a lot of nerve calling him that after the stunt he’d pulled at the press conference.

  Snowflake734: Dude, did you have to call me out like that? Not cool!

  ShowYouTheDor: Calm your tits. I didn’t say anything the fans weren’t already tweeting. You know how they like to cry “death hoax” every time a celebrity snuffs it.

  “Wow,” Tessa murmured in his ear. “He’s so…”

  “British?”

  She nodded. “Aggressively British. Like, he’s going to start talking about bollocks and sticky wickets next.”

  “I bet he’s snickering about how American I sound.” Eric laughed softly as he composed another message.

  Snowflake734: You’re the one who made it trend, bruh. #EricIsAliveToo? WTF?

  ShowYouTheDor: You’re upset. I understand. Believe me, I’m not happy either. We’re on the same side. I didn’t know how else to get your attention.

  Snowflake734: What about Tupac and MJ?

  ShowYouTheDor: Don’t be daft, Eric. Wherever they are, they probably don’t have Snapchat.

  Tessa’s voice startled him before Eric could reply. “What does he mean?” she asked. “How are you on the same side?”

  Eric had glossed over that part, too focused on the rest of the bizarre conversation. He didn’t bother answering her out loud, but he echoed her question back to Dorian.

  Snowflake734: What do you mean we’re on the same side?

  ShowYouTheDor: You saw the news. I’m possibly looking at prison.

  Snowflake734: That sucks, man. But what does it have to do with me?

  Eric tapped his fingers against his knee as the seconds ticked by. Had he come across too harshly? For a moment, he thought Dorian might not answer, and he vowed to soften his tone. As much as he hated being dragged into someone else’s drama, he had to admit that he was curious as hell.

  At last, a new text popped up.

  ShowYouTheDor: Listen. This is between you and me, right? Can I trust you?

  Snowflake734: Sure. I won’t leak anything to the media, if that’s what you mean.

  ShowYouTheDor: Are you on a cell phone right now?

  Snowflake734: Yeah.

  ShowYouTheDor: Encrypted?

  Snowflake734: Ummm no…but it’s a new phone. New number. I picked it up in Saltillo on my way down here.

  Tessa reared back the moment he hit Send on the message. Eric flinched as he realized what he’d done.

  ShowYouTheDor: Saltillo… Where’s that, Mexico?

  “Crap,” Eric muttered. It wasn’t much of a secret that he’d fled across the border, but he hadn’t intended to confirm it. He felt Tessa’s palm press down against his shoulder.

  “That’s what happened the last time,” she whispered. “I messaged you where I lived, and then…”

  Eric took her hand and squeezed it. “Overgeneralizing,” he reminded her. “Blair isn’t eavesdropping on this conversation. And even if he were, we’re way outside Saltillo now. Mexico’s a big place.”

  Tessa nodded. He could hear the faint whistle of air as she inhaled through her nose. Her lips moved as she silently mouthed the numbers that made up her breathing exercise. At last she turned her attention back to the phone. “What now?” she asked. “Are you going to answer him?”

  Dorian had added another new message.

  ShowYouTheDor: Hullo? Eric? Don’t tell me you died again…

  Snowflake734: Very funn
y. Haha.

  ShowYouTheDor: ;)

  Tessa let out a groan. “Is it overgeneralizing or polarizing if I automatically distrust anyone who uses wink emojis?”

  Eric shot her a quizzical look. Emojis bothered her? That was news to him. He felt certain that he’d used a wink emoji at some point during their months of DM correspondence. “Pretty sure the wink is the least of our concerns. What should I say about Mexico?”

  Tessa didn’t answer. She had her eyes closed, with her knees clenched tightly against her chest yet again. Eric stroked her arm to soothe her. With his other hand, he entered a new message.

  Snowflake734: Before this conversation goes any further, you’re going to have to slow down and fill me in.

  ShowYouTheDor: What can I tell you that you don’t already know?

  Snowflake734: I don’t know anything! I’m totally in the dark here. Like, how is it possible you’re not dead?

  ShowYouTheDor: You know as well as I do. We both needed a way out. People in our position can’t exactly walk away and retire in obscurity.

  Snowflake734: Right. I get that. But how exactly did you pull it off? I mean, it was so convincing. The body…the trial…the girl they convicted for your murder. Who was she?

  ShowYouTheDor: Don’t know exactly. My management took care of all the cloak and dagger.

  Snowflake734: Wait, so your label was in on it? They knew?

  ShowYouTheDor: Of course. Doesn’t yours?

  Snowflake734: Why would your label want to fake your death?

  ShowYouTheDor: It was the only way to kill the story. You know, about sammo and me. Don’t you know? Sorry, I just assumed…

  “Oh my God!” Tessa whispered. “Sammo? Does he mean Hugo Samuelson?”

  Eric squinted. “His bandmate?”

  Tessa clapped her hand across her mouth. “That’s real?” she said with a squeak. “Horian Cromuelson is real ?”

  Eric couldn’t help but grin. Even he had heard of #HorianCromuelson. He’d seen that hashtag top the trending list time and time again—one of those ridiculous “ship names” the fangirls liked to invent.

  Snowflake734: Wait a sec. You and Hugo are actually together?

  ShowYouTheDor: Since we were 18, off and on. Let’s just say all those lovely #Horian fanfics weren’t total rubbish after all ;)

  Snowflake734: Dude, your fans are going to DIE when they hear that!

  ShowYouTheDor: That’s what I said. It’s publicity! Honestly I don’t know why management had their knickers in such a twist over it. You see why I had to get out, don’t you?

  Snowflake734: OK, I get that. But what about the girl?

  ShowYouTheDor: Which one? I can assure you that all of my many “girlfriends” were purely fictional. My publicists have quite the vivid imagination.

  Snowflake734: No, I mean the girl who supposedly murdered you!

  ShowYouTheDor: Oh, right, her. Poor thing. Locked away like that… I’m told she’s in an excellent facility.

  Snowflake734: Who was she though? Was she really a fangirl?

  ShowYouTheDor: A deeply troubled one. But that’s not saying very much, now is it? ;)

  “What does that mean?” Tessa asked. Eric could hear the edge in her voice. Maybe he should have told Dorian that he had his own former superfan following this whole exchange.

  But some instinct warned Eric to keep that information to himself.

  Snowflake734: So…I’m confused. All that psych stuff at the trial? Celebrity stalker syndrome or whatever they diagnosed her with? Was that all made up?

  “Celebrity erotomanic delusional disorder,” Tessa said. “That was the diagnosis.”

  ShowYouTheDor: No, no. She really was obsessed. She used to stake out my flat in London and slip love notes under the door. True story. We simply embellished the ending.

  Snowflake734: You framed her for murder!

  ShowYouTheDor: Come on, Eric. You did the same thing. Look at that Tessa person who supposedly hacked you to bits… The news said her mother kept her locked up in her bedroom. Hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

  Eric drew in his breath between his teeth. Tessa had fallen silent at his side. He darted a look at her and saw that she’d gone ghostly white. “Are you OK?” he asked, turning toward her.

  She nodded, but he could see that she was lying. Her mouth quivered, and she refused to meet his eyes.

  “Tessa, it’s pure gossip. You know how the media is.”

  He craned his head to look into her face. Her eyes had gone bright and glossy, ringed with pink. Eric brushed his thumb across her cheek.

  She raised her hand to his, and their fingers intertwined. “That’s what people are saying about me,” she whispered.

  “That’s what strangers are saying,” he corrected, clasping her hand. “That’s the thing about fame. Everyone has an opinion, but they don’t know you. They have no clue that the real Tessa Hart is brilliant, and kind, and my best friend. And the girl I love.”

  She cast him a watery smile, but her answer came back so softly he could barely hear the words. “I love you too.” She disentangled her fingers. Her eyes flicked toward the phone. “Go ahead. Answer him. You shouldn’t leave him hanging.”

  Eric pressed a kiss against her temple as he picked up the phone again. Dorian had added another message:

  ShowYouTheDor: Eric, I have to run, but there’s something else. Something you need to know.

  Snowflake734: Go ahead. I’m listening.

  ShowYouTheDor: I can’t. This is big. It goes too high up to tell you over an insecure cell network.

  Eric felt his heart stop beating for a moment. He didn’t know what to make of Dorian’s caution. Unencrypted phones? Insecure networks?

  Dorian plowed on with another message before Eric could formulate a response.

  ShowYouTheDor: Listen. Do you have a car? Could you get yourself to Tijuana?

  Snowflake734: I don’t know. Why?

  ShowYouTheDor: Trust me. Go to Tijuana. There’s a gated resort Hugo and I use sometimes. Very discreet. Very secure. It’s called the Playa de La Joya Beach Club. Get yourself there, and lay low until I come.

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 2)

  May 1, 2017, 2:19 p.m.

  Case #75932.394.1

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

  —START PAGE 3—

  INVESTIGATOR: Ms. Hart, may I ask your exact whereabouts between January 1 and February 3? You said you were living in a van?

  HART: How is that relevant to the case you’re investigating?

  INVESTIGATOR: This will go a lot faster if you stop asking questions and start answering them.

  HART: Whatever. I was in Mexico.

  INVESTIGATOR: Were you there with Eric Thorn?

  HART: Why?

  INVESTIGATOR: Why, indeed. That’s what I’d like to ask you. You assisted Mr. Thorn in a fairly elaborate death hoax. Could you tell me the reason why?

  HART: I can get you a copy of the official press release if you like. I think it said Eric was suffering from exhaustion. Or maybe mental duress. Something like that.

  INVESTIGATOR: Was that the truth? He faked his death because of exhaustion and mental duress?

  HART: Sure. I mean, if the media reported it, then it must be true.

  INVESTIGATOR: All right, Tessa. Let’s start over. Can you please walk us through exactly what transpired during the period of time that you and Eric Thorn went missing last winter?

  HART: We were just lying low, keeping our heads down. Eric needed a break, and I was in a position to help him. There’s not much more to it than that.

  INVESTIGATOR: What led to Eric’s decision to return?

  HART: Plumbing mostly.

  INVESTIGATOR: I’m sorry?

  HART: We both needed a shower. You try camping for a month in a VW van and tell me how you smell at the end of it.

  INVESTIGATOR: Is that meant to be a joke, Ms. Hart?

  HART: Sorry. I’m deflect
ing. I do that when I’m nervous.

  INVESTIGATOR: There’s nothing to be nervous about. Just answer the questions. I’d like you to take a look at this photograph, if you don’t mind.

  HART: Where did you get that?

  INVESTIGATOR: Let the record show that Ms. Hart is viewing a photo taken with a cell phone camera in February 2017. Do you recognize this picture?

  HART: That was supposed to get deleted. How do you have that?

  INVESTIGATOR: Does this picture have anything to do with Eric’s reason for returning to the United States?

  HART: [unintelligible]

  INVESTIGATOR: Ms. Hart, could you speak up?

  HART: The picture… Yes. The picture had something to do with it.

  INVESTIGATOR: Have you ever seen this photograph before I showed it to you today?

  HART: Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: And do you know the identity of the individual who took it?

  7

  BAGGAGE

  February 3, 2017

  Tessa rolled over in bed. She watched the gentle rise and fall of Eric’s shoulders as the dawn light filtered through a gap in the dingy curtains.

  The Playa de La Joya Beach Club wasn’t quite the destination she’d imagined when Dorian suggested it. She and Eric had driven two days straight to get here, and for what? Tessa had expected the five-star celebrity treatment—silk sheets, room service, maybe a discreetly hidden hot tub built for two. Instead, they’d found a loose cluster of run-down bungalows that barely rose above the luxury of the campground they’d left behind. But she supposed the place offered the few amenities that mattered most: a real bed, running water, and privacy.

  The man behind the registration desk had rented her the bungalow at the far end of the beach with no questions asked, and no one had bothered them since.