A Girl Scorned Read online

  “Why would Sergei send his own daughter?” I asked. “He should’ve know it’d put her in danger.”

  “She lied to you. She isn’t Sergei’s daughter. Her name is Elena Novka. She works for Sergei.” Luke laughed. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  He glanced up at me with a smile. “We have agents who have been trying to find and take out Elena Novka for the past few years. And you manage to do it with a textbook?”

  I shrugged. “Columbia has some heavy-duty textbooks. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t opt for the e-book version, huh?”

  He laughed. “Job well done. Wait ’til Eddie hears about this.”

  My heart raced at the mention of his name. “Where is he?”

  Luke shooed me away with his hand. “Not now. You need to go.”

  “Come on, I just want to know where he is and if he’s okay.”

  Luke stood and spun around, staring me down from his dominant height. “Look, I get it. He’s cute and you like him. And one day, you and I can sit and gossip about hot boys, but right now you need to get the fuck outta here and let me do my job.”

  My shoulders slumped and I did as I was told, knowing he’d eventually shove me out the window to make me leave. Luke and I got along okay, but working together all summer had tested our patience and dissolved any niceties between us. I slipped my feet into black flats and walked to the door.

  “Hey, Natalie?” he said as my hand grabbed the doorknob.

  “What?”

  “Take your toothbrush. You’re not staying here tonight.”

  “Where am I staying?”

  He sighed, running a hand down the front of his face painted in stress. “I don’t know yet.”

  I grabbed my toothbrush and left, wishing more than anything I could just curl up in the safety of my bed back home in Rapid City. I was only one day in and college life already sucked.

  Chapter Three

  The commons area on the first floor of my dormitory was full of people. Students, parents, and campus reps still giving tours at eight o’clock at night. The space was two stories tall with large windows looking out onto a grassy area of the campus, next to the massive Butler Library.

  A huge Welcome to Columbia banner was secured over the snack bar area. I poured myself a large cup of coffee, skipped the sugar, and snapped on a black plastic lid.

  “Hi, Natalie,” a southern drawl said behind me.

  I turned and came face-to-face with Claire.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, what happened?” She motioned to the side of my face.

  My fingers flew to my temple where I had hit the wall. The soreness of the area and the look on Claire’s face told me there was a bruise or contusion forming.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “Just my suitcase … I was trying to put it up on the shelf in my closet and it came crashing down. No biggie.”

  She laughed. “Sounds like something that would happen to me. I’m sort of a klutz, and don’t even get me started on how many bones I’ve broken. My dad says I should go pre-med so I can heal myself whenever I get hurt. But I’m majoring in pre-law. Daddy’s a lawyer, too. What are you majoring in?”

  I threw my non-coffee-holding hand up. “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”

  “Right?” She laughed. “It’s so hard to decide, I mean, what if we make the wrong decision and end up miserable for decades?”

  “Exactly.” But for me, it was far more complicated than that. The right major didn’t just have to make me content, it had to make my dad content. He had been fine with me deciding not to follow his footsteps into pre-med, but the pressure was still on to make a choice—one he found agreeable, despite his laidback façade.

  “Where are you from?” Claire asked. “I’m from Arkansas, which is like lightyears away from this place. Seriously, I’ve never heard so many Yankee accents in one place in my entire life.” She laughed again. “My dad was furious when I applied to Columbia. He just doesn’t trust anyone up here. He even made me bring my car, which is costing him an arm and a leg to park, but he insisted, telling me, ‘You get sick of them yanks, you just hop on in your car and drive home, ya understand?’ My God, he’s overbearing. He’s actually why I applied to come way up here.”

  I smiled. “I know the feeling.” Although compared to the description of her dad, maybe mine wasn’t so bad. He loved that I was at his alma mater, and he never would have volunteered to pay for me to bring my car to New York City. He had been fussy enough about the spending money he had deposited into my bank account, lecturing me on how to ration it for the entire school year. Despite my perfect GPA, he apparently didn’t think I could do basic math.

  Claire shoved a piece of paper into my hand. “Here, take one of these!”

  It was a tan-colored flyer. Columbia Composers: We’re high-strung!

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Columbia Composers. We’re a songwriting group here on campus. Most of us play instruments, but some just sing. We play every Friday night at The Quad. It’s only five dollars to get in. You should come check us out sometime. I’m told it’s a good place to meet people if you’re a first-year student. We’re fundraising for a trip to Seattle in the spring, to go to the National Songwriters’ Festival. I’ve never been, but it’s supposed to be super fun and inspirational.”

  “Cool,” I said, trying to feign normalcy when my mind was still upstairs with Remy and Luke. “What kind of music do you guys play?”

  “A little bit of everything. Bluegrass, rock ‘n’ roll, a little country, and even some blues. Anything we feel in the moment, really.” With her last words, she swayed her body. Her long blonde hair bounced as her maxi dress swished against her hips and legs.

  To my right, a large mass of people pushed into our area. It was a tour of students and parents … a tour similar to the one my dad and I had skipped out on earlier in the day. I hadn’t been in the mood for a cheery, campus tour. I preferred solitary wandering. The best way to figure out where I was going was to get lost a few times.

  The crowd of people pushed forward to check things out, cramming up alongside me and Claire. Sweat formed around the back of my neck, as arms, shoulders, and hips bumped into me from all sides. It was too tight. Too closed in. Too much contact.

  For the past few months, my distrust in people had grown. I never knew, from moment to moment, who around me were random strangers, who were FBI, and who were the hired help of Sergei Romanov.

  A large man and his equally large son both shoved their way past me, nearly spilling my coffee.

  “I have to get out of here,” I said to Claire. I raised up the flyer. “I’ll come check it out some time.”

  If my life ever goes back to normal.

  I weaved my way through the horde, finally breaking free at the front doors. I stepped outside into the humid air, but after the stifling atmosphere of humans inside, the muggy air was downright crisp.

  I sat down in the first patch of grass I came to. Minutes ticked by. People came and went. Trees overhead were tranquil in the dark summer sky. The greenery of the campus made it easy to forget it was located in New York City. Just steps from here were the rumblings of subways, honks of cars, and a never-ending line of traffic lights. But Columbia, even with its thousands of students, was a tranquil relief from the city.

  Luke texted me as I gulped the last lukewarm remnants of my coffee.

  Luke: Where are you?

  Natalie: Sitting just outside the front doors

  Luke: Dammit I told you to stay INSIDE in the commons area. Stay put I’ll be there in a few mins

  I rolled my eyes at the text lecture. Whatever, Dad.

  With a long sigh, I stretched my head back, staring at the stars. There weren’t many to be seen, blotted out by city lights, but they were still there, peering down at me. Kind of like the hidden eyes of the FBI and Sergei’s men. Watching … from somewhere.

  “Natalie?”


  Claire approached from behind me, holding out a small slip of white paper. “Some guy asked me to give this to you.”

  I took the paper. It was small and thick—a catalog card from Butler Library, for a book on Shakespeare. My face scrunched in confusion. Was it some kind of code from Luke? He didn’t strike me as the Shakespearean type, or the type to send cryptic messages via literature.

  “Who gave it to you?” I asked. “What did he look like?”

  She shrugged. “Just some guy. I didn’t get a good look at him. There are too many people in there.” She fanned herself, tongue hanging out. “It’s actually cooler out here than it is in there.”

  I flipped the card over and was greeted by slant penmanship in blue ink. I read it out loud.

  D-

  What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

  -V

  Claire smiled. “Romeo and Juliet.”

  I nodded, already knowing that, but my attention was not on Shakespeare’s words. It was on the initials D and V. Delilah and Victor.

  Delilah was my ex-stepmother’s name … my alias.

  Victor had been Eddie’s undercover name.

  My lip curled up. Eddie Martinez was calling for me. He was here, not just in New York City, but on campus with me.

  But just as soon as my smile sprouted, it dropped. Luke had told me to stay here and wait for him. He was already pissed at me for not staying inside the commons area, and I was anxious for an update from him on what was going on with Remy. And where was I supposed to sleep tonight, if not my dorm room?

  I needed to wait for answers from Luke. But somewhere in the dark, Eddie waited for me.

  Conflict stewed in my head and in my heart.

  I held out the library catalog card. The blue Shakespearean scribbles stared back. I ran a finger over the indentations the pen had made … the indentations Eddie had made. My eyes and arms ached for him. My ears longed for his voice. My nose needed to press against him and take him in.

  Butler Library was next door to my dormitory. My toes twitched inside my shoes and I jolted up onto my feet. Screw Luke, he could catch me later and yell at me all he wanted.

  If Eddie was on campus, I was going to find him, wrap my arms around him, and not let go this time.

  Chapter Four

  I said goodbye to Claire, who looked all too happy to be a part of a Romeo and Juliet love story. If only she knew the half of it.

  To say Butler Library was enormous would be an understatement. I had only been inside once—earlier in the day when I had trailed my father as he pointed out where he and his “buddies” would study “back in the day.” To think of my dad as a college kid was too bizarre to comprehend. For as long as I could remember, he was an ironed-slacks, button-down shirt-wearing father with well-coiffed hair and expensive shoes.

  I made my way to the large wooden information desk on the main floor, where I was greeted by a thin man with a thick beard. He sported an expression that said he thought himself smarter than anyone who had to use the information desk at the library. And he probably was.

  “Can you tell me where I can find books on Shakespeare?” I asked.

  With a bored sigh, he pointed to his right. “Literature.”

  I waited for more specific directions, but they never came. The only other thing he offered me was a raised eyebrow, as if daring me to annoy him with another stupid question.

  With the catalog card in-hand, I made my way through tall shelves. The scents of old paper and crisp air conditioning filled my nose. The quietness of the library, and the vastness of its books, intimidated my sense of intelligence. Who was I to be studying at such an imposing university? I was just a nineteen-year-old with no idea what I wanted in life—other than to survive Sergei Romanov.

  After several loops around shelves, trying to find the aisle that matched up with the call number on the card, I stood in front of a row of Shakespeare. Most books were tattered, and a few had spines so worn their titles were indecipherable. I pulled out the book denoted by the library card. A collection of plays and sonnets.

  Now what? I was in the library. I had found the book. Where was Eddie?

  I flipped through the book’s pages. My first pass through the book produced nothing but aged paper that whiffed musty air into my face. The second pass, the same thing.

  I shook my head, wondering if the catalog card and the Romeo and Juliet line had meant something else. Some other cryptic message I wasn’t clever enough to decode. I imagined Luke back at the dormitory, searching for me outside, pissed as hell that I hadn’t waited for him. He hadn’t texted or called yet, but I knew it was coming. I knew I was going to be in big trouble.

  And for what? To stand in the library, thinking Eddie was going to magically appear?

  “So stupid,” I muttered.

  But as I went to close the book, I noticed a piece of paper, folded into a little square. It had been shoved into a small manila pocket just inside the front cover—the place where its library card used to be stored, back when they were used for checking out books. My elementary school had made us sign our names to those cards, even though they’d had a fancy computer system to keep track of check-outs and returns. Mrs. Brand, the librarian, had been old-fashioned like that. She’d even worn a bun, and had glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck.

  I plucked the small piece of paper from the pocket of the Shakespeare book, then replaced it back on the shelf. I unfolded the paper and was greeted by the same blue penmanship as the catalog card. It read: To the left. Knock twice.

  To the left, down the aisle, was a metal door painted the same off-white color as the walls. In bold red letters, it stated No Admittance. A janitor’s closet maybe. Or a space for employees only.

  My feet pivoted to face the door, but I didn’t move forward. As the door stared back at me, worries and distrust crept in. Who was behind that door? Who had written that note?

  What if it wasn’t Eddie who had given Claire that note to give to me? The campus was probably crawling with Sergei’s men. And I had just been lured away from Luke, my one constant guard.

  Fuck.

  I glanced back down at the handwriting on the note. I had seen Eddie’s handwriting a few times before, but it was fairly unremarkable. Nothing weird or unique about it. Not too sloppy. Not too neat. The writing on the card was like that, but a thousand people on campus could have written it, too.

  Clutching the note to my chest, I shuffled forward. The door grew nearer, which meant whoever was behind it also grew nearer. Curiosity was winning the war against my fear. Besides, I was in a quiet library. If I screamed for help, everyone would hear.

  In front of the door, I stood, listening. But the only sounds were the ambient rustles of footsteps, shuffling of papers, and fingers on keyboards, all which floated through the tall ceiling of the library.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled hard. Upon opening them, I knocked twice, just like the slip of paper instructed.

  The door opened. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me inside.

  I smelled Eddie before I saw him. To my eyes, he was nothing more than a dark figure, looming over me. To my nose, he was familiar and welcoming. I didn’t wait for confirmation or for him to speak, I dislodged myself from his grasp and threw my arms around him, pressing my nose to his neck, inhaling him—his scent, his very being.

  His arms enclosed tight around my waist, bringing tears to my eyes. I pulled back just enough to press my lips to his.

  “I take it you got my note,” he whispered.

  “I take it you missed me,” I replied.

  The warmth of his laughter hit my forehead. He was beginning to come into focus in the low light. His smile, the sturdiness of his shoulders. His brown hair was covered by a dark ball cap that sported a white, overlapping NY logo.

  “Yankees? I thought you were an Ohio boy.”

  He grabbed the bill and adjusted the hat. “When in Rome.”
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  The space around us was much darker than the library, and my eyes had a hard time adjusting. It was a passageway of some kind. A low, yellow light shone about ten feet down, giving off just enough illumination to see the walls around it.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “Leads down to the boiler room.”

  A small shudder flew through me. Creepy basements with steaming pipes was too horror movie for my taste.

  “How did you get in here without being seen?” I asked. “You really shouldn’t be here at all. This place is swarming with people watching me, waiting for you. Sergei’s guys, the FBI—all of them eager to be the one to bring you down. In handcuffs or…”

  “With a bullet.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s the truth.

  “Then don’t remind me. Besides, if Sergei puts a bullet in your head, that means I’m no longer the bait… I become useless and my head is the next to get a bullet.”

  Eddie’s jaw clenched. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “But seriously, you shouldn’t be here. Someone will see you.”

  Eddie’s lip curled up. “Give me a little credit, would ya? Anyway, this place is a maze of tunnels and passages. I didn’t have to walk through campus, or even through the library to get here.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. “It’s probably Luke, he doesn’t know where I’m at. Long story short, my roommate ended up being Remy Chenko, or Elena-something. I knocked her out and—”

  “Yeah, Luke told me all about it. I talked to him a few minutes ago,” Eddie said. “And that’s why I had to come find you, despite the risk of being seen, because your life might now be in real danger. You’ve taken down two of Sergei’s people—Brandon and now Elena Novka. Sergei’s men will be out in full force looking for you.”

  “Big surprise,” I said with a huff. “Sergei Romanov doesn’t like me. But neither did Remy—or Elena, but I took care of her.”