alike, gushing about the upcoming party and asking after the random dropouts in their year. One after the other, they threw out names. Five people had nothing to tell me. Twelve alumni did.
“—thank you, Mr. Bellingham,” I said. “I’ll send out your invitation in a few days.”
I wrote down Alexander Olsen.
A knock broke into Sofia’s spiel.
“Yes?” she called.
“Is Valentina in there?” Blair asked. “There’s a package for her downstairs.”
“Package? For me? Are you sure?”
“Your name is on it.”
I closed the notebook and stepped out, meeting Blair at the top of the stairs. The bodyguards who had been waiting outside the room fell in step with us.
“What are you two doing in there? I thought I heard Sofia say auction.”
“We’re checking on interest in the charity dinner,” I replied. “Mrs. Kessler gave me the go-ahead and almost everyone we called said they’d attend and donate something for the auction. I’ll have to book the country club’s large ballroom.”
“You’re planning for the party? Why didn’t you tell me? I should be doing this with you. I’m your vice president.”
“You are doing this with me,” I said as we climbed off the steps. “This week we’ll send out the invitations, call the vendors, and put a deposit down for the country club. I’d get nowhere trying to do all of that without you.”
That seemed to mollify her. “I’ll draft up the invitation tonight. I also think I should keep track of the donations.”
“The job is yours.”
She jerked her chin toward the hall. “Your package is on the living room table.”
I walked in on a study session. The girls didn’t pay me any mind, huddled over the table, reciting from their textbooks. Waiting for me was a small, brown box. I picked it up, noting my name typed on the front and the Zeta Rho address beneath.
Must be president business.
Ripping open the box, a small blue notepad fell out. I picked it off the floor and read the front.
Flick Book.
A tiny arrow pointed to the bottom corner and two words above it urged me to flip.
I know what this is, I thought, smile appearing on my lips. One of those books where you flip the pages fast and it looks like the drawings are moving.
I balanced it on my wrist, letting the pages fly.
A small car puttered down the road, exhaust tooting from the tailpipe. A little white car appeared, rolling behind.
My grin faded as the white car drew closer and closer and finally rammed the bumper, sending the tiny car careening toward me. A dark-haired woman ejected through the windshield and splayed out on the hood, tongue lolling from her mouth and her eyes crossed out.
I screamed, startling the room, and flung the vile thing away.
“Valentina!” Juliet cried. She shot to my side, hand on her holster. “What’s wrong?!”
My finger shook as I pointed.
Juliet and Hadley descended on the flipbook, hands still on their guns as they prodded it. The study group craned to see. Suddenly, economics wasn’t as interesting.
Juliet took up the book and flipped through the pages. I observed the same consternation followed by horror lighting her eyes. “You can’t have what’s mine,” she said. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“What?” I croaked.
My heart pounded like a jackhammer, beating wildly on my tight chest. I clutched my hands trying to stop their shaking.
“They added a message.” Juliet brought me the notebook.
Written in huge block letters was a single phrase.
You can’t have what’s mine.
“YOU CAN’T HAVE WHAT’S mine?” Sofia repeated. “What are they talking about and why would they send you such an awful thing?”
I made to answer and got her hair in my mouth. Sofia was hugging me pretty tight with no sign of letting up.
My scream alerted half the house. Sofia came out running as my bodyguards hustled me off, holding the book and packaging out in front of them like they feared it had more terrible prizes to deliver.
Sofia came with us and thus I ended up in my living room, smothered by her while my boys and bodyguards hovered.
“What kind of sick, twisted fuck would send you that?” Ezra raged.
“Is it a warning?” I asked. “Are they saying next time they’ll finish the job?”
“There won’t be a next time,” Sofia cried. If possible, she hugged me tighter.
“We’ve settled the argument on if this guy has been following you around,” said Ryder. “They addressed it to you at the sorority.”
“The return address is a PO box,” Juliet said. “We’ll track it down, but I have a feeling it won’t