Detectives

NINTEEN

Will walked in and glared at his parents. "I could hear you loud and clear outside."

Ignoring the criticism, his mother asked, "Did you find your passport?"

"Not yet. I'll check the safe."

"Be sure to close it."

Why did Will need his passport? Was he thinking about running? Allison jumped up from the table and ran after her cousin. He was in the den standing at the bookcase.

She stopped in the doorway and asked, "Why are you looking for your passport?"

"I might be taking a trip."

"You can't run away. They'd find you, and you'd spend years in prison."

He whirled around to face her. "Who said anything about running away?"

She could see the fear in his eyes. There were tears there, too. He really was scared. She was about to respond when her aunt summoned her back into the dining room by bellowing her name. She returned and, standing at the head of the table, in a quiet voice asked, "Yes?"

Her uncle grabbed her arm and squeezed. "You sit down and listen."

"We're going to need you to get more modeling assignments," her aunt said.

Her uncle pulled her into the chair. "Quite a few more," he added with a brusque nod. "And that means you're going to have to branch out."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Work for other outfits," he said.

Did he think she could just knock on Chanel's door and tell them she would be willing to work for them? Or Armani? They really don't have a clue, she thought.

She took a deep breath and said, "I'm not going to quit school."

"Yes, you are," her aunt snapped. "You do what's needed for this family. Stop being so ungrateful."

There it was, that five-dollar word she threw around all the time. Allison wondered how many times she'd say it again before the conversation was over.

"The decision has been made," her uncle said.

"Who made this decision?" she asked.

"I did."

Here it goes, she thought. She tried to pull away, but her uncle increased his grip on her wrist. It felt as though he was going to snap her bone in half.

"No," she said with firm resolve in her voice.

"No? No what?" her aunt asked.

"No to all of it. I don't care how many decisions you've made, Uncle Russell. I'm not going to help you. I'm done."

Their reaction was almost comical. They looked flabbergasted. Her uncle was the first to recover from his shock. "You are not done here. You're done when I say you're done."

He squeezed her arm again, twisting until it burned. She tried to jerk her arm back, but her uncle held tight until he wanted to refill his glass. He had to let go of her then. Alcohol trumped keeping her captive, she supposed. She watched him pour a generous splash of whiskey and down it in a single gulp, wiping his chin on his sleeve.

She scooted her chair so he couldn't reach her and said, "I wanted to tell you face-to-face so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding."

"Tell us what?" her aunt asked.

"I'm finished."

Her aunt looked up at her, her eyes flashing with hostility. "What do you mean, you're finished?"