Toxic

19 SPENCER’S GOT A FAN. . . .

“More coffee, miss?”

Spencer jumped and hid her iPad with a napkin. A petite Asian girl wearing a pink apron that said SUE’S held a carafe of coffee.

Spencer shook her head. “I’m okay for now, thanks.”

She waited until the waitress drifted away before looking at the iPad again. She’d been so lost in concentration on the video surveillance they’d set up yesterday, she’d forgotten that she was watching from this little café in Philly and not in her bedroom.

Not that the surveillance cameras had yielded any activity yet. It had been hard to conceal the cameras in the trees, first of all, so only one view really showed the inside of the house. The other three angles showed the porch, the side yard, and an angle facing the big house—they might be able to catch someone on their approach. There hadn’t been the slightest movement on any of the cameras, though. Only a few deer drifting past, some leaves blowing. Her friends hadn’t seen anything during their shifts, either.

We’ve only been at this one day, she told herself, nervously rearranging the sugar and Sweet’N Low packets in the small ceramic holder in the middle of the table so they all faced the same direction, something she often did to calm herself down. Maybe Ali was still in New York.

“What’s all this?”

Spencer jumped again. Greg stood above her, smiling bashfully.

“Oh!” Spencer hid the iPad screen with her hand. “Just some dumb thing on Vine. So how are you?” she said, trying to act casual.

“Fine.” Greg pulled out a chair. “You been here long?”

“Uh, traffic was light.” Spencer peeked at the iPad screen. Nothing. She quickly logged out of the server and shoved the device in her tote bag. “I love this place, by the way.”

Greg smiled. “I’m glad. It’s the only place I know in Philly, actually. I don’t get to the city much.”

He’d texted last night wanting to see her, and when Spencer had said yes, he’d mentioned Sue’s and said he had time at 10:00 AM. Sue’s had quaint, mismatched tables, miniature tea sets on high shelves along the walls, and stacks and stacks of books and board games that overtook a lot of the floor space. There was something so pleasantly haphazard about the café, like you were drinking coffee in a professor’s living room.

“Well, thanks for coming all the way to Philly,” Spencer said after the same waitress poured Greg a cup of coffee.

Greg smiled. “Delaware is about as far from Philly as Rosewood. And anyway, thank you. I wasn’t really sure you’d want to after, you know, New York.”

A too-hot sip of coffee slid down Spencer’s throat. She’d thought Greg wouldn’t want to see her. After Ali’s train had whooshed into that dark, obscuring tunnel, Greg had asked what Spencer had been trying to tell him. But by that point, Spencer knew she’d sound insane if she said anything, so she’d kept quiet. But Ali’s face hadn’t left her thoughts. She’d been distant the rest of the night, heading back to Rosewood early.

Now Greg stared at her intently, perhaps waiting. Spencer looked down. “I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?”

“Only if you want to.”

She gazed at the books on the shelves. Did she? She wasn’t sure.

When she tried to get more words out, they wouldn’t come. Greg’s shoulders heaved up and down. He took a long sip of coffee. “You probably have a lot of people nosing around your life right now, wanting to know more about you. But what I saw the other night in the subway station was . . . panic. I want to help. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know. And that’s sweet.” She tried to smile. There were worse things in life than having a gorgeous guy care about her well-being.

“You seem really scared to me. I’ve lived that, Spencer. I know how it feels and what it looks like. So can you tell me what happened?”

Spencer stuck a spoon in her coffee and slowly stirred. She thought again how Greg had been so willing to listen. He seemed completely guileless. She realized that even though she barely knew him, she trusted him.

She shifted forward a little. “Okay. I don’t think Alison’s dead.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Alison DiLaurentis.” It came out like a statement, not a question. “You’re sure?”

Spencer swallowed hard, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. That was the beauty about this place, though—no one was here. “Yes,” she whispered. “We’re pretty sure.”

She told Greg that Ali had haunted her, Hanna, and even Aria, in a way, and then how she almost drowned Emily. “I had an eerie sense I’d see her in New York somewhere,” she explained. “And then I did—on the subway. I never thought it would be somewhere so public. I started yelling like that because I wanted someone else to see her, too—so we could prove it to the cops. But it was so loud . . . and everyone in New York thinks everyone else is crazy, and no one was paying attention to me. And then the train rolled away. She was gone.”

Greg laced his fingers together. “So she was just . . . riding the subway? And you randomly saw her?”

Spencer shook her head. She’d been pondering that a lot. “I think she got on at Rockefeller Center, like us. She wanted me to see her—getting on at another station and trying to time it doesn’t really make sense. Maybe she was lurking around the Time-Life Building, waiting for us to be done. And then, when we went to the subway, she hid on the uptown platform until she was positive I was looking.”

“But why didn’t she attack you in the subway station? Why merely scare you from across the platform? From what I’ve heard, Alison seems more ruthless than that.”

“Because she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. The cops think she’s dead—she doesn’t want anyone else to know it’s her. I guess she didn’t plan on me freaking and trying to point her out.” Spencer pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Ali’s been doing this to all of us—appearing randomly, letting us know she’s still around. Well, except to Emily—Ali actually hurt her. And she killed Emily’s girlfriend.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “She did?”

“I mean, we don’t know for sure,” Spencer backtracked. “Jordan was in prison. But it’s way too much of a coincidence.” She lowered her eyes, realizing that last part sounded insane. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it.

Greg fiddled with a little stirring spoon. “Why don’t you tell the cops?” he asked.

She shrugged. “The cops think she’s dead. And I’m the only one who saw her in New York.”

“Well, maybe there are cameras in the subway. Or the station.”

Spencer thought about this. “There could be. But you’d need police permission to get those. And like I said, the police don’t believe Ali’s alive.” It was the same reason they couldn’t go to Jordan’s prison themselves and ask for surveillance records. Besides, Ali was too smart to let anything get on camera. Only, did that mean she was too smart to let herself be seen on the cameras they’d set up around the pool house, too?

“The cops are assholes.” Greg looked angry.

“Yeah.” Spencer pretended to pick lint off her T-shirt.

“Well, I believe you.”

Spencer looked up as Greg took her hand. A lump formed in her throat. It felt so good to hear someone say those words. “Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s nice to hear that.”

Greg shook his head. “It’s a horrible thing to feel like you have no one to turn to and no one who will listen. But I will always listen. You can always talk to me. What’s your plan?”

“We have no plans,” Spencer said automatically. There was no way she was telling him about the pool house or the surveillance cameras. But his voice was so tender that tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, though. For . . . being here.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stared at each other meaningfully. Then Greg moved into the seat next to Spencer and touched his lips lightly to hers. The coffee smells and faint French music fell away, and all Spencer felt was his soft mouth. Her head throbbed with pleasure. She pulled Greg closer, his firm, strong chest pressed against hers. She could feel his biceps through his shirt, his strong back muscles, too. Even his body felt safe. He really would protect her. And maybe, unlike the other boys she’d known, he wouldn’t leave when things got scary.

They pulled away, grinning at each other. Spencer sought for something cute and witty to say, but then she blurted, “Will you go to a benefit in Rosewood with me?”

Greg looked amused. “I’d be honored. When is it?”

“Tomorrow.” Spencer grimaced guiltily. “I’m sorry I’m inviting you so late. But I would love it if you could make it. It’s for troubled and disadvantaged youth around Rosewood. Apparently, I’m their honored guest—maybe because I’m so troubled.” She winced.

“Ooh,” Greg said. “Well, in my book, you’re always the honored guest.”

Spencer was about to playfully punch him, but her buzzing phone threw her off. She glanced down into her open bag. NEW EMAIL FROM DOMINICKPHILLY.

She groaned. What could he want? She knew she should ignore it, but she was still thinking very much about Dominick’s presence in New York. Especially how he’d sauntered out of the room saying, I hope you’re happy, little liar.

“Excuse me,” she said to Greg, reaching for it. Slowly, she pressed the button to bring up the message. Her face fell.

“What is it?” Greg asked.

Spencer swallowed hard. “A new note from Dominick.”

“That guy who heckled you?”

She nodded, then turned her phone to show him. Greg’s brow furrowed as he inspected the screen. “You can run to Philly,” he read aloud, “but you can’t hide from the fact that you’re a fraud.” He set his jaw. “How does he know you’re in Philly?”

She ran her hands down the length of her face. “I don’t know,” she said shakily. She stared out the window, half expecting to see him on a park bench across the street, glaring. But the park’s only visitors were some pigeons. “Maybe he’s following me,” she said softly.

“But . . . why?”

Suddenly, Spencer had a horrible thought. She turned to Greg. “Have you heard of the Ali Cats?”

Greg frowned. “That Alison fan club?”

“Yeah. I haven’t wanted to think they’re dangerous, but who knows? Maybe Dominick is one of them.” Spencer had discounted Emily’s theory until she’d reread the Ali Cat post. The person who’d said they hated all enemies of Ali did seem pretty vehement. There were a lot of crazy people out there in the world—and Dominick seemed right up there.

“So he’s out to get you?” Greg looked skeptical.

“I don’t know.” Spencer felt like she might cry. She blinked again and again, trying to wipe away the image of Dominick’s scowling face.

Greg curled her hand in his. “I do know, Spencer. I get it, I promise.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Spencer,” he said in a warm, soft voice.

Spencer sank her face into his chest, holding on to him tightly, wishing she would never have to let go.