Drop Dead Gorgeous (Return to Fear Street Book 3)

I froze in panic for a moment.

Cal stood gaping at me with the bat poised.

I sucked in a deep breath, struggled to slow my racing heartbeats—and dove back into the car.

He took a few strides along the side of the car. Was he going to smash my window?

I fumbled with the key, finally turned the ignition, and slammed my foot on the gas. The car heaved forward, sending Morgan and me back against the seat with a hard jerk. We squealed away. It sounded like something in a Fast and Furious movie.

I raised my eyes to the rearview mirror. And saw Cal standing there, watching us roar away, his bat still raised in front of him.

“That was horrible!” Morgan cried, holding on to my arm. “He wrecked your car. Who was that?”

I didn’t want to tell her that Cal was Delia’s stepbrother. I didn’t reply.

“No. Really,” Morgan insisted. “Do you know him, Winks? He sure seemed to know you.”

I shook my head. “I think he’s just some crazy guy. I mean, maybe he escaped from a hospital or something. We should call the police.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “But . . . he said, ‘Didn’t I warn you?’ You must have seen him before.”

I swung the car onto Division Street. “No. Never. I’d remember someone like him, you know.”

“But why—”

“Beats me.” I groaned. “My mom is going to kill me about the smashed trunk. She loves this car like it’s another kid.”

Morgan crossed her arms in front of her and stared straight ahead through the windshield. The afternoon sun was lowering behind the trees, and long shadows rolled over the car as we drove. “I’m . . . still shaking,” she said, hugging herself.

“Me too,” I confessed. “An insane nut like that can do anything. I guess we were lucky.

“Hey, where am I dropping you?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “I don’t know where you live.”

She pointed. “You can drop me at that corner. I promised I’d see a friend.”

I pulled to the corner. She leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Well . . . it’s been exciting,” she said. And she slid out of the car.

I watched her stride along the sidewalk. She has such a sexy walk. I wanted to run after her and grab her and start all over again. Crazy. I know. It was like I was hypnotized or something.

She turned a corner, and I quickly snapped out of it. And remembered Cal and the baseball bat and how he wrecked my mom’s car and threatened me.

Didn’t I warn you? That’s what he’d said. Like he was the law or something. How could shy, quiet Delia have such an insane, out-of-his-mind stepbrother?

“No more,” I murmured to myself. “Delia has got to call off Cal. She has got to talk to him. He’s totally deranged.”

I squealed into a sharp U-turn and headed toward Delia’s house.

Her brother, Duke, opened the front door. He’s a strange dude, very lanky with long tangles of hay-colored hair. His clothes kind of hang on him. His sleeves are too long. He always makes me think of a scarecrow.

Duke is ten years older than Delia. I’ve never really talked with him. He has a quiet voice that dribbles down his stubbly chin. I can never hear half of what he says.

“Is Delia home?”

He nodded and stepped back so I could enter the front hall. The entryway was dark, except for red evening sunlight slanting through a wide living room window. The walls were bare. No paintings or artwork of any kind.

I heard classical music playing from the back of the house. It was deep and creepy, low organ music, like from a horror movie.

Duke had a shuffling walk. His shoes scraped the floor noisily. He nodded his head with each step. He gestured with one hand into the living room.

Delia sat on a small gray couch, her back to me. She was reading a book on a Kindle. Her ringlets of dark hair shone in the light from the screen.

She turned and uttered a surprised cry as I appeared. Her smile spread over her pale, pretty face. “Winks? What a nice surprise.”

She closed the Kindle cover and patted the couch cushion beside her. “Don’t just stand there. Come here.”

I came around to the front of the couch and dropped down beside her. I opened my mouth to talk, but she threw her arms around me and pulled me close and started kissing me.

She made loud breathing sounds as she kissed me, her eyes closed. She’s kind of passionate, I guess. I mean, I know she’s very emotional.

She wore a tight pale blue sweater over white tennis shorts. Her whole body was so light and thin, like a delicate bird. I always felt like a big elephant next to her. Seriously. I was afraid I might go to hug her and crush her.

I pulled back. “Listen, Delia, we have to talk.”

Her dark eyes went wide. She studied my face, as if trying to read what was on my mind. “Winks—your lip is bleeding,” she said. She touched my mouth gently with one hand. “Your lips . . . they’re swollen. Are you okay?”

From kissing Morgan, I realized. It was so intense . . .

“I . . . uh . . . guess they’re just dry,” I said.

She started to stand up. “I can get you some ChapStick.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down beside me. “No. Listen. I have to talk to you, Delia.”

She tugged at a ringlet of hair that had become tangled. Her eyes were locked on mine.

“You have got to tell Cal to lay off,” I said. “Your crazy stepbrother is following me everywhere. He’s out of control, Delia. He’s totally wacked out. And he’s dangerous.”

She shut her eyes for a moment, breaking the connection between us. Her face twisted in confusion. “Excuse me? What are you talking about, Winks?”

“I’m talking about Cal. Your psycho stepbrother.”

She grabbed my arm. “Are you totally losing it? I don’t have a stepbrother.”