Free Proposal by Meg Cabot Page A

behind only the smell of ocean brine and the earthy odor of petrichor, the fragrance released from soil after it’s gone too long without rain. The gauzy white curtains on either side of the balcony doors hung limp, like abandoned rag dolls.
    â€œOh, my God,” Zack sobbed softly into his knees. “Oh, my God. Thank God.”
    The thing was, he thought he was safe now. And why wouldn’t he? The storm was over.
    I knew, however, that it had only just begun.
    Because I could see what Zack couldn’t. And that was that he and I weren’t alone in that dark bedroom. Standing next to one of those gauzy white curtains was a figure, a dark figure dressed all in black, even down to the frames of his eyeglasses. He was staring at Zack’s crumpled, sobbing form.
    And there wasn’t the slightest hint of pity in his gaze.
    â€œWhat should I do to him?” Mark asked me in an emotionless voice.
    â€œNothing,” I said. “You’ve done enough already. Leave him alone, Mark. Like I told you in the cemetery, it will only make things worse for you if you do anything to him. He admitted it. I’ll make sure justice is served.”
    â€œJustice,” Mark said, with a sneer. “What a stupid, meaningless word. Justice isn’t going to bring her back. Or me.”
    â€œI know. But he’ll get what he deserves.”
    â€œNo,” Mark said. There was emotion in his voice now. It was scorn. “He won’t. You watch. He won’t. The rich never do.”
    I was afraid Mark was right. Where was the proof? That was the problem. There was no proof.
    But I tried to lie, for Mark’s sake.
    â€œHis mother’s a good person,” I said. “I don’t know about his dad, but I think he’s all right, too. They’re both trying to help others. When they find out the dangerous person their son really is, they’ll make sure he’s removed from society.”
    Mark let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. That will happen.”
    Zack lifted his head and stared at me through eyelids that were even more red-­rimmed than before. “Who the hell are you talking to, lady?”
    â€œMark,” I replied, simply. I leaned down to adjust my boots. I had a feeling I was going to need them in a few minutes. “He’s here to kill you. I was just telling him that isn’t going to be necessary. You’re going to put yourself away for what you did to him and Jasmin.”
    Zack wiped his eyes, his expression growing steelier by the second. “The hell I am.”
    â€œOh, yes,” I said, doing a few neck rolls. “You are. You’re a danger to yourself, Zack, but mostly you’re a danger to others.”
    â€œYou’re full of shit,” was Zack’s witty reply.
    â€œThat’s entirely possible,” I said, pushing up my sleeves. “But your tendency toward violence; your blatant disregard for the law; your obvious disdain for the rights and feelings of anyone besides yourself; but most of all your complete and total lack of remorse or guilt about your actions—­you were only crying just now because you were sorry you got caught, not sorry for what you did—­leads me to believe that you’re a full-­on sociopath. Maybe even a psychopath.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have my degree yet, so I can’t guarantee which for sure. But do you know what I can guarantee? You are going down for the murders of Mark Rodgers and Jasmin Ahmadi. The only question is, do you want it to be the hard way? Or the easy way?”
    His only response was a grunt. He’d lowered his brows into a scowl, apparently not caring for my calling him a psychopath even though all evidence pointed to this being the truth. This became especially obvious when his next move was to rise from the floor and come at me like a defensive tackle—­which, for all I knew, could