The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

by Ally Carter

“You know”—Lance’s voice took on a lascivious tone; he sounded like the reason they invented penicillin—“she’s probably starting to get real lonely. Maybe I’ll go see if I can’t get h...

“No, Lance. What do you mean?” Something about the sound of Ethan’s voice made it feel like the temperature was dropping fast. Like she was going to see her breath. “Come down her chimney? Mistle her toe.” “Mistletoe’s poisonous.” Now Ethan sounded annoyed. “Sh...

“I’m just saying, it’s getting cold. She might want to share body heat.” “She just left her husband, and she doesn’t need you—” Lance gave a quick, sharp laugh that cut him off. “But that’s the best pa...

“Lance!” someone called. There were voices at the end of the hall, followed by the sound of fading footsteps, and for a long time, all Maggie could do was stand there, telling herse...

But then she heard a low, dark laugh. A subtle huff. And Ethan Freaking Wyatt saying, “No, I’m not surprised he left her.” There was a roar in Maggie’s ears then. A rush of blood and gravity and rage. It felt like she was flying—faster and faster, hurtling out into a vast and endless void. A black hole was swallowi...

I’m not surprised he left her. There wasn’t enough tinsel in the world. No scissors sharp enough. No garland strong enough. She was going to kill him with her bare hands. With her teeth. With her . . . When Maggie stepped into the empty h...

Maggie didn’t want to be that girl—she’d shoved her down and hidden her away. She’d spent years clawing up from nothing to that New York skyrise. She’d written and she’d bled, and she’d done it all on her own, no matter what Colin told his lawyers. I’m not surprised he left her.

No. Even the great Ethan Wyatt had the story wrong, and Maggie wanted to shout it from the rooftops and shove it in his face. She wanted to be stronger and tougher and . . . Eleanor. Maggie wanted to be Eleanor, but she’d settle for being the girl in the reindeer sweatshirt.

“Oh, no.” She leaned up to talk to the driver. “I’ll need the main entrance. I’m on . . .” She twisted in her seat, looking for her itinerary, but what she saw out the window made her stop. And stare. Because there was a private jet idling on the tarmac.

She heard the driver say, “This is it, ma’am. You’ve arrived.” And she thought, Maybe I have, as she crawled from the car. And again as she climbed the stairs. And once more as she stood in the cabin, surrounded by glossy wood and rich, soft leather, wondering if New Jet Smell was a thing because, if so, this jet definitely had it.

It felt like more than just the start of a trip. It was the start of a new chapter. And for the first time in almost a year, Maggie felt herself begin to smile. And hope. And wonder— A toilet flushed. The lav...

Maggie spun around, but the jet door was already rising—already closing. It was t...

Maggie was having a nightmare. Yes. That had to be it. Her teeth were falling out and she’d just remembered a class she hadn’t been to all semester and, oh yeah, she was locked inside a metal tube that would soon be hurtling over open water . . . With Ethan. Freaking. Wyatt.

She was going to wake up, though. It was going to be okay. This wasn’t actually— “Hi there.” At first glance, Maggie had thought the jet seemed huge, but it suddenly felt small. Very small. Entirely too small! Because Ethan Freaking Wyatt was stepping out of the

“Well, Marcie, my dear, we seem to be going on this little adventure together.” When he reached for the safety rail that ran along the ceiling of the jet his shirt rode up and— Was that an ab? Yes, there were definitely abs under there—the kind that you can see. And presumably touch. But Maggie wasn’t thinking about touching. Nope. Not even a little bit.

But Ethan merely raised an eyebrow like isn’t it obvious? “Mysterious invitation from a mysterious benefactor to . . . well . . . mystery writers?”

And then Maggie didn’t speak: she laughed. The quick kind. The loud kind. The guffaw kind. “I write mysteries. You write . . .” She stopped herself, but Ethan simply raised an eyebrow in a way that looked like a question but felt like a dare. “You know what you write.”

“Oh, no. I think I want you to tell me.” There was a smile in his voice, like this was fun and not a nightmare come to life. “What kind of books do I write?” “You’re a leather jacket guy.” He was currently the Leather Jacket Guy...

He gave her a look like I know I’m going to regret asking this but . . . “What, exactly, is a leather jacket book?” As if he didn’t know. “They are books with car chases and gunfights and back covers that are nothing but giant author p...

“I see. So you know everything there is to know about me, then.” His tone was a mixture of wry amusement and intimidating calm. “So what about you?” “What about me?” Maggie’s voice wa...

“What do I need to know about you?” He adjusted his grip on the railing, shirt riding up and abs peeking out again, and Maggie totally forgot the question. “You know . . . Hi, Ethan.” His voice went slightly higher too. “I’m Mar—” “Maggie,” she cut in before he could get it wrong. “—ga-re...

“Ms. Chase? Mr. Wyatt? My name is Peter and I’ll be taking care of you. If you’d like to take your seats, we’ll be taking off soon. There’s a storm in the forecast, and we’d like to land before it hits.”

Oh. Right. Because they were on an airplane. Together. And they were going on this bizarre trip. Together. “This yours?” Ethan reached for the tote at her feet. Her laptop was in there. And her favorite notebook. And her backup notebook. And her other backup notebook. But he lifted the heavy bag with one finger, sliding it into a tall cabinet as his shirt rode up. Again. This time she saw two abs because he couldn’t keep from showing off.

“As I was saying, we have both been invited on this—” “I still think we should go with quest.” He nodded decisively. “And I think we should—if possible—put aside our issues with each other—” “What issues?” His voice sounded different this time.

“—and try to just . . . get along.” Maggie ground out the words as the plane roared down the runway. For a split second, she felt almost weightless as they started to rise. “What issues—” “Call a truce,” she went on. “A détente.” “A what?” Now he sounded upset. “It means a cease-fire—”

“I know what détente means. What I don’t know is why you and I need one.” He couldn’t be serious? Of cours...

Deborah had asked her once why she hated him so much, and the answer had been easy: Ethan Wyatt wasn’t a person—he was a persona. A social media feed brought to life. A human sound bite comprised of charming quips and clever banter, carefully constructe...

He was pretend. An illusion. A lie. Maggie had known him for five years, and they’d never had a single conver...

A memory landed, unbidden, in Maggie’s mind and she rushed to shake it off, while, across the aisle, Ethan blinked. “I’m a little confused, Marcie, my dear—” “Maggie,” she forced out. “Why are you acting like we’re enemies?” “Why are you acting like we’re friends?” “What . . .” “Either we’re”—Maggie made a gesture—“finger-gun buddies—” “I don’t think that’s a real thing.” “—or we’re not. But pleas...

“My name is Maggie.” She died a little when her voice cracked. “It has always been Maggie, and if you can’t remember that, just don’t call me anything at all. Please.” For a moment, all he did was stare. And blink. When...

“Of course, I’m serious! Just like I was serious at the American Library Association when I told you I didn’t want your sticker.” “How was I supposed to know that adhesive allergies are a real thing?” “And I was serious at the Edgars when I told you—” “Hey! The fire marshal said that could have happ...

“One: I think shorter hair looks great on you. And two—” “I can never go back to Houston!” He had the nerve to roll his eyes. “Of course you can go to Houston. Murder by the Book would have you. Do you want me to call Johnnie? I can c...

The plane leveled off and the cabin lights went dim and Maggie wished she could pull the words back. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about Tucson.” His voice was soft and low, and the bad part was that he wasn’t ...

“Just . . . please. I’m asking for a few days of peace, and then you can go back to mocking me and I can keep on avoiding you and we can both live the rest of our lives, blissfully having no re...

The cabin that had seemed so lush a few minutes before was suddenly like a spaceship—foreign and cold. Lights the color of amber were shining through the darkness, directing them to the emergency exits, bu...

“Can we do that? Please?” Maggie thought she might break under the weight of all that silence, but Ethan wasn’t speechless. If anything, he looked like a man who had so many things to say he couldn’t possibly pick just one. Then he s...

Maggie turned and watched the lights of the city fading behind them, the dark waves of the Atlantic stretching out ahead. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the man beside her was like that water, sweeping and powerful and beloved. But Maggie had spent the last year feeling like an open wound...

Colin hadn’t. I didn’t marry some short-haired girl, he had muttered when he saw it, not quite loud enough to prove she’d actually heard what Maggie knew she’d heard. It was one of his greatest skills, like poking a stick through the bars of a tiger’s cage—irritating, ...

But Maggie had kept it shorter anyway. A few inches above her shoulders but long enough to pull back because, the truth was, she liked it too. Ethan went back to poking at buttons and opening compartments ...

“Do you know where we’re going?” she had to ask. “Nope.” “Are you . . .” Maggie looked down at her hands. They were chapped and raw but not quite bleeding. They looked like how the rest of her felt. But for the first time in a long time, there was another heartbeat in the darkness...

She could barely make out his face in the shadows. He should have been less powerful with his million-dollar looks off the table, but it wasn’t Ethan’s face that made him. It was his presence. And, if anything, it was heightened in the dark. She could hear him breathe. She could...

“Whatever happens, I’m with you. Whatever comes, I’m in.” Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzp. The chair slowly descended until it lay fully flat and he turned on his side. “Hey, wanna make out?” he asked. She glared. A...

“Maggie.” The voice was low and close and almost familiar. Like a dream she couldn’t quite remember but wanted to have again. “Maggie . . . Margaret Catherine Chase, you’re going to be late!”

Maggie bolted upright and remembered: She was on an airplane. She was with Ethan Wyatt. But she was also possibly (probably) covered in drool, and he was trying very, very hard not to laugh, so Maggie gave him a drooly scowl and told him, “That’s not my name.”

“And a good morning to you too!” His hair was mussed and his grin was crooked as he stood above her, haloed by a bright, clear light. The plane smelled like coffee and bacon...

She’d never been because there had never been money, and once there was money there wasn’t time. It was the catch-22 of her life, and she felt a little naive...

“We’ll be landing soon.” Peter slid an omelet and a cup of coffee in front of her. “Thank you,” she said. “Could I have—” “Cream, two sugars?” he guessed, then gave her a wink. “Already in there.” Wow. Whoever their mystery benefactor was, he’d done his homework. “So on a scale of one to ten, how freaked out should I be that these peopl...

She turned to see him near the back of the plane, digging in a suitcase and pulling out a fresh shirt. When he grabbed his old one by the collar and slid it over his head in one smooth motion, he looked like an ad for bodywash or body spray or just bodies in general because the move revealed muscles she’d thought only existed on book covers. Killhaven was making a mistake...

And that was when she saw the scar—long and jagged, starting at his shoulder and then running down the right side of his back. The wound was old and healed but still angry—as if something dangerous lived inside of Ethan and was still trying to claw its way out. And none of it made any sense.

Ethan Wyatt was smooth perfection and effortless charm. Easy smiles and clever quips. The product of focus groups and Photoshop and at least ten thousand dollars’ worth of high-end orthodontia.