A Girl Undone (29 page)

I scuffed my flip-flops across the floor, pretending I couldn’t care less what they were saying while inside I fought not to panic. If there was a tape of Hawkins and me talking about blackmailing Jouvert …

“We don’t retain the files,” Deeps said. “We clear them every morning.”

Deeps had to be lying. As Hawkins’ loyal man, he’d say anything to keep incriminating data out of the feds’ hands.

Back in my room, I wound the wall hanging around my waist, then put a shirt on over it, and stuffed Mom’s letters inside. I was zipping on my hoodie when there was a rap on the door.

“Miss Reveare, we’d like to come in.”

Two agents held the door while I slipped by. Jessop and Ho were still talking to Agent Brisbane and the other man downstairs as I went out the double doors. I didn’t see anyone in the garage, so I darted up the steps to the parking circle.

Two black SUVs dominated the pavement. If Sig saw them when he opened the gate, maybe he’d realize who they were and turn around before the feds intercepted him. But what if he thought they belonged to the event crew working on the Signing?

I had to make sure Sig didn’t go inside the house, and I had to tell him the feds were closing in on Luke.

I headed through the scrub toward the grove. From there I’d be able to see the gate, but stay out of sight. The only person who ever came out there was Hawkins, and right now the agents were keeping him busy inside.

I hurried down the dusty path in my flip-flops, wishing I’d remembered to wear boots. Please, no snakes. Please, no snakes.

But as I reached the grove, I slowed. The atmosphere here felt different, sacred almost. Towering eucalyptus formed a loose circle that tailed off near the cliff, and I stopped to take in the bronze statue of a woman atop a granite pedestal in the middle of the clearing. The crushed leaves below my feet gave off a pungent scent.

From where I stood, the woman was in profile. Her hair was twisted in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and she gazed at something beyond the trees. Hawkins’ paintings of slaughtered chickens and melting abstract bodies repulsed me, but this woman drew me to her.

I walked up until I was only a couple feet away. She felt like a real person, because even though she was pretty with high cheekbones I envied, she had a small bump on her long, slender nose, and her chin jutted out just a little bit too much.

She was seated as if she was relaxing on the ground with one leg stretched out in front of her. Her elbow rested on her bent knee and a broad-brimmed hat like hikers wear hung from her hand. She looked like she’d stepped off a trail to take in the view, and she looked like you could ask her anything.

I ran my hand down her sleeve, releasing a yellow cloud into the air. When I stepped around to the front, I saw the name Livia Dufort cut into the granite pedestal along with the words “The earth has music for those who listen. Shakespeare.”

“Born May 10, 1975—Died October 30, 2007.”

Livia died from Scarpanol. Or maybe not, but she was only thirty-two, so the chances were—

I circled around, wondering who she was, because she wasn’t Hawkins’ sister, whose name I knew started with
m.
Plus, Livia didn’t look like anyone I could imagine with Hawkins.

Not his girlfriend and most definitely not his fianc
é
e. “The earth has music for those who listen”? That wasn’t a Jessop Hawkins philosophy.

But for some reason, Livia Dufort was buried here.

On the back of the pedestal, I spied a small bronze plaque and crouched down in the dust. Dirt was caught in the raised bronze letters, making it hard to read. “
Livia
by Marielle Hawkins.”

Hawkins’ sister sculpted her. His sister?

“What are you doing?”

I fell back on my butt. Hawkins stood a few feet away, his hands resting in his pants pockets.

“Nothing,” I said, getting to my feet. I retreated a short distance, trying to gauge if Hawkins was upset to find me here. “I didn’t want to be in the house with those men.”

“Yeah, they were going through my office, so Adam suggested I come out here and clear my head.” He glared at the house. “I think he was afraid I’d say the wrong thing and antagonize them.”

The hanging was tight across my chest. “Do you think they’re looking for the recording—the one we used to blackmail Jouvert?”

“Possibly, but it’s not here.”

“No? Then where is it?”

“Don’t worry. It’s safe.” Hawkins paced the perimeter of the trees, and the mood became charged with tension. He was telling me not to worry, but he clearly was.

I moved over to a stone bench on the opposite side of the clearing. From there I could still see the driveway.

“What about the tapes from the monitors in the house?” I asked. “The Secret Service seemed to want those pretty bad. If they hear us talking about Jouvert—”

“Deeps erased everything last night and dismantled the audio. We should be safe.”

“Good. That makes me feel better.”

Hawkins walked up to the statue. He looked at Livia, but what he said was meant for me. “You handled their questions well. And the pouty teenager act— One of the men commiserated with me for having to put up with your moods.”

He set his hand down on the toe of Livia’s boot, and I saw how the bronze was worn and shiny in that spot. Everything became quiet. Even the leaves stopped rustling as if the wind didn’t want to tick Hawkins off.

I was dying to ask who Livia was, but I knew not to push. “The sculpture’s beautiful,” I said.

“My sister did it. It was the last of her sculptures cast before her death.” Hawkins knocked a seed pod aside with his foot.

I stayed silent, hoping he’d say something more about Livia or Marielle, but he barely looked at me as he announced he was going back in. “The Secret Service is moving fairly quickly. I expect they’ll be gone in a few hours.”

“I’m staying out here for now.”

“Understandable.”

He tromped back through the brush, and I couldn’t help remembering how Mom wrote in a letter that loss makes some people more human and others less so. Hawkins was such a beast, it was impossible for me to believe he hadn’t always been this way. But he had to have been different if a woman like Livia loved him. It just didn’t make sense.

Through the trees, I spied the two agents in my bedroom. They’d flipped the mattress and were examining the platform under my bed. I breathed into the hanging, relieved I’d gotten it out of there. Then I tucked myself behind a tree to wait for Sig. Hawkins better be right that the recording of Sparrow and Jouvert was hidden someplace the feds would never find it. I was afraid to imagine what would happen if they did.

38

I sat outside for hours, waiting for Sig to appear and the Secret Service to leave. Sig never showed, and the sun went down, and my feet were almost frozen before the feds’ headlights traveled up the drive.

When I got to my room, the mattress was back on the bed, but the sheets were thrown on top in a messy pile, and Deeps was holding a small device with an antenna up to the fire detector.

“Something wrong with the battery?” I said.

Deeps put a finger to his lips, and showed me the label on the device. Wireless signal detector. He bent close to my ear. “Just checking whether the Secret Service left anything behind.”

“Yeah, good idea.” I shivered at the thought of them watching my every move, and reached for the remote to close the curtains. They probably had a scope up on the hills across Pacific Coast Highway, not to mention what they’d left here. At least they hadn’t sliced open my mattress or punched holes in the walls like the FBI did.

“All clear in here,” Deeps whispered, then ducked into my dressing room while I straightened out my sheets. He was still scanning the closet when Sig showed up at my door in a tux. A black-on-black striped garment bag was slung over his shoulder and a shiny red shopping bag hung off that.

Crap. The debutante auction.
I motioned behind me and mouthed the word “Deeps.”

Sig gave a nod.

“I don’t want to go to the auction tonight,” I said, loudly enough for Deeps to hear.

“Ms. Reveare, I don’t make your schedule,” Sig replied.

I held up my hand to keep him in the doorway. “I was worried,” I whispered. “The Secret Service just left. They asked about Luke.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I barely met him, and I think they believed me, but the questions they asked—they think he’s going to shoot someone important.”

Sig swept a hand over his scalp.
Damn.

“All clear in here.” Deeps came around the corner. “Oh, hi, Sigmund.”

“Josh.”

“Guess I better go get my fancy duds on. We’re leaving in thirty, right?”

I moved back to let Deeps pass, and Sig walked in. He glanced up at the monitor in the corner.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “Deeps dismantled the audio.”

“Interesting.” Sig strode into my dressing room with me right behind him. He hung the bag on a hook by my LAOR apron. “What’s this? ‘I am not for sale’?”

“The girls at the orphan ranch gave it to me.”

Sig smiled. “Good for them.”

I took the apron off the hook and folded it, wondering why I’d hung it up in the first place when it only reminded me that I’d sold myself to the highest bidder. I slid it into a drawer. “One of the agents who was here said he knows you.”

Sig didn’t move for a second, then he picked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “My trip to San Antonio was a dead end,” he said. “I didn’t find any sign of Luke.”

I would have thought Sig would be relieved. “That’s good, right? Maybe Luke met the reporters after all.”

“I wish I believed that. My contacts at the
Washington Post
came up empty. They said either no one on their staff is researching a story about Sparrow, or the reporters who are working on it are so nervous about leaks that only a few top people at the paper have been informed.”

“So we have no clue whether Luke turned over the thumb drives or not.”

“Do you think he’d try going back to Salvation?” Sig said.

I could picture Luke hiding up on Phelan’s ridge, sleeping in a snow cave so he could keep watch over his family without them knowing. “No. I think he’d be too afraid the feds would come after his family.”

“Is there anyone else Luke might have turned to outside Salvation?”

“Luke hardly ever left there. The only times he did were to drive the horses to winter pasture or to help Barnabas deliver the guitars he built.”

“All right, that’s something. Barnabas probably sold to dealers. Did Luke mention any names?”

“No, only the towns the stores were in.” I named the ones I remembered.

“Well, at least we have a place to start.” Sig handed me the red shopping bag. “We’re running out of time. You need to get dressed.”

Something black and lacy was nestled in pink tissue paper. I pulled it out with two fingers and held it away from me. “A corset? Really?”

“Appearances can be deceiving. It’s a high-tech safety shield with ultralight panels to protect your vital organs. Deeps suggested it.”

I laid it against my chest. Heart, stomach, liver, kidneys were covered, but the corset was cut low in the back. Goose bumps pricked my neck. “What if someone shoots me in the back, Sig?” I said quietly.

“Don’t say that,” he said, struggling to keep his expression composed.

Seeing him like that scared me more than his giving me the shield in the first place. “What, you couldn’t find me a shrug made out of this stuff?” I joked.

“I’d wrap you head to toe in Kevlar if I could.”

I saw a flicker of Helen in Sig’s eyes. “I know you would.”

“So, are you ready to see your dress?”

“Ugh. God, I wish you could get me out of attending this auction.”

“I’m afraid not. Adam Ho was so impressed with the response to your visit to the orphan ranch that he gave me an unlimited budget for tonight’s dress. He’s counting on you to turn in another stellar performance.”

“It’s going to be televised, isn’t it? Everyone’s going to see me arm in arm with Jessop Hawkins.”

“By everyone, don’t you mean Yates?”

“Yes, and it’ll confirm every horrible thing he thinks about me.”

“I doubt Yates will be watching. He doesn’t strike me as the type to hang around a sports bar, placing bets on how much a girl will go for.”

“No, you’re probably right.” But even if he didn’t see the show, Yates would hear about me being there. It would be impossible to stay out of the spotlight when I was Hawkins’ date.

Sig unzipped the black-on-black striped bag, revealing a strapless gold dress. Strips of fan-folded foil stretched across the bodice and skirt, and were sewn into a jagged-edged ruffle down one side that looked as if it could cut my hand if I brushed against it. The fabric was coppery in places like it had been treated with chemicals so the metallic fibers had turned a honeyed red.

“It’s amazing,” I said.

“This dress will get you seen around the world.”

“As Jessop Hawkins’ trophy and adoring lapdog.”

Sig straightened up until he towered over me. “Self-pity is boring. If you don’t like your image, find a way to change it.”

My cheeks flared as Sig continued. “You aren’t helpless. You can do better than this.”

“How? How am I supposed to fix this?”

“Try starting with your attitude.” Sig swept out of the room.

39

Hawkins’ eyes were fixed on me as Sig and I walked toward the Escalade. Sig had barely acknowledged me when I came out of my room. Now he stared straight ahead, while I thrashed around for something to say, afraid I’d lost my only friend in this place. “I love the dress, Sig.”

Sig sniffed. “You should. It tells the world that even though you’ve been captured, you are not a slave.”

“Sorry about the pity party.”

“Apology accepted. We shall put the past behind us.” Sig sneaked me a smile and my heart fluttered with relief.

Hawkins waited at the passenger door. “That’s an interesting choice of dress,” he told Sig.