Anarchy Found (30 page)

“Why?” Thomas sneers. “Why the fuck didn’t it work?”

“I don’t know, asshole. I’m not the boss of him.”

Case rolls his eyes. “Lincoln, stop, OK? Just think, man. What happened last night?”

“I watched him go in the building.”

“We know he was in the building, Lincoln,” Thomas says, his voice way too calm for my comfort level. “What we don’t know is why he’s at the fucking Cathedral City Asylum on a judge-ordered psychiatric hold. Now how the fuck are we supposed to complete this job when he’s locked up?”

“We have to assume the worst,” Case says. “We have to assume the Old Man is on to us.”

“Sheila’s inside. She can get info from the system connected to the internet. But the interior cameras are on a closed circuit. She can’t access them.”

“So we just have to wait,” Case says. “We just need to sit tight and be patient until she finds something useful.”

Thomas gets up, gulps the whiskey sitting in front of his stool, then slams the glass down on the bar top so hard, it shatters. “So our whole plan, the one we’ve been discussing for fifteen fucking years, hinges on that sorry motherfucker in the psych ward?”

We don’t answer him, and he doesn’t wait. Just grabs his coat and walks out, slamming the door behind him, because the doorman has made himself scarce.

Case lets off a long breath of air. “He’s pissed.”

“Yup,” I say, catching the whiskey that Mac slides down the bar to me and taking my own gulp. “But we’re stuck until someone makes a move.”

“We’re going down, man.”

“We’re not going down, Case. Jesus, you two are pansies. We’ve got this. We’ve got Sheila, we’ve got me, and we’ve got Molly.”

“You told her?”

“No.” I laugh. “But she’s not stupid. And she’s covering for me. She knows about the others and she didn’t report me. In fact, I spent the night with her.” I get a little lost in that thought.

“You better be careful, man. Because once she figures this all out, she’s not gonna like you very much.”

“That remains to be seen,” I say back. “I can handle Molly.”

“You don’t even know her, dude.”

“Better than you do,” I say, turning my head slowly to eye Case. “So just stay the fuck out of it. We’ve got a good plan, every player is in place, and no matter what, this shit is happening. It might not happen by the book, but in a few days this whole town will be upside down. Thomas will get what he wants and I’m gonna get what I want too.”

Case is silent for a few seconds. And then he picks up his glass of whiskey. “Whatever you say, asshole. Whatever you say.”

I squint my eyes at Case for a moment, but he just downs his drink and then gets up, walks over to the jukebox, and presses the buttons for Social Distortion. The melancholy rockabilly fills the bar at high volume, drowning out everything but the obvious.

We’ve all lost a lot playing this game, but if everything goes right Thomas will have more than he ever dreamed of in a few days. And I’ve got Molly back. That’s a huge win for me.

Case? He’s got nothing so far, and nothing coming either.

He’s not quite along for the ride, but Case was never out for revenge. He’s just in on principle. He needs to know why. But the thing is, the why for Case is not the same as it is for Thomas and me. We know why we’re in this fucked-up situation. Case doesn’t. His parents refused to talk about it. They gave him an ultimatum—they would tell him all the things he wanted to know, or they’d let me stay with him after they released us from the psych center.

He chose me over answers. And it’s always pissed me off that his parents knew exactly which buttons to punch on their only son. Because we all know Case ended up in Prodigy because his parents owed those fuckers something.

“It’s gonna work,” I yell, my shout competing with the music. But Case either doesn’t hear me or refuses to. He’s already playing an old standup arcade game in the corner as he pushes down the past and goes into his virtuality.

Chapter Forty-One - Molly

I sit at my desk and stare at my computer, looking over all my grunt work relating to the Blue Corp case. But I can’t sign off on anything because it still doesn’t make sense. Given the fact that I know Lincoln was influencing these scientists to kill themselves using some biotech mumbo-jumbo that he does down in that cave of his, why would Atticus go insane and try to shoot his father?

Did Lincoln get to him too?

It bothers me. Like, a lot. Lincoln was with me last night so he couldn’t have had anything to do with Atticus.

Don’t be stupid, Molly. If the man wanted to slip out of your house and go kill someone, he would. He did after the cathedral party.

Right. Back to being bothered.

It also bothers me to think of Atticus being involved. Because he’s about the same age as Lincoln and his friends, so how could he possibly be one of those scientists? No, that makes no sense. But he has to be connected in some other way. Maybe he was at the school too?

My heart thumps wildly at that thought. Shit, what if Atticus recognized me? Maybe that’s why he was so nice when I came to visit?

But how is the Old Man connected? Is Lincoln trying to say that he was the one responsible for the Prodigy School? For what happened to us?

I think back to my meeting with Montgomery senior and look for some kind of flash of recognition, but there’s nothing there. Of course, I don’t remember anything about Prodigy School except for a handful of painful sessions with Lincoln.

I sit and stew on that. And even though all last night I declared my love for my long-lost Alpha, in the light of day and sitting in a police station as the detective in charge, everything looks different.

I’m not ready to give up on him, or turn him in, for fuck’s sake. But I don’t want to be lied to, even if his lying is by omission. I’m a part of this. I share his past. I share his pain, and betrayal, and anger.

Maybe not the anger. I do hate the fact that I came out of that school, but I’m a well-adjusted adult now, and that was fifteen years ago. Many of those years were filled with fun, and love, and family.

I sigh as my thoughts circle back to my mother at the asylum. I really should go see her. What kind of daughter am I? She took me in when I needed someone and I turned my back on her when she probably needed me most.

I mean, she did go crazy. She
is
crazy. But she helped me in my most desperate moment. She took in a kid who should’ve been handed over to social services.

Still… I deserve to know the truth.

If I go see her then I could try to slip in and see Atticus. I could get his version of events last night. It’s possible his father is lying about what happened. And if Lincoln was involved then I need to know. What if he’s in danger? Alastair Montgomery doesn’t look like a man people cross. He looks like a man who gets his way no matter what.

What if Montgomery senior is lying about Atticus? What if Atticus stumbled onto more clues? He was keeping clues from his father. Why?

Jesus, I’m such a stupid detective. If I wasn’t dealing with the return of Lincoln I’d have asked that question days ago.

When I look up at the clock it’s afternoon already. I’ve been sitting here for hours paralyzed with indecision.

I’m going to talk to Alastair Montgomery. I haven’t interviewed him yet and the chief’s accusation has really raised my hackles.

I stand up and shrug on my coat, glancing up at the chief’s office for a moment. His blinds are back up and he’s staring at me. He’s probably pissed off. I take a little satisfaction in that and give him a snide smile and a wave as I make my way out of the office.

He picks his phone and starts tabbing the screen, then lifts it to his ear to talk.

His eyes never leave mine.

I shake off a shudder that runs up my spine and tip my head up a little higher.

He can’t intimidate me. I know he’s dirty, and he knows I know. So he can go fuck himself. I’m gonna get the truth even if I do get fired over it.

The light drizzle that started earlier has stopped by the time I get over to Blue Corp, leaving the streets shiny and slick. I slow for the guard but the gate lifts before I even get close enough to see who is inside. Hmmm, I’m not sure I like being so recognizable.

When I pull into the parking spot with my name on it, the depth of the chief’s accusations hit me for real. Am I working for Blue Corp? It certainly seems so.

I shut the car off and sit there for a moment, trying to put all the pieces together. Why would Blue Corp be so interested in me? Lincoln thinks they have something to do with Prodigy School, but he’s never explained the connection beyond the scientists working here. Is it a coincidence? Might be. Might not.

I open my door and get out, smiling briefly at a streak of sunshine that makes its way through the heavily clouded sky. The front doors of the Blue Castle open for me and I’m just heading over to the receptionists to ask for an appointment with the Old Man when he steps out of the elevator. I stop in my tracks because his focus is definitely on me.

“Miss Masters,” he says, a creepy smile on his face. “I thought you might drop by.”

He extends his hand, but I just stare at it for a second. A wave of revulsion invades my stomach and I know if I touch that hand, I will be sick.

What the hell?
that cautious voice inside me says.

I cover for my reluctance to shake hands with him by getting out my tablet and pretending not to see the offer. “Why’s that?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I bet the reason he was expecting me is because he’s who the chief called as I was leaving. Something is very wrong here. I feel like I’m walking into a trap. “I just have some questions about Atticus,” I say, swiping my fingers on my tablet to try to appear unaffected. I collect myself, and then I look up and meet that hard gaze. “I’m just curious why you didn’t call us and report this crime? Why the psychiatric incarceration?”

“Detective,” the Old Man says with a sickening smile that makes me want to step back. “Atticus isn’t well. He hasn’t been well since the first time he tried to take his own life when he was a teenager. I thought he was in recovery, but he’s relapsed. His violent tendencies are back and I’ve taken every precaution to protect society from his instability. So I’m sorry if you feel left out, but the judge made the right decision. Atticus is a danger to himself and others, and he needs serious professional help. He’s getting that today.”

“Well…” I clear my throat and take in a steadying breath. “Well, he was fine the last time I talked to him. And that was Friday night at the party. We talked extensively.”

The Old Man tilts his head like I might’ve said something interesting. “Did you? What, might I ask, was the topic of discussion?”

Shit. “We were just discussing the suicides. He was completely lucid and in control at that time. So what happened over the weekend? Why this sudden burst of violence?”

“What makes you think it was sudden? He’s been violent his whole life. And did it ever occur to you that he was so interested in those suicides because he’s tried to take his own life before?”

“No,” I say, caught off guard with that statement. “I saw all those pictures in his office. He just doesn’t seem like the violent type. He was an outdoorsman. He surfed giant waves, climbed mountain cliffs, and sailed around the world.”