Exposure (22 page)

“We’re still going to Loggerhead this afternoon, right?” Hi glanced around, then dropped his voice. “For the . . . home movie thing?”

I nodded. “We might as well deal with what we can. Let’s take the afternoon shuttle. I’ll think of an excuse for Kit, though I’m open to suggestions.”

“Ben?” Shelton asked.

“Not today. I think the two of us need a little distance.”

The bell rang. We gathered our things and headed for the door.

“Tell Kit we’re cutting a music video,” Hi suggested as we walked. “Something real gangster, so we need to smash-cut our dance routines. Lay down some visuals. We could offer to let him freestyle rap over the second verse.”

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Foolproof. Anyone need a locker stop?”

Two head shakes, so we proceeded directly to class.

Fourth period. AP English Language and Composition. We had Mr. Edde again for second semester, which wasn’t bad. He knew his stuff, and wasn’t nearly as uptight as some of the other faculty. He’d shaved his Afro, however, which was a crime.

Ella was in this class, too. There were no assigned seats, so we’d taken to sharing a table by a large bay window looking out over the soccer field. Hi and Shelton manned the one directly behind us.

Jason was also on the roster. Spotting him enter, I waved enthusiastically, beaming from ear to ear. He stopped and raised a hand—a confused smile on his face—before taking his seat by the door.

Hi’s right. Jason never stews on anything. So different from Ben.

The next group to enter was less pleasant.

The Tripod, in formation.

Ashley, Courtney, and Madison glided to the very back of the room, which they considered theirs. All three sat together, though the tables were designed for two. Mr. Edde had given up trying to separate them.

At first, the Tripod’s appearance in an AP class had stunned me.

Not so much Ashley—I knew she was whip smart, as all deadly predators must be. But Madison seemed indifferent to education, even before her . . . funk. And Courtney was downright idiotic.

Not for the first time, I wondered at their marks. Mr. Edde was not an easy grader.

“Scouting the enemy?”

I jumped as Ella’s bag thumped onto our table. How did she always sneak up on me?

“Just wondering what they’re doing here.”

“Their parents must be humored, I’m sure.” Ella dropped into her chair, her stormy gray eyes twinkling with amusement. “At least until they rope a husband who’ll let them lounge by the pool all day.”

I snorted. “If that’s the case, they’d love my Annoyance-in-House.”

“Why?” Ella tossed her braid over her shoulder. “What’d Whitney do now?”

I ducked too late, took Ella’s glossy black rope right across the nose.

“Be careful with that!” But I giggled at her favorite trick. I’d toyed with the idea of growing my hair out just as long, then repaying the favor.

I’d look like a carrot-colored homeless person. Not gorgeous like she does.

I shoved hair envy aside. “Whitney signed me up for the Mag League. I’ve been reading about the organization, and it sounds like a never-ending cotillion.
Not
pleased.”

“You’re not alone.” Ella’s eyes rolled. “Mommy dearest thought it best as well.”

“Really?” I perked up immediately. “Oh thank God!”

Ella smiled sarcastically. “I’m glad our mutual imprisonment cheers you so.”

“Oh, it does.”

I couldn’t chase the smile away. At least Ella would be there with me.

Who knows? Maybe it’d be fun. We could turn this thing into an all-out snark fest.

Once again, I thanked my lucky stars for having met her.

It was
so
nice having a girl to talk to.

Grinning like a fool, I accidentally let my gaze meet Ashley’s. She smiled sweetly. Without another option, I nodded as though I’d sought her out. Then I quickly glanced down, pretending to search for a page in my book.

“Do
not
be afraid of that girl,” Ella whispered, without looking up.

“Can’t help it.” Eyes on my text. “She’s terrifying.”

“She’s nothing. A spoiled little princess who thinks terrorizing a high school actually means something. I wish she’d pull that crap on me.”

“Not likely.”

I risked another peek at the Tripod. Ashley was scolding Madison, who nodded meekly. Courtney was staring out the window, toying with her long blond hair.

“They
do
give you a wide berth,” I said. “Why is that?”

Ella scowled as she dug in her bag for a pen. “It wasn’t always like this. Freshman year, I dodged them every time I walked the halls.”

She slapped a Uniball on the table, then squeezed my hand. “Soccer did the trick. It gave me confidence. I realized I was
letting
those bitches get inside my head. The whole thing was stupid. So I stopped avoiding them. Quit ducking every time they snapped their fingers. Pretty soon, they stopped testing me. Sound familiar?”

It did. The Tripod had quit harassing me only after I’d shown some backbone.

Well, a bit more than that.

Not for the first time, I wished I’d met Ella sooner.

Chance told me. He gave the same advice.

Suddenly, I wanted to tell Ella about the Gable twins. Ophiuchus. The ransom video. The black BMW. For a single deranged instant, I wanted to tell her about my powers.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Ella was a true friend. Maybe even a “best” one.

The
last
thing I wanted was for her to see the crazy part of my life. To drive her away.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “You’ve gone totally pale.”

“Blame my Irish roots.” Trying to play it off. “I’m just tired.”

The second bell rang. Mr. Edde rose and walked to his whiteboard.

Wiping the troubling thoughts from my head, I tried to concentrate on
Paradise Lost.

At least
it
was something I could control.

W
e marched single file through LIRI’s front gate.

A blazing sun hung in the western sky, without a single cloud to keep it company. Temperatures in the mid-eighties kept the tropical air muggy and hot. Forest sounds surrounded us as we headed for Building One.

Hugo
had taken us directly to Loggerhead Island, so we hadn’t changed from our school uniforms. Trooping through the woods, my sweat glands began a formal protest under my heavy wool blazer. I wasn’t the only casualty—Hi lumbered beside me, red-faced, panting like a dog. The hike from the dock had him close to combusting.

Outside the perimeter fence, a troop of rhesus monkeys prowled the treetops, hooting challenges from the heights. The isle itself is a wildlife preserve, home to dozens of animal species, including a large population of our simian observers.

Inside the chain-link barrier, white-coated scientists filled the courtyard, moving purposefully between buildings, or relaxing on stone benches. On a weekday in spring, the institute bustled like a beehive. Guest researchers arrived daily from around the globe.

The LIRI compound consists of a dozen glass-and-steel buildings, arranged in two rows facing each other across a manicured central common. The larger edifices contain offices, conference rooms, administrative centers, and, most importantly, six state-of-the-art veterinary research labs. The smaller ones are storage facilities, vehicle depots, and equipment sheds.

My father, Kit, managed the whole thing. Still getting used to that.

We passed through sliding glass doors into Building One. Four floors high, it was easily the largest structure on Loggerhead. The Flagship, as Kit called it, contained the most offices and workspace, including the director’s suite, security headquarters, and three of the labs.

Upon assuming the directorship, Kit had massively increased security. Along with expensive equipment and systems upgrades—state-of-the-art video cameras now covered every inch of the grounds—LIRI also employed three full-time guards. At least one was on duty 24/7, manning a kiosk in the lobby.

I crossed my fingers as we entered, hoping we could avoid one in particular.

Thank God for small favors—Sam was on duty. Blessedly, Hudson was somewhere else.

Security Chief David Hudson ran his department like a Shogun warlord. An ex-military, by-the-book ball-breaker, the prickly man wasn’t a fan of unsupervised teenagers on Loggerhead.

Kit had overruled him on that point, granting us permission to visit the island.

So long as we respected Hudson’s rules. Of which there were
hundreds.

And we did. Grudgingly. Usually.

Hudson’s two underlings couldn’t have been more different.

Carl Szuberla was a short, enormously fat bowling ball of a man. Though a bit moody—and definitely not the sharpest knife in the drawer—overall he wasn’t so bad.

Sam Schneider was older than Carl, somewhere in his sixties. Rail thin, and bald as a cue ball, he was much sharper than his portly coworker. Sam had a sarcastic tongue that rivaled even Hi’s. I rarely saw him without a hunting magazine in his claw-like fingers.

As we approached the desk, I kept an eye out for Hudson. The man could materialize out of thin air, and I was hoping to avoid him altogether.

Sam, I could usually handle. While not as easy to fool as Carl, he preferred doing as little as possible. A clever mind can exploit that fact.

Sam spied us approaching.

“Hello, Tory.” Setting down his copy of
Field & Stream.
“Come to complicate my day, maybe get me fired?”

“Hi, Sam.” I flashed my cheeriest smile. “Don’t be silly. I’m here to see Kit.”

“Director Howard won’t be expecting you, of course.” Sam sat back and crossed his arms. “Because that’d be too easy.”

I shrugged. “Everyone likes surprises, right?”

Sam snorted. “It’s been
my
experience that absolutely no one likes surprises. I’ll call up.”

He lifted the receiver and dialed an extension. Spoke to someone on the other end. Hung up. “Your father isn’t free at the moment, he’s with the accountants. They’re probably cutting my salary.”

I’d known that. Kit had complained about the meeting over breakfast.

“Okay. We’ll just head up to his office and wait.”

Sam’s expression soured. “I’m not supposed to permit that. Which you know.”

“Come on, Sambo!” Hi winked. “Live a little. What are we going to do, rob the place?”

The guard crossed his arms. “Wink at me again, Hiram, and I’ll throw you to the wolfpack.” But he was already reaching for a clipboard. “Sign in. And let’s not get lost, hey?”

I scribbled my name. “Thanks, Sam. You’re the best.”

“Clearly not, since I’m letting you in anyway. Now scram before Hudson gets back.”

Needing no more prompting, we hurried to the elevator. Once inside I pressed two, thankful that the car’s location wasn’t displayed in the lobby.

The director’s suite is on the fourth floor. We were headed for the photo lab.

Our luck wasn’t perfect, however.

When the doors opened, Mike Iglehart was waiting impatiently.

I suppressed a groan. For some reason, this bozo always gave me a hard time.

That day was no different.

“Miss Brennan.” Curse or greeting, hard to tell.

Iglehart had thinning black hair, combed horizontally across his scalp. He examined us critically, tiny, close-set eyes staring down a long nose.

“Hello, Dr. Iglehart.” Unsure what else to say, I moved past him into the corridor.

“Wait.”

I paused. Turned. The boys bunched at my back.

“Yes?”

I could tell Iglehart was itching to interrogate me.

Behind him, the elevator doors began sliding shut. Iglehart stuck out a hand to keep them from closing.

An awkward moment stretched.

“Nothing. Never mind.” Iglehart stepped into the elevator as the doors began closing a second time. We watched to make sure he didn’t suddenly reemerge.

Shelton grunted. “That guy is so weird.”

“Keep moving,” Hi warned. “By now, half the building knows we’re here.”

At the end of the hall was a tinted glass door. Audio/Video Editing and Production.

I looked left. Right. The coast was clear.

We slipped inside and locked the door.

The small room had a horseshoe-shaped counter running along three walls. Expensive-looking equipment lined every inch. Boom microphones. HD monitors. DVD players and burners. A massive soundboard. Behind the high-tech workspace, a table and chair arrangement hugged the rear wall.

“You guys know how to use this stuff?” I asked doubtfully.

“Yep.” Shelton was rubbing his hands together.

“Of course I do.” Hi sounded offended. “How else would I record
my debut album
?”

“Prove it.” I swept a hand toward the mountain of hardware. “Get to work.”

“Why don’t you just have a seat?” Shelton pointed to the rear table. “Back there, for now. We’ll call you when ready.”

I thought of some choice words, but held my tongue.

“Fine. Your show.”

With nothing to do, I opened Words With Friends on my iPhone.