Find Me (15 page)

It’s getting harder and harder to play normal.

—Page 62 of Tessa Waye’s diary

“Who was that?” I don’t even have my shoes off, and Bren has already materialized on my right. “Was that the Griffin boy?”

The Griffin boy?
I was going to squeeze past, but her question brings me up short. “How do you know Griff?”

“I met his mother at a PTA meeting. She was late and looked really lost. We talked a little and she said she’d be back, but I haven’t seen her since.” Bren nudges the curtains to one side, studying Griff with the same wrinkled-eye look she saves for reviewing work contracts. “The woman’s name is . . . Karen? Kelly?”

“Kim.”

I didn’t realize Lauren was even there until she spoke. I twist and our eyes meet. Great. There’s no way I’m getting out of explaining. Lauren looks seconds away from choking on a belly laugh.

“That’s it!” Bren throws Lauren a relieved look. “Kim. Kim Griffin. Her son is a very nice boy. Very polite. And those eyes—they’re so striking.”

Nice boy. Very polite. With striking eyes.
I stare at Bren and try to reconcile the words coming out of her mouth. This is so not what I was expecting. She should be busting me six ways from Sunday. I mean, it’s a boy, for God’s sake. We’ve never talked about boys, but I’m sure she has rules about them. Plus, I rode up on a motorcycle. We’ve never talked about that either, but I
know
she’d have to have rules for motorcycles. This doesn’t make any sense. Bren’s not mad and I’m not in trouble.

“So we’ll just go upstairs.” Lauren slings her arm through mine, drags me up the first few steps. Up this close, I can see how her bruised eye has gone Technicolor. She isn’t even bothering to hide it with concealer. Knowing her mom’s commitment to perfection, it must be driving the poor woman nuts. “I have a history project I want to show Wick.”

“Okay. Have fun.” Bren continues to stare at me. Her mouth is a little open and her eyes are wide, and now I really don’t know what to do. My foster mom looks astonished and also . . . a little happy.

“What’s going on?” I mutter. “Why’s Bren watching me like she’s waiting for an alien to crawl out of my chest?”

“You brought home a boy.” Lauren is almost vibrating with excitement. She tightens her arm so I’m caught against her side. “A very
cute
boy. Bren’s probably tearing up with joy. You’re finally doing normal teenage stuff.”

“That’s what it takes to make her happy?”

Lauren shuts my bedroom door behind us and grins, the bruised skin around her eye wrinkling into purple folds. “If you really want to make Bren happy, ask her to braid your hair.”

“Oh, nice, and everyone thinks I’m the smart-ass.”

“I get away with it because I’m adorable. I can’t help it. It’s my burden. So. Since when did you and Griff start talking?”

Since I discovered he’s as awful as I am.
And is that really the reason? Can I talk to him now because we’re alike? I can’t really reconcile the new Griff with the guy I liked. He’s horrible now. He’s like me. He cheats his way into people’s lives.

And yet he’s also the nicest guy I know.

My fingers drift to where Griff held my hand. It’s still warm, and touching where he touched, I get warmer. “We’ve always talked. We’re computer lab partners.”

Lauren nods, but doesn’t look like she believes me. “Well, whatever. We need to talk, but . . . are you okay? You kind of look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m fine.” We stare at each other and I cave, slumping into my desk chair and rubbing my temples. “Actually, no, I’m not. My dad’s back.”

Lauren gasps like I’ve just confirmed the bogeyman’s for real.

Which I guess, in my case, is about right.

“Is that where you were?”

“Sort of. I was meeting with his partner. He has this new scam.”

“So how does Griff figure into this? I mean, I’m guessing you two didn’t just run into each other.”

“He was there too.” For a second, I don’t want to say anything further. I’m cramming down my feelings pretty well—even though they’re threatening to erupt. It isn’t my secret to tell. Then again, Lauren’s already made the connection. “Joe recruited him for some of the security work.”

“Who’s Joe, and why does he want either of you?”

“Joe is my dad’s best friend.” If you could call it that. Joe doesn’t really have friends. Joe has contacts, sources . . . my dad is protection. Even though Joe is afraid of him.

“He needs my help. He needs
our
help,” I correct, suddenly remembering Griff’s role in all this. “There’s this credit card scam. Joe’s spearheading it for my dad.”

I offer Lauren a wobbly smile. “I think this is the part where you run screaming from the house.”

“Don’t push it, Wick. I’m actually thinking about doing just that.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Because . . . I don’t think you’d do this without a really good reason.” Lauren turns away, retreats to my bed, and starts unpacking more new clothes Bren bought me. “So what do you have to do?”

“Some hacking. They have a way to scam people into making donations by appearing to be a charity for tornado victims.” I plug in my computer, and while I’m stuck waiting for it, I swivel my chair side to side. Power-ups take longer with my computer than they would with most. I have a mess of firewall hardware, an entire platform of anti-spyware protection, and I
still
unplug the computer to prevent anyone from powering it up remotely. It’s the only way to fully sever my line to the outside. I can’t get out, but no one else can get in either. “Joe and my dad need me for the credit cards.”

“I just . . . I just don’t like you doing this. I mean, when are you going to quit?”

“Do you have any idea what will happen if I do?” She doesn’t have an answer, and because I don’t either, I look away. I turn to my computer and pull up my email. Wire transfer. Wire confirmation. A follow-up email from a past customer. This is what my life used to be.

“Your dad can’t touch you, Wick. You’re not part of that world anymore.”

“I’m not?” The argument is so familiar it pisses me off. These are the same lies I told Lily. I might not be part of my old world anymore, but I’m sure as hell not part of this new one. “Joe knows where we are. He knows how to reach us. I can’t risk pissing him off. Think about what he could do to us.”

“You mean what he’d do to Lily.”

“I mean
us
. Bren and Todd and you,” I add. “If Joe knows about you, my dad knows.”

Lauren nods like she gets it, but I can see in her clouded eyes and pressed-thinned mouth that she doesn’t. She’s worried about the hacking, not what the hacking protects. I could try to explain it, but the words won’t come. They’re lodged in my gut.

I click my link to Facebook and plug in Tessa’s log-in. The page takes only a heartbeat to load, and when it does, there must be twenty messages under mine, but only one makes me cringe:

When I find you, you’ll bleed for that.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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His promises scare me.
He always gets what he wants.

—Page 34 of Tessa Waye’s diary

When I find you, you’ll bleed for that.

Well, hello, Michael Starling. I stare at the screen, wavering between excited and spooked. There are no other comments from Michael, but there are
plenty
from Tessa’s other friends. Matthew Bradford called us both “freaks.” Holly Davis says, “Whoever hacked Tessa’s page will go to hell for this stuff.” There’s more, of course. Everyone knows Tessa’s account has been compromised, but they’re assuming it’s been hacked by a nasty classmate. This could work to my advantage . . . as long as the Wayes or the police don’t report the page as being compromised.

“Are you the one who posted on Tessa’s wall? That comment about knowing who killed me?”

I look up, catch Lauren staring at me from across the room.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” I ask.

“I don’t understand why you did it. When I said you had to do something—”

“I did. I tracked down who sent me Tessa’s diary.”

Lauren’s face creases in confusion. “What?”

“It was Tessa’s little sister, Tally. She found the diary, read it, and contacted me. Tessa was involved with some guy—I don’t know who, but I think he was older—and when she tried to break it off . . . it turned violent.”

Lauren puts one hand on my bed to steady herself, but her knees keep pressing toward the floor.

“It gets worse. Tessa wrote about the guy in her diary, and even though she never used
his
name, she did name someone else he wanted, his next target—”

I know this part so well it should be easy. Lily’s name is living under my tongue, but I end up having to rip it out of myself.

“It’s . . . Lily, Lauren. He named Lily. She’s next.” I tilt my computer screen in Lauren’s direction. She hesitates, then comes to join me. “I’ve been trying to run down Tessa’s inner circle—figure out who he might be—and when I looked through her Facebook friends, everyone seemed legit.

“Except for this guy.” I point at Michael Starling’s avatar. “He has no other friends but Tessa. It’s a fake profile picture, a fake name. I think he could be our guy.”

“He sounds way pissed, Wick. Could he really find you?”

“No, I logged in as Tessa. There’s no way he could know who I am.”

Then why are goose bumps still climbing up my arms?

“But what if someone tells the police? Could it get tracked back to you?”

“No, I used a secure IP address. Worst case, they’re going to think it’s cyberbullying and delete the account.”

We both spend another minute rereading the message, and for the first time, I notice the time stamp. It’s barely twenty minutes after I posted my message. Good. I can use that. Hacking is all about knowing your code and programs, but it’s also about knowing your prey. Marks with high emotions are often the easiest to hack. They can make themselves vulnerable. The right email, the right phone call, the right touch can push them in the direction you want.

But how do I keep pushing him?

“I guess I just . . . I just don’t get why you threw it up there like that.” Lauren pulls her thumbnail from her mouth and gestures at the screen with a half-chewed finger. ‘I know who killed me.’ It’s kind of, I don’t know, inflammatory. It isn’t just Tessa’s attacker who’s going to get upset. What about her mom?”

I think of Mrs. Waye’s cracked smile and wince . . . then I think of Mr. Waye’s fists, and I cringe. “It’ll be horrible, but she’ll think it’s some cruel kid showing off. Lauren, if I make him angry, he’ll be easier to find.”

“Or you could go to the police. What if you took all this to them?”

“One of the detectives—his name’s Carson—might be involved. He kept waiting outside their house. Tally’s suspicious.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah . . . Carson’s shown up here too. I think he’s dirty. He might even have something to do with it.”

Lauren sits down hard on my floor, watches me with a kind of horrified wonder.

“Even if I did give them the diary, it wouldn’t help. It doesn’t name the rapist. It will focus them in the wrong direction, and they’ll be chasing their tails. Trust me, I know this stuff. I’m usually the one they’re chasing.” I run both hands through my hair, rubbing my scalp until I’m sure I look like I stuck my tongue in a toaster.

I look at Lauren. “Do you know how many times my mom called the cops about my dad? A bunch. Ten times? Twelve? Even after she slapped him with a restraining order, he still didn’t stop. He’d beat the hell out of us, steal her paycheck, and disappear again. There’s some evil that can’t be caught by playing by the rules.”

I expect to see denial in Lauren’s expression, but her chin lifts. “Yeah, the police play by the rules, and this guy won’t.”

“Exactly. If Lily’s going to be saved, it’s up to me.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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