Found and Lost (2 page)

Yeah … so Clay really didn't do this covert ops thing well. “Maybe I'll think about that.”

“Okay.”

“So, uh.” Clay shrugged. “Take it easy, man.”

Marcus nodded. “Sure.”

“Stay out of jail.”

The guy didn't even twitch a smile, only nodded again. A sense of humor would really improve his personality. Clay grinned for both of them, hopped back on his bike, and left via a different exit. Of course, if Marcus was right about the cameras, nothing they did out here really mattered.

The wind and the miles rolled by.

Would he really help Marcus's crazy network if the guy called him? Maybe. Helping imperiled believers was the least Clay could do for a God who had died for him. Besides, if Marcus could pull this off, so could Clay. Loud, yellow motorcycle and all.

He coasted up his driveway. Most of the house sat in darkness, but Khloe's lamp was on. Through her window, he glimpsed the lavender wall—no, iris, she insisted. She and Violet must be in there, draped across the bed side by side, discussing guys and movies and jewelry. Using his credit card to buy more charms for their bracelets. Nah, Violet wouldn't go along with that anymore.

Khloe. His sassy, spoiled little miracle. He parked the bike in the garage and let himself into the house. Here was his true responsibility—home, his wife, his daughter. Noble or not, his first instincts were right. He should leave saving people to Marcus. Let it go. Then again …

He'd hand it to God. If Marcus called, then maybe Clay was supposed to join him.

2

Violet had spent the eleven-minute bicycle ride to the Hansen house rehearsing how to bring up The Topic. Then she'd stepped into Khloe's bedroom, plopped down in the blue beanbag chair, and lost every planned word. Small talk took over for an hour or two and then gave way to silence. She slouched into the beanbag chair. They had to talk about it. She had to mention it. Somehow.

Khloe sprawled on her stomach over the blue carpet, stretched out to her full length of four-foot-eleven. She always extended even her feet, as if to take up as much room as possible. Her hand swept a flesh-colored pencil over the sketchpad paper. A woman's profile began to take shape.

From the dresser, her sound system emitted a low stream of music, some artist from at least a decade ago. Violet couldn't figure out what Khloe had against current music.
Come on, no dodging, just ask her.
Best friends didn't need a smooth-edged speech. Shouldn't, anyway.

Khloe glanced up and rolled onto her back. Her strawberry blonde ponytail fanned out to the left of her face.

“I'm going crazy here. Just spill it, Vi. I want every detail.”

Violet swallowed. “What?”

“You didn't text me all day, even when I sent you that link about the aquarium. You should've been bouncing up and down and planning a field trip and stuff. I was afraid you weren't coming over at all.”

She should just say it. But with Khloe poking a pencil in her face, not a word squeaked out.

A grin cracked the rose-petal line of Khloe's glossed lips. “I could guess. You could just nod or shake your head.”

“Khloe …”

Khloe pushed up from the floor and knelt close. “Fine, leave out some details, just tell me. How far did you get?”

Oh … “This has nothing to do with Austin.”

The smile inverted. “You guys still haven't—?”

“Khloe, I know. About your dad. I know what's going on.”

A story-weaving wrinkle gathered between Khloe's eyes. She couldn't possibly think she'd get away with the first lie in a decade of friendship.

Violet ran a thumb over her charm bracelet. “Thursday, when we made carrot cake, he wasn't at that pub like you said he was. At first I thought he must have lied to you about it, and you didn't know, but … you did. And you know where he really was.”

“He was at the pub like he said. Like
I
said.”

No way. Violet looked away from her, up at the fixed smiles of age-old singer/songwriter posters tacked on the wall over the lavender-quilted bed.

“Just so happens my dad was there,” she said to the image of Carole King. “And I asked if he said hi to yours.”

The colored pencil in Khloe's hand dropped to the carpet.

“I figured it out.” Violet crossed her arms. “I never, ever thought your dad would, but … Khloe, why didn't you tell me?”

“There's nothing to tell.”

Oh, fine. She'd say it. She faced Khloe and unfolded her arms. “He's having an affair. Right?”

“What! Of course not!”

The surge of red in Khloe's cheeks had to be real indignation. But she knew. Didn't she? In the Hansen family, people paid attention to each other. How could Khloe not know?

Or maybe it
was
something else. Something disastrous enough to make Khloe lie, knowing she would be cutting threads in their friendship.

Khloe jumped to her feet and plopped onto the bed. “Okay, whatever, you hit the bull's-eye. It's an affair, and it's embarrassing, and I didn't want you to find out.”

When lying fails, get snarky? Who did Khloe think she was talking to, her mother? Violet jumped up and planted hands on hips. And gosh, she must look kind of motherly.

“I'm not stupid, Khloe.”

Khloe tried to glare but instead ducked her head. She scooted back on the bed and pressed against the wall.

“So?” Violet said. “Where was he really?”

“I wish he was cheating on her. I wish he was cheating and lying and … and robbing banks.”

A chill breathed over Violet. She crossed the room and reached for Khloe's right hand with her left. Their charm bracelets clinked. Together.

“Okay.” Khloe sucked in a breath. “Vi, you know Dad goes to our church.”

Of course she knew. He drove them every Sunday.

“Well, um, Elysium isn't the only church he goes to.”

For a stupid moment, Violet didn't get it. Having two churches was a little weird, and there weren't many others in the area, but there were a few. Maybe he liked to hear various speakers. Then understanding smacked her in the face.

Clay's other church wasn't a
real
church.

“Yeah,” Khloe whispered. “That's where he was. One of their meetings. Dad's … a Christian.”

No way. He wasn't.

Or maybe he was. Maybe knowing him for two-thirds of her life didn't mean Violet really knew him. Her legs rubberized. Maybe she should sit.

Oh, come on. Of course she knew him, and he wasn't dangerous or violent or even harmlessly demented. “Khloe, are you sure?”

Khloe scuffed her small foot along the bed frame. “He's been bugging Mom to go with him. And me.”

Uncle Clay. Not related by blood, and usually just Clay in her head now (though she'd probably always call him Uncle to his face). He couldn't be a Christian. He was too normal. Too safe.

Khloe buried her face in her knees. “They meet on Thursdays. Eleven at night. They can't meet in daylight like a real church, of course. And Mom says … we, um … we're going.”

Violet's spine prickled. “No way, Khloe, you have to tell her no.”

“She used to worry about him, but he's been going for like a year now and nothing's happened. She says if we go one time, maybe he'll get it out of his system.”

Wait a minute. A year? “You haven't reported him in a
year
?”

Khloe's gaze snapped back up. “Report him? Why in the world would I?”

“He needs help. Good grief, Khloe, he's your father.”

“Exactly.”

“What, re-ed? You can't just ignore—”

“Call me selfish, but I'm not going to re-ed. So he's not, either.”

Violet's thumb found the silver bracelet around her left wrist and rubbed her starfish charm like a genie lamp. Khloe had a point. She was a minor. She'd get slapped with automatic re-education, as if she were seven, not seventeen. As if she couldn't recognize dangerous beliefs.

Re-education would destroy Khloe's senior year. Her GPA. Her life.

And good grief. It was Clay. Violet didn't need to report him. He was harmless.

Christians aren't harmless.

“Okay, at least tell me you're not going to that meeting.”

Khloe's lip wobbled. “Trust me, I'd rather have a hundred MRIs. If I get caught … gosh, can't you just hear me? ‘My dad dragged me here, I'm not a Christian, honest.' The con-cops will be like, ‘Yeah, right, little girl.'”

“Would your dad take me with you?” The words popped out of Violet's mouth before she tried them on, but yeah, they fit. Khloe shouldn't be stuck in this alone.

Khloe's green eyes lit. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Violet, I'd owe you … my life, or something.”

“Nah. Besides, you'd come with me. If it was my dad.”

Khloe bit her lip. “Actually, no, I wouldn't. Vi, if we got caught … Well, I'd kill myself. Since my life would be over anyway. And your parents—who knows what they'd do.”

Change the locks, probably. Her mom would finally have an excuse to renounce motherhood. Well, so what? Violet would be eighteen in three months. All she needed was a livable apartment at a retail employee's salary. But none of this was the main point.

“Khloe, I don't know if it's right. Ignoring this. Re-education would help your dad. And all of them, whoever they are.”

Khloe swiped at her cheeks. “This is why I didn't want you to know. You'd be all honor-bound. But, Vi, you can't turn him in. Please. I'll do anything. I just don't want to go to re-ed.”

Violet inhaled the chilled air and leaned back against the wall. Would it be so wrong to pretend she didn't know? The light from the ceiling fixture offered no answers.

Khloe held up her wrist, and zircon-spangled charms glittered: a pink heart, a purple flip-flop. “I know. We'll put one of mine on your bracelet. A pledge of silence. Or, if you want to keep up your theme, I saw a new sea-life one on the website. An octopus. I'll buy it for you.”

“Khloe, really.”

Her voice fell. “Will this … will we change now?”

“No.” But how could they not?

“I don't want stuff to be awkward. You get it, don't you? Why I'm not turning him in?”

Violet crossed the room and collapsed onto the bed. She pulled her knees up to stare at her coral-red toenails, a color she'd borrowed from Khloe. When the quiet started to push in close, Violet nodded.
I'm not lying. I do get it.
But the nod was more—a promise that seams weren't unraveling.

“I should've just told you,” Khloe said.

“Yup.”

“And I've been contemplating your future husband. Don't you think his hair's a little fuzzy?”

“What?”

“Austin. He should use some sort of product in it.”

Violet released a sigh loud enough for Khloe to hear, but she was years past conversational whiplash. If she had gone through something as bad as radiation treatments at five years old, maybe she'd act like Khloe did when a crisis tried to knock her down. Face it, sure, but not for too long.

Actually, Austin's hair was silky, not fuzzy. Smooth and soft and fine as gold. Not that Khloe needed information like that, especially if she still believed all Austin and Violet did was flirt.

“If I'm ever his actual wife, I'll tell him, ‘My best friend recommends the ultra-hold, Mohawk-inducing, mullet-defeating—'”

“Who said mullet? Did I say mullet? I said fuzzy.”

Violet flopped onto her back with all the drama she could force and glared at the ceiling.

Laughter squealed from Khloe, the guinea-pig-at-feeding-time shriek that had been easy to mock since second grade. “You couldn't mope for real for a million dollars.”

She could probably pull off brooding, though. Violet grinned, turned onto her stomach, and let Khloe's voice slip into the background of her brain. They wouldn't talk about it again tonight, maybe ever, but silence wasn't much of a problem solver. For Khloe, Violet should go to that meeting, watch out for her, and bury the whole skeleton of secrets. For Clay, Violet should make a phone call, file a report, and pray that re-education saved his mind from the lies he believed.

She couldn't do both.

She breathed in Natalia's favorite citrus room spray and let herself shiver in the overzealous air conditioning that Clay turned down when his wife wasn't looking. Just a few hours ago, she had stepped into this house and left her blue flats in the same corner of the mudroom she'd left them in a thousand times before. She thought she had prepared herself for whatever was going on in this home. Her home.

Hardly.

“Okay.”

Khloe's voice broke off midsentence. “Okay what?”

“I'll just … pretend I don't know.”

“You just now decided that?” Khloe fiddled with her bracelet and slid a charm free. “Hold out your arm.”

“You don't have to—”

“Shut up, I want to.” She secured the charm to Violet's bracelet, a pansy with an amethyst center. “There. Pledge of silence.”

Violet rubbed the tiny silver petals. “Pledge of silence.”

3

Trees blurred at the edge of the floodlight, a flash of green-and-yellow swing set. Violet tilted her head back. Even the stars and the clouds rotated, high in the inky sky. She tried to focus on Austin as he raced the merry-go-round, pushing it faster and faster. The floodlight made a halo around his blond head. His calves flexed with the effort of running the merry-go-round into motion, and Violet's heart galloped.

Austin jumped up onto the platform and clung to one of the metal handlebars. Violet pushed aside thoughts of where she'd been less than an hour ago. Measuring Khloe's sleeping breaths beside her, then wincing at the sliding sound of the window in the track. If only she could tell Khloe everything, but … no.

She and Austin spun and spun, bent nearly double, then straightened as the ride's momentum spent itself. They crept to a standstill, but the trees continued to spin. She leaned on the handlebar at the same time Austin did, and his arm branded hers. Just arms, but the heat rushed all the way to the back of her neck.

Austin staggered a dizzy step back, and the grin took over his face. Not a grin,
the
grin. The one that curled her toes.

Maybe he would want more tonight.

Violet wobbled one step back and nearly fell off the merry-go-round. Everything tilted and whirled. Austin's hand shot out to catch her, and his other hand netted her shoulder. Now neither of them gripped the handlebar for balance. They half tumbled onto the weathered wooden platform. Violet pushed herself off him, except … no point in that. When he propped up on his elbows, she wrapped an arm around his back and smiled.

“Violet, we can't even see straight.”

“Whatever.”

His lips found her chin, coffee and butterscotch on his breath. Violet leaned in and bumped her head on the handlebar.

“Ow. Wait.”

He pulled back. “What?”

“Nothing, just—this.” She ducked the bar and pressed her lips to his.

The world slowed its spinning while Austin's long fingers glided from her hair, to her cheek, down to her neck. They caught in the loose gather of her peasant-neck top. They tugged the mauve cotton down an inch at a time, until Austin's breath tickled the bareness of her shoulder.

Violet's face flushed. She slid her lips along his jaw the way he'd taught her, and her heart cartwheeled. She slung her legs across his lap and angled toward him. His lips traveled. She raised her arms, an invitation, and her shirt came up, over her head. He tossed it aside. The humid night stuck to her skin. She fumbled behind her for the bra clasp.

“Mmm, no.” Austin stilled her fingers with his. “Don't.”

“We could—”

“Not out here.”

When his hands fumbled downward, Violet pressed closer. Yes. Tonight. But he turned away seconds later.

Humiliation warmed her face now. She gripped the merry-go-round's handlebar, hoisted herself off his lap, and jumped down. Her top lay in a wrinkled heap in the grass. She shook it out and slid it over her head.

“Violet.”

“It's fine. I get it.”
You don't want me.

He curled his hands around the edge of the merry-go-round's platform, a ring of metal that held the old boards in place. It and the handlebars had been painted and repainted over the decades, the last a coat of bright blue that was starting to wear away.

Austin let out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl. “You're seventeen, babe.”

“I should've said I was twenty.”

“No, you shouldn't have.”

She would, though. If she could go back to the moment he asked. She sat down next to him on the merry-go-round and trailed a finger down his arm. “What's a month or two?”

“Or three.”

Good grief, why couldn't he be one of those boyfriends who forgot birthdays? “You really want to stay like this for three months.”

“Yes. I want to. Although you make it almost impossible.”

Well, that was something, anyway. She wasn't completely undesirable. She tried to hide her smile.

“Violet, I mean it.”

His lips feathered on her temple, and her whole body quivered. She settled a hand on his chest. They sat for a minute, as close as Austin would let them be. For now. She snuggled into him, and his hand cupped the back of her head.

“I bet you put it in writing somewhere. ‘Both parties must be legal adults before certain activities are allowed.' And then a list with bullet points.”

Austin chuckled. “You could try appreciating my restraint. I am a guy, after all.”

Love shouldn't be ruled by the stupid calendar. She pressed her palm into his chest, and he sighed.

“Babe, I want to do this right.” He withdrew the embrace, leaned back on his hands, and tilted his head toward the sky. “You said you wanted to talk tonight. What's the hundred-dollar topic?”

Fine. They could talk. She did want to, just … later. She kicked her wedges away from her and inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass and geraniums. “I have two questions. Mammoth-sized.”

“Fire away.”

Nerves stiffened her shoulders. How stupid. She could ask Austin anything. Still, easy question first. “Do they pay you to lead small group at Elysium, and if they do, do you want to do that forever? Or do you have another goal, and what is it?”

“That's … four questions, I think.”

“Four facets, one question.”

“Hmm. Let's see. No, they do not pay me. If they did, I'd still have other goals in addition to leading small group. The first being a doctorate in philosophy.”

“That's a ton of school.”

“Exactly.”

“Why philosophy?” She swung her feet in an alternating rhythm and joined his stargazing. So many pinpoints of light, peeking down at Earth for millennia.

“I want to understand people. What makes them believe certain things or act certain ways. And I want to be able to teach them the right way to believe.”

“Like you do now, at church?”

A breeze wafted over them but didn't cool the air. “Yeah, like that. But with more education, I'll be more effective.”

“Will you be allowed to read the original Bible translations? Since your degree's in philosophy?”

Austin nodded.

“I think that's an amazing dream.” And the perfect transition to her second question, if she could spit it out.

Austin shrugged, but his eyes settled on her, and he smiled. “If number one had four facets, I'm afraid to ask about number two.”

Violet ran her thumb over the silver shark fin fastened to his wrist with a black leather cord. When she gave him the charm off her bracelet, he'd said the cord would keep it from looking like girl's jewelry.

“Violet?”

Just ask.
Out here, nestled close on a kiddie ride washed in floodlight, even the crickets and cicadas wouldn't hear her words. Still, her lips froze.

“Come on.” Austin nudged her shoulder. “You can ask whatever you want.”

“It's a … a theoretical question.”

“Let's hear it.”

“Suppose … for the sake of discussion … a person knew someone for a long time without knowing something dangerous about them and then discovered it. And this thing could hurt other people … and maybe the police really should know about it … except if they did, that would affect another person too. Maybe hurt them.”

Maybe make them suicidal.
Not literally. Khloe was the world's best exaggerator. But still.

The pansy charm seemed to burn Violet's wrist. She burrowed against Austin's arm for courage. “Would the person who discovered this thing be … obligated to report it?”

Austin stood up and reached down a hand. “Let's walk a bit.”

She let him tug her to her feet. They retrieved their flashlights and Violet's purse and shoes from the ground, then meandered to the concrete walking path. Austin followed its direction but stayed on the grass. Beneath the choir of cicadas, a bullfrog thrummed a one-note bass. A pond rested beyond the tree line.

The silence sweated from Violet's pores and dripped down her back. She shouldn't have asked, even abstractly.

“I think the answer lies in the results of each possibility,” Austin finally said.

“Okay,” she said. “In the first possibility, someone goes to re-, um, jail.”

Austin's feet froze on the path. “You should have said re-education, to begin with. That changes the question.”

Violet glanced up at him. Contemplation creased around his mouth and between his blond eyebrows. Ambling through the dark, garbed in a scholar's scowl, he looked older than twenty-one. How did she look to him?

“So you know a Christian.”

“Um … I … might.” She traced a five-point star with her flashlight. The beam swung up, down, across, back.

“The answer's yes. It's your duty to report them.”

“But, Austin, this person's not dangerous. They'd never hurt anyone. They're just … messed up when it comes to God.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Violet, some Christians live quiet, legal lives for years and then one day walk out their door, buy a firearm at Walmart, and go on a shooting spree.”

She almost laughed at the image of Clay toting a tommy gun like a 1930s gangster. But if that reality lurked in his head for real …

“Re-education would help this person,” she said.

“Would save this person,” Austin said. “Maybe save others.”

He resumed walking along the sidewalk, beneath maple trees whose leaves barely whispered in the still, hot night. They circled the whole track, back to the merry-go-round. Austin perched on the edge of the platform, but Violet's legs folded before she got there. She sank to the damp grass.

“I don't know how,” she said.

“How?” Austin propped his elbows on his knees.

“You know, how to report someone. Who to call. I know the emergency number for the con-cops”—of course, everyone knew the universal number: three digits, like 911—“but this isn't that kind of emergency, and anyway, I don't have proof, unless I go to the meeting.”

Austin's eyes seemed to drill right into her brain. “You got invited to a Christian meeting?”

What must he think of her? A Christian would trust only his closest friends with an invitation like that … probably only his Christian friends. “It's not like that, Austin, really. I just have to go. Or maybe I shouldn't.”

“No, you shouldn't.” Austin sprang up from the merry-go-round and dropped to his knees in front of Violet. “I should.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A buddy of mine is a field agent with the Constabulary. He's spent half a year trying to find this network that's hiding Christians. Nobody can figure out who they are, how they know each other, how they communicate, but you—you got an invitation.”

A sudden breeze slithered over Violet's arms. “I don't think it's like that. I think it's just some people meeting for … well, for church.”

“We need to find out. Somehow.”

He was right. She could make a difference. “I'll go. I'll find out where they meet.”

And report them. Report Clay. If she could.

“Not you. It's too risky,” Austin said.

“I think my friend would notice if you go in my place.”

He huffed and raked his fingers through his hair.

“I'll play along, Austin. They won't do anything to me.”

His mouth crimped, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, the frown remained, but his eyes shone with … respect, maybe. For her.

“I'll give you my buddy's work number. As soon as you get there, find a way to text the address to him. He can send in a team to bust them.”

“Okay. See, it'll be fine.”

“Wherever they meet, you don't go inside. Come up with whatever excuse you have to, but stay out.”

“Right.”

He huffed again. “This is madness.”

Ever the scholar. Her lips tugged into a smile. She ducked her head and twisted blades of grass around her fingers. One of them snapped. A mosquito landed in the crook of her arm, and she smacked it.

“Do you know,” he said, “sometimes you amaze me.”

“Because I killed a mosquito?”

“Because you're willing to do something like this. You've got this … this tough thread, running under the softness.”

No, she didn't. But this mission didn't require toughness. It only required love.

The Hansens would hate her when they found out.

Maybe they didn't have to. Ever.

Austin enclosed her in his arms. “We have to plan this out.”

“Didn't we just do that?”

“I want you to know exactly what you're doing before you get there.”

“Are you going to teach me kung fu or something?”

His lips moved over her hair. “If only I knew kung fu or something.”

“I'll be careful. The most careful I've ever been in my life.”

“That doesn't make it—”

“Talk later.” She kissed him and, with each breathless second, resolved to do her duty. Duty to Clay, to Austin's Constabulary friend. To the group of dangerous, misguided people who needed help.
Khloe, I have to. For the good of everyone.
Violet would wear the pansy charm on her wrist forever, a pledge of silence to herself.

“It's the right thing,” she whispered against Austin's mouth.

“I know.”

Austin lowered her to the soft grass. Yes. Through her clothes, his hands surveyed her body as if he hadn't already mapped most of it.
Please want me.

“Violet.”

She kissed the thumb that traced her mouth.

Austin lowered his head to the crook of her neck, and his sigh warmed her collarbone. “Three months, babe.”