Need (22 page)

“Maybe I should go back and see if I can help.” But Bryan isn't going anywhere, because he can't help Lynn's mom. As much as he'd like to, only the doctors can do that. But maybe he might be able to help Nate.

“Come home. Just please come home.” Worry coats his mother's voice. “Your father and I are concerned, with everything that seems to be happening out there . . .” Her voice catches and Bryan's throat tightens. “We just don't want to be among the parents who are calling everyone trying to find their kid. Okay?”

Parents are trying to find their kids? Like who? Have Nate's parents figured out he's missing? Are others out there who have been taken or who have fled?

“Bryan. Are you there? Are you sure you don't want Dad to come get you? You can leave that car where it is and go back and get it when the snow lets up.”

“No. It's okay. I think I see a plow turning onto this street.” What's one more lie? “I'll let it do its thing and then drive home. And tell Dad he's right. Second gear means you have to go slow, but it's really good for driving in the snow. I'll let you know when the plow passes and I'm on my way. And Mom?” He hits the windshield wipers to get a clearer view of the building. “I love you.”

He hears her sniffle. “I love you too, Bryan. Drive safe.”

“I will, Mom.” Bryan looks at the phone for several minutes after the call is over, trying to decide what to do. Stay and see who comes to get Nate? Or go home? Maybe no one will come. Maybe this is just supposed to scare Nate. Maybe Jack is onto something and this is just an intense hazing thing.

Lights. He sees a pair of lights at the end of the street, coming through the snow. Slowly. Not that anyone can travel fast in this weather. But more slowly than the fictitious plow he told his mother about would travel. He turns off the engine in case they can hear it running, and finds himself holding his breath as the lights come nearer. Damn. He wishes he had cleared the windshield again before he shut off the car. The snow is coming too fast to see out. But if he had, that might have given him away too, because why would a car with a clean windshield be parked without anyone inside in this weather?

He forces himself to breathe in and out and clutches his phone as he waits. The lights are still getting closer. By the time the movement of the lights slows down, the snow is too thick on his windshield to see any details about the approaching car. Then he can't even see the lights.

Did the other car park? Should he get out? If he does and the driver hasn't entered the post office yet he'll be screwed. Bryan doesn't know what to do. If he gets caught he could make everything so much worse for himself and his family. He promised his mother he'd come home. He doesn't want to disappoint her. He has to get home.

Still, he wraps his fingers around the door handle and pulls. The door comes unlatched and he eases it open as his phone starts to ring.

Damn. Oh damn. He closes the door, puts his phone on vibrate, and sits still. Like that's going to help. Whoever is out there must have spotted him opening the door. Or if they didn't and haven't gone inside the building, they probably heard the ringer. He thinks of the dogs. The blood.

He doesn't know the number on the display. Should he ignore it? If it is them, they know he's here. It would be better to answer and pretend to think he's done nothing wrong. His instructions were to bring Nate drugged through the back door, restrain him, and go home to wait for his NEED request fulfillment. But he can say because of the snow he was worried about Nate. That the building was cold and the floor was colder and he wasn't sure anyone would be able to make it through the storm to get to him.

They'll know it's a lie. NEED will know.

The phone lights up on vibrate. Bryan forces himself to breathe and does the only thing he really can do. He answers the phone.

“B
RYAN
? I
S THAT YOU
?” When no one responds, I say, “Hello. Bryan?”

“Who is this?”

I blow a sigh of relief when I hear his voice. It's him. Jack didn't give me a bogus number. “It's Kaylee Dunham.”

I expect him to say something. Anything. After all, he kidnapped Nate outside my house. He has to know why I'm calling. “Jack gave me your phone number, Bryan. Where's Nate? What have you done with him?”

“I don't know what Jack told you—”

“He told me he helped you kidnap Nate so you could deliver him to NEED. All so he could get a home gym. It's not a surprise that Jack is shallow. But you?” Bryan, who planned the winter coat drive at our school for lower-income families and always had a book in his hand—I thought he was smarter. Kinder. He's never once picked on me, and while he never told me, I know he got tested as a potential donor because his mother mentioned it to mine. I don't know him well . . . probably my fault . . . but I've always thought of him as one of the good guys. Someone who would do something important and wonderful with his life. Someone who was better than most of us. “What did you get for kidnapping Nate and giving him to NEED? Is it worth sacrificing his life for? Because if you don't let him go he's going to die.”

“You don't know that.” But I can tell Bryan believes my words might be true. “And I can't talk about it now.”

“Why?” I don't want him to hang up. He might block my calls or not pick up again. “Just tell me where Nate is and I'll go find him.”

“Give me ten minutes,” he whispers. “There's something going on here that could help me learn who's behind this whole thing. I'll call you back. I promise.”

“Wait!” Crap. He's gone. I try to call again, but he doesn't pick up. If Bryan had asked me yesterday to trust him to call me back in ten minutes, I would not have questioned him. I would have waited for his call. This Bryan I don't trust. Not with so much riding on this. They can't have done anything to Nate yet. Right? I hope that's true. But NEED has been moving so fast. Ten minutes is too long to wait. I have to find someone else to help me.

I dig into the left pocket of my jeans and pull out the two cards I received this morning. The one from Dr. Jain I shove back. Then I dial the number on the card from Officer Shepens. I didn't have proof to show him before. Now, even though I've been banned from the NEED site, I do. The emails and my photos of the NEED posts should be enough to convince him that I'm not making this stuff up. And maybe there will be others who will back me up. There have to be. Still, I squirm at the idea of being called a liar again.

I steel myself against the nausea that churns inside me and dial. One ring. Two. He picks up. “Officer Shepens.”

“Hi. It's Kaylee. Kaylee Dunham.” Maybe not the best opening, but now that he's on the phone, I'm scared to say the wrong thing. If I screw this up, he won't help Nate and it will be my fault. “The website is back up. I took pictures to prove it. There are lots of bad things going on and you have to help.”

“Kaylee—”

“Someone has to help or who knows what will happen next. Nate is missing. Someone took him and I know NEED is behind it and—”

“Kaylee.”

I stop. I know I'm rambling. This isn't going to make him listen. To make him believe. I have to pull it together.

“Sorry, Officer Shepens. I'm worried about Nate and I don't know who else I can tell, but I made a request on the website that I told you about this morning.” Was it only this morning? “The site asks what you need and I said I need a kidney for DJ. I didn't know that Nate was a match, but the website did and—”

“Kaylee, is your mother there?”

“What?” I blink. “No. She and DJ are out of town. That's why—”

“Where out of town? I'd like to come talk to you, but it might be better if you had your mother there. Would you mind if I call her?”

“Her cell phone's been having problems, but you can try,” I lie, because even if Mom could be convinced to return to be with me, she can't come home. She and DJ have to stay away for their own safety and for Nate's. If DJ is around there's a better chance Nate will be forced into whatever NEED wants to do with him. Which is why when Officer Shepens asks for the number, I change the last digit from a 9 to a 1. Most of the kids I go to school with don't know their parents' or even their best friends' phone numbers because they're on speed dial. So it won't be too great a stretch for Officer Shepens to believe I simply got one of the numbers wrong. I hope.

“I'm going to give her a call. As soon as I'm done I'll come talk to you. Are you home?”

“Yes, but you should be out looking for Nate. I think I know—”

“Sit tight. I'll be there in about thirty minutes. And Kaylee, if you talk to your mom before I do, let her know I think she should come home tonight.”

I hang up more anxious than before, but hopeful. Officer Shepens is coming. He didn't dismiss me out of hand.

Eight minutes have passed since Bryan hung up on me. Not the ten he asked for, but I don't care. I call his number anyway.

No answer. I try to focus on the hope that Officer Shepens will start searching for Nate the minute he's done hearing my story and seeing the proof I have.

With that in mind, I decide to organize all my information. I log back on to my laptop and in one window I call up the last email NEED sent. Then, in another browser window, I pull up my home page, where I posted the NEED photographs that got me in trouble. Maybe some of the people who saw the posts will agree to step forward and talk to Officer Shepens.

On the first photograph I find two responses:

You're not supposed to be posting this.

Get a grip. Get a life.

On the next two, I get the same kind of messages.

Don't ruin it for everyone else.

I bite my lip and force myself to read the comments on the last photograph:

I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I'm sorry. Please tell her I'm sorry. Tell everyone I'm sorry.

Sameena Jahn.

I don't think I even remembered that the two of us are “friends” online, but friends or not, the guilt in the post and the implication that she will not be able to apologize to anyone herself make me gasp, and I start to send her a private message. That's when I notice I have a message waiting for me. A message from another “friend”: Yvonne Gutierrez.

Hey—I'm not sure if this is important, but I saw your posts. I don't think it's a big deal or anything, but there's a receipt with your name on it at the bakery. According to the receipt, you ordered seventeen cookies
for Amanda Highland
.
The police know about the receipt. I'm not sure why they care, but I figured you deserved to know.

A receipt with my name. Seventeen cookies that I never ordered. But the police think I did. Suddenly I know why Officer Shepens is coming over. Why he cares if my mother is home when he talks to me. He thinks I ordered and delivered the cookies that killed Amanda Highland. He's not coming to help me stop NEED. He's on his way to arrest me.

 

 

 

 

NETWORK MEMBERS—683

NEEDS PENDING—681

NEEDS FULFILLED—223

T
HE HOT SHOWER
felt great. Everything is so much better now that he no longer smells like gasoline. One more mission for the record books. Or it will be when the timer goes off and school lets out—for good. The whole Hannah thing still makes him feel a little guilty. He doesn't really want her to die. He had never once in his life considered hurting anyone intentionally until NEED came around. He isn't a serial killer or anything. It's not like he picks targets and goes after them for his own sick reasons. Like any military or mercenary operative, he's just a tool. Is it his fault NEED pointed him at Hannah in order to reach a goal? Hannah is a pawn, plain and simple. He'll just have to compartmentalize his guilt and move on. CIA guys must be able to do that, so he'll do it too.

“Ethan.” His mother's voice comes from the other side of his bedroom door. “Is everything okay? I think I smell gasoline. Do you?”

He kicks the wadded-up ball of clothes under the bed and walks over to unlock the door. “The gas smell is me.” He stays calm. Thinks on his feet. Keeps as much to the truth as he can so it doesn't sound like a lie. “I spilled gas on my jeans and boots when I was at Miguel's earlier. He needed help refilling the snow blower. Turns out I'm not much help. At least not with stuff like that.”

“You have other gifts,” his mother says with a smile. But the smile doesn't look real. Or is he just reading something into it? After a few moments, she asks, “Are you okay . . . you know . . . otherwise?”

His mother stares at him and he fights to keep his expression unruffled. “I'm fine, Mom. I mean, as okay as I can be, considering.” He shrugs and looks down at his hands. People always do that in the movies when they want to look sad. And he's supposed to be upset about Amanda Highland's death. “It was good to hang out with Miguel. It made things less freaky.”

“Well, I'm here if you need anything. And if you don't want to talk to me, Dr. Jain called us a little while ago. She's available for any students who are upset. I promised her I'd pass that information along.”

“Thanks, Mom. See you in the morning.”

She hovers in the doorway for a minute before wishing him good night. He counts to ten, locks the door, and walks over to the desk to turn on the computer. The red letters of NEED glow bright. He gets a buzz just seeing them. And the buzz grows more exciting when he clicks on his home page and sees a new assignment. Unusual, since technically he hasn't finished his last one, but he's not about to complain. After all, if he wants to become a professional operative, he needs to practice. Practice makes perfect.