Overtaken (16 page)

“I saw you. On the roof. I know what you can do.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” His face flashed fear.

“I do! Look . . .” For maximum effect, and to demonstrate my control, I let my invisibility ripple down my entire body. It was foolish, showing off so cavalierly, but I had to stun him or I risked never getting him to talk. Topher's jaw dropped. “Please don't lie to me,” I begged. “We need to have each other's backs.”

“I won't lie: You sound crazy.” He backed away from me.

“Topher! Come on!”

“I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, or what fucking prank you're playing, but I don't want to be a part of it.”

“You're already part of it. You have to accept that.”

“Get outta here, Nica,” he ordered, face reddening.

“I saw you vanish right off the roof.”

He opened the back door and tried to make a quick exit, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back out.

“Please.” I stared right at him, my desperation never more apparent than at that moment.

“Leave, Nica. Be careful. They're watching you.”

Slam
. And he was gone.

They're watching me? Who the hell was he talking about?

I turned to see a shape at the end of the alleyway. Jackson.

“Hey!” I shouted. It was part accusation, part epithet. Of course, the slinking coward turned and ran. But I wasn't about to let him get away.

This was Dana's fault. I knew it with all my heart and soul. As I marched across the pavement to confront Jackson about it, I became a self-righteous missile. They wanted to play dirty, huh? They wanted to break up relationships and shatter trust. For what, Dana's ego? So she could comfortably rule the school like the dictator of her own small country?

So much for wanting everyone to be friends.

I caught up to him as quickly as I could.

“Jackson!” I shouted. I was determined for this to end here and now. I sprinted to the end of the alleyway, dodging the trash cans and boxes that sloped down from the solid brick walls. I burst from the end of the alley and swiveled right, the same direction I'd seen Jackson head, but he was already gone. How? Could he fly now? Had Dana picked him up in an invisible car?

Okay, probably not that one. But I wasn't ready to rule anything out.

I saw his truck sitting across the street. The windows were tinted enough that we couldn't make eye contact, but I could spot him behind the wheel, his broad shoulders leaning forward as he cranked the engine. The car roared with the horsepower trapped beneath its hood, and for once—maybe the first time—the sound didn't excite me. Now all I heard was a taunt: “You'll never catch me.”

If I had Oliver's speed, things would've been different. I would've crossed the street in less than a second and stood in front of the car. I'd have made him choose between running me over or getting away like he clearly wanted. I'd have made him tell me what was happening.

My heart pounded at the thought, but it was just a fantasy. I was no Oliver. Jackson sped the wrong way down a one-way street and blew through a stop sign. He broke at least three traffic laws before he disappeared around a corner, but conveniently, no one was around to even take down his license plate number.

I trudged home. At least my dad would understand.

•  •  •

“Nica, don't lie to me!” My dad was shouting before I was even through the door.

It was tough to get me to cry. It wasn't even a matter of provoking the emotions that would normally result in tears; it was mostly that the energy expended crying was never worth it so I always held it back. I didn't find it to be a release. It gave me a headache and left me drained. This was different, though. The tears came down my face slowly at first, but began to rush as the depth of the shit I was in became more and more clear with every extra kick in my dad's volume. I'd been broadsided by a mistake—a disaster of an oversight. In my haste to get to the truth, I had shattered something between my father and me: trust. And all it took was a bobby pin.

I had no idea what was wrong. I certainly wasn't expecting Marcus to be full of quiet, angry fury. I'd planned on spilling my guts, but only because I wanted to, not because he demanded it. The evening I'd been imagining unfolded gently, starting with him asking me what was wrong. I'd try to figure out where to start, and he'd tell me it was okay, to start at the beginning. Tell him everything. As the events of the past few days spilled out, he'd pull me close and tell me everything would be okay. We'd get to the bottom of it. Together.

But he seemed so angry that rational talk wasn't likely.

He shook his head in disappointment. “You went behind my back.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, truly mystified at first. The words had barely dropped from my mouth when I realized exactly what he was talking about. He knew. Somehow he'd figured out that I'd gone through his files.

“There was one thing—one thing—that I didn't want you knowing, Nica. I told you about me, and Cochran, and my work for the government because those were things that I decided were okay for you to know. They were important and they were necessary.”

Okay, think fast, girl. Maybe he's bluffing. Maybe he just suspects you went through his files and he wants you to confess. Don't give that to him. Play dumb.

“Dad, I have no idea—”

“Who taught you how to lie?” he asked, more sad than angry. “It wasn't me. It wasn't your mother.”

I wanted to answer him and shout back: Fear. Life. Bar Tech. But sarcasm didn't seem the right route at the moment.

“You've got such a good poker face, Nica. That's what's really scary. I believed you all the time. I wanted to. But I can't anymore.” They were harsh words to hear from your dad.

In my mind, I worked through my escapades from the night before. There's no way he saw me. That much I was certain of. I'd been so careful, so quiet. I saw each moment clearly as it played back for me—turning the cabinet invisible, checking the names on the folders, and picking the lock. It had gone so well. I paused my playback as I remembered slipping the folders back and leaving the room. Oh God.

I'd never checked to make sure the drawer locked when I closed it.

“Your bobby pin broke the lock. I found this jammed in the tumblers.” He dropped the small, black, spherical tip onto his desk, like a physical period to his accusation.

And there I stood, unsure of how to respond. My friends were abandoning me, I'd lied to my dad, snuck behind his back, broken his trust, and I felt so alone. Sadness piled on top of frustration piled on top of anger. I couldn't hold them back and I couldn't control them. I didn't feel like there was anything I could control anymore. Everything around me seemed to be falling apart.

“I had to.” I spit it out from clenched teeth, the only thing keeping the floodgates from splitting wide open.

“Had to?” He looked at me, shaking his head in disbelief.

It wasn't enough to acknowledge how broken things were. He was making me pick through the shards and hold each one up so I could explain why.

“It's the only way I can protect myself,” I declared, feeling more vulnerable and lost than ever before.

“I can protect you,” he replied, his anger and disappointment slowly softening. “All I want to do is protect you, but I can only do that if there are things you don't know. The minute you know is the minute you're a target, Nica. And now I can't trust you, either.” His words were true. Maybe he couldn't trust me. But they connected to something inside me like a baseball to the crack of a bat.

I suddenly found myself on the offensive. “You can't trust me?” I cried, tears erupting. “You're the one hiding things. I snuck behind your back because there was no other way for me to get the information I needed. You don't think I can handle this situation, so you keep me in the dark. ”

“Scarier things are lurking in the light,” he responded lovingly.

“I didn't break into your files for fun, Dad. All I know is that you're a covert operative for the Defense Department. Are you NSA? Intelligence? Does anyone else know what's going on here?”

“There are leaks everywhere, Nica. Even in the NSA. The fewer people who know about me, the better for my cover. And the better for you.”

It wasn't the full disclosure I was hoping for from my father, but it was a start. “Just as long as someone's watching out for you.”

“Of course there is. Now tell me what's going on at school.”

I took a deep breath. For all my high-minded rhetoric about how I tried to be honest and truthful with him, there was a lot I had to explain that he didn't know. Small things, little secrets that didn't mean much individually but added up to paint a large, dangerous picture. I wouldn't classify any of it as lying. In that light, I almost understood why my dad would hide things from me—pieces of the truth that didn't seem like information I should concern myself with. I can't say I wanted our relationship to continue that way, so I decided to lay everything on the table. Especially my suspicions about Dana.

“Ever since the pulse went off the night of Dana's party, our powers have stuck around,” I finally admitted.

My dad pursed his lips and cocked his head. “Everyone's?”

I nodded. “Jackson conducts electricity. Oliver runs. Fast. Like, lightning fast.” I knew I was betraying their secrets, but I also knew I had to trust my dad. I wanted to protect them.

“What do they have to do with Dana?” he pressed, anxious to know more.

“I think she has the power to control people's thoughts. That's why I had to see your files.”

“Controlling people how?” My dad's mind was working overtime to process all this.

“The power of persuasion,” I answered, the details sketchy. “Her group of friends has been expanding, drawing in kids from every clique and corner. None of them have anything in common except for the fact that they are all a part of Ski Club, which Dana organizes.”

“She's recruiting them,” he said.

“Her own personal army,” I said, feeling the tension between us had finally dissipated. Connecting the dots of a mystery can do that—bring people together. As it had brought Oliver, Jackson, and me together not that long before. I decided to let loose the biggest secret of all. “You ever heard of ‘Blackthorne'?”

My dad did a double take. “Where did you hear that name?” He looked scared—as scared as I'd ever seen.

“Someone's been texting me.”

“Who?” he demanded, getting right in my face.

“I don't know who yet, but he's on the inside. My own personal Deep Throat. The only clue he's given me so far is ‘Blackthorne.'”

“It's connected to Bar Tech,” Dad confessed, barely able to fill in the blanks. “I've heard the name kicked around. The details are way, way above my security clearance. You think Dana's involved?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged uncertainly. “It would make sense. She disappears, mysteriously returns, and then starts hanging out with superpowered kids—one of whom is her old boyfriend.”

“Why haven't you joined them?” my father asked quizzically. His impassive expression indicated he sensed that I was still holding something back.

“I almost did.” Dare I give him the real answer? The whole saga of Jackson and Oliver with all the gory details? I considered it for a second but realized I could sum it up—honestly—in a way that was much easier to understand. “I don't trust her,” I stated plainly.

My dad nodded, accepting my explanation for the moment. “If you get close to her, do you think you might have a better shot at figuring out what's going on?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “but I also have a better shot at becoming a brainwashed soldier for her. What about Cochran? Any way you could get more on Blackthorne through him?”

Dad shook his head. “Cochran is playing things closer to his chest than ever. He's got his inner circle, and he's freezing me out.”

This rang true with the conversation I'd overheard on the phone last night.

“I don't know if it means anything,” I interjected, “but Chase mentioned something weird about how his family might move soon. Could be nothing, but it struck me as odd. Especially if something big is happening. Why would they leave in the middle of it?” My question hung in the air.

My dad responded. “Maybe we should take Cochran up on that old dinner invitation.”

•  •  •

It was almost too easy. I'd nearly forgotten about our standing invitation to dinner at the Cochrans'. It had been extended by Chase's father months ago, back when I'd first arrived. At the time, I'd done everything I could to avoid going, but given the wall we'd hit, I realized it was time to accept.

Chase, of course, was thrilled to hear I'd be coming over and pressed his dad to say yes. After all, he'd been doing everything possible to get me to go out with him.

“A chaperoned date,” he joked as he followed me through the hallway after lunch one day. “How romantic.”

“Beggars can't be choosers,” I snapped back, enjoying having the upper hand for once. At least it felt like I had it.

As we stood outside the Cochrans' main gate, waiting to be buzzed in with our flowers and wine, I tried to figure out how to frame this. Our trust was tenuous, and I didn't want my father to think I was hiding anything from him. Still, the situation with Chase was complicated. I couldn't say that, though—at least until I sorted out my own feelings about Jackson. Chase was so obviously wrong for me that I didn't even know how to begin explaining myself—other than I was utterly confused.

We rode silently through the off-putting gate up to the sleek modern house, where Richard Cochran was waiting to meet us with a handshake already extended.

“Marcus! Nica! I can't believe it's taken this long!” Cochran declared, giving me an unwelcome embrace. It was just a friendly greeting, but I already didn't trust the words coming out of his mouth. He was dressed way too nicely, to the point that it felt like a subtle power move.

Chase, clad in a tight T-shirt and skinny designer jeans, affectionately took my arm while Cochran shook my dad's hand.

“Come in,” Cochran insisted as he hustled us into his grand foyer and beyond.