Surrender (23 page)

“Cooking school?” This was a surprise. A pleasant one. For the first time ever my brother was talking about getting an education. But hearing him talk like that made me feel a little sad. He might have come to the realization that education wasn’t a four-letter word too late.

Or it could have been a big, fat lie—to maybe throw me off.

“Yeah. I might like to work in one of those fancy restaurants someday. You know, the kind that doesn’t have a printed menu?”

The kind we didn’t go to.

The kind rich people went to.

As we ate, my brother chattered on and on about food and cooking and his dream of someday being a famous chef. He didn’t say a word about his phone. Not one. As we finished up our meals, and he was acting like the brother I’d known and loved for most of my life, my anxiety eased even more. He hadn’t realized I’d checked his phone. He didn’t know what I’d heard.

I was safe.

Safe for now.

Roughly a half hour later I was stuffed full of pasta and salad and bread, and I was feeling very relaxed, thanks to the wine. I stretched and yawned and pushed up from my chair. “After that meal, I’d say you have a promising future as a chef.”

“Thank you. I thought you’d say that.”

I waddled to the couch. “Ohmygod, I’m so full.”

“Glad you enjoyed the dinner.” Standing next to the table, a dirty plate in each hand, he motioned to the hallway with his elbow. “By the way, I bought a new phone when I was in hiding. I wrote down the number and put it on your dresser in your room. I didn’t call you with the phone because I thought it wouldn’t be safe.”

That was a semireasonable excuse, and I might have bought it if I hadn’t seen that he’d been using the phone since long before he’d gone into hiding.

He was lying.

My brother was lying.

Because he’d done something terrible.

My baby brother. The kid I would have died for. The kid I would have done anything to protect. Anything.

Now I couldn’t protect him. Not without letting an innocent man pay the price for his crime. An innocent man I loved.

Oh God, this was going to kill me.

My mood did a swift nosedive as I sank into the sofa’s welcoming softness. Ahhh, so cozy. I was feeling so sleepy. So very sleepy. Probably the stress.

“How are you doing?” my brother called from the kitchen. I could hear the clanking of dishes, the rattle of silverware. I should be helping clean up. But I was too tired.

“I’m tired,” I said. My voice was rough and scratchy. And I felt a little like I was drifting, floating. I swung around, lying down on my back.

“You’ve had a lot going on. You need to sleep. Don’t fight it.”

I couldn’t fight it. The darkness fell upon me like a thick, heavy blanket. I let myself tumble into sleep. Vivid dreams, strange and scary, played out in my mind as I slept. But then I woke a little. I jerked. I screamed. But my brother was there, soothing me, telling me everything was going to be okay.

“Thank you for protecting me,” he said as he stroked my hair out of my face. “I know what you did. I . . . I saw it. I’ll never forget. Not ever.”

He saw what?

He said, “I saw. Dad.”

He saw
that?

He couldn’t have. No.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I mumbled. My lips and tongue felt funny. Swollen.

“Shhh. I’ll keep your secret for the rest of my life. You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore. I’m grown. I can handle the truth. You can tell me everything.” I can tell him everything.

My eyelids were heavy. They fell closed. “Everything about what?” I asked.

“About the missing money. What do you know about the missing money?”

“What money?”

My brother leaned closer. His breath warmed my cheek and ear. “Why were you looking at my phone? What were you searching for?”

“Her name,” I blurted.

Why had I just told him that? My eyelids snapped open. My gaze met Joss’s.

“Whose name?” he asked, brows scrunched together.

“The name of the woman who was with you last night,” I answered.

Why was I saying these things? Why was I answering his questions?

“Why did you want to know who I was with?” he asked.

“She talked about another bank account,” I said.

“She’s nobody. Not important.” He stroked my face, gently, slowly. It felt good, soothing.

“Nobody?” I echoed.

“Forget about her.”

“But the bank account—”

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “It’s not what you think, Abby. Do you hear me? Open your eyes.” I forced my heavy eyelids up. “It’s. Not. What. You. Think.” He punctuated each word with a little nudge.

“It’s not? Then what money is it?”

“My money. My money for school.”

“You didn’t steal from MalTech?”

“No! I didn’t steal anything from them or anyone else. I borrowed the money for school. I swear to you.” His lips thinned, and a dark, terrifying expression pulled at his features. “Your boyfriend stole the money. You know that, right? He was the one who did it, and he’s trying to get you to help him pin it on someone else. On me.”

My head was foggy, and I couldn’t follow what he was saying. What did it mean? “I . . . I . . . don’t know.”

“You love me, right?”

That was a stupid question. “Yes. Or course, I love you.”

“Then you have to believe me, Abby.”

“Yes . . .” Some stray thought popped into my head. But just as quickly it popped out. “I . . .”

“You believe me, right? I didn’t steal anything. That rich bastard just wants you to believe it was me. He’s rich. He has everything. He has more money than he can ever spend in his lifetime. You and me, we have nothing. Don’t we deserve to be happy too?”

“Y-yes, but . . .”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep.” Releasing my shoulders, he stroked my forehead. “Go back to sleep, but remember, Kameron Maldonado is the guilty one. It wasn’t enough for the rich bastard to have everything he already had. He needed more.”

I felt the darkness falling over me again. My brother’s last words echoed in my head as I let it carry me away again.

25

S
omeone tried to split open my head with a sledgehammer. That was what it felt like.

Knowing it was going to be excruciating, I forced my eyelids to lift a tiny bit, allowing as little light in as possible.

None came in.

It was still dark.

I felt like death. I felt like I’d mainlined a gallon of tequila. Since when did a little wine do that to me?

Oh crap, I had to pee too. That meant I had to get up. And walk. All the way to the bathroom.

Groaning to myself, I pushed to my feet. My head almost exploded. The pain took my breath away and made my stomach twist.

That was it, I would never,
never,
drink wine again.

Using the wall to support myself, I lumbered to the bathroom, one heavy-footed step at a time. My muscles didn’t want to respond. My limbs felt as if they’d been tied to blocks of cement. I hadn’t felt this bad since . . . since that day in New York.

That day. When I’d been drugged.

Had I been drugged again?

By my brother?

No.

Had I?

No!

Somehow, by a miracle, I made it to the bathroom without falling over. When I was done I decided I needed my bed. My soft, warm, cozy bed. Unable to stand fully erect, I shouldered the wall as I lifted one foot at a time. Left. Right. Left. Right. As I was passing my brother’s shut door, I heard muffled voices again. My brother’s low rumble. A higher pitched giggle. He had a houseguest.

Was it her? Was it T?

I tried to press my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. And it was extremely difficult standing up. I was so dizzy, any sudden movement made the whole world spin.

Quickly, I abandoned the idea of trying to listen and pushed on, dragging my heavy body to my bedroom. I had never been so grateful for my bed than I was at that moment, as I basically crashed onto it. I closed my eyes and willed myself to stay awake. I didn’t have the strength to stand outside his door for an hour, but if I could stay awake long enough to get a tiny peek of the woman as she left, it would be worth it.

All I needed was one small glance. Just one. Preferably of her face. I lay in bed and fought to stay awake. Every minute was a struggle. Every second. My eyes felt like they’d been rolled across the Mohave Desert. My head was very foggy, like it was full of thick goo. And my body felt so heavy, I could swear it had been encased in concrete.

Worse yet, this strange, nagging doubt plagued me as I lay there, odd bits of last night’s dreams playing through my head.

In my dream my brother had told me he’d taken out a loan for school, that the bank account was for that, not for any money he’d stolen. He was innocent, and Kam was guilty. Kam was greedy, trying to convince me that he was actually the victim instead of the thief.

What a weird dream that had been.

Weird, but also vivid enough to give birth to the smallest doubt that I might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. After all, the police had to have evidence in order to keep Kam in jail. Evidence I didn’t know about, but convincing enough to make them believe they could bring him to trial.

How I wished I knew what it was.

How I wished what my brother had told me was true, that he was innocent and I had taken their conversation out of context.

And yet Kam had been so convincing. And he’d been so kind, helping protect me and my brother. Why would he do that if he was the one who had committed the crime? Why would he hide the person he intended to blame? And why would he protect me if by doing so he would draw the police’s attention to himself?

So many pieces didn’t seem to fit.

And I was tired. So tired. Too tired. A part of me just wanted to sleep. For hours, days, weeks, until it was all over.

Starting now.

Sleep was right there, seducing me. Tendrils curling around my body, pulling me down, down into the darkness again.

I didn’t want to fight anymore. I couldn’t.

As I drifted, sounds became distant and sensations dulled. I was floating. Drifting on a gentle current. Until a loud thump yanked me back up, and my eyelids snapped open. My heart jumped in my chest.

My brother’s door opened with a squeak. Someone was whispering, but the tone was harsh, syllables emphasized. They were arguing.

I tiptoed to my closed door and, holding my breath, curled my fingers around the doorknob and twisted. Praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak, I stood behind the door and gently pulled until there was a small gap between the door and the frame.

Then, holding the door in place, I moved into position so I could peer through the crack.

The woman was tall, slender. Like Terry Stimpson. Her back was to me.

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” she said, voice mocking. “Brainwashing?”

Did she sound like Terry Stimpson? Maybe. Maybe not. I leaned closer.

“Yes, brainwashing,” my brother answered. “I read about it on the Internet. According to the site I found, that’s what the military does to prisoners of war. They give them drugs and then make them talk. And then they make suggestions, tell them what to believe.”

Brainwashing? My brother had tried to brainwash someone? Me? Was that what he’d done? Had those not been dreams?

The woman laughed. She had a strange laugh. Unique. High pitched. I would probably recognize
that
if I heard it again. “Ridiculous.”

“Let me at least see if it worked,” Joss said. “She’s my sister, for Christ’s sake. You have no idea what she’s done for me.”

So he still felt some sense of obligation to me. Very little, considering what he had done. My eyes started burning once more. How could he drug me? Was money that important to him?

“What about
me,
Joss? What about what I’ve done for you? Drugging Maldonado. Twice. So you could access his computer remotely without him noticing what you were doing. You couldn’t have planted that evidence without my help.” Drugging Maldonado! My brother and his accomplice had drugged him? And planted evidence by hacking his computer? Was that the day Kam had collapsed in his office?

“Once,” my brother corrected. “You drugged him once. The first time you got my sister.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know she would drink the damn water. Plus I set up the accounts and handled the transactions.”

“I’ll always remember what you’ve done for me. Baby, you’re making too much out of this. All we need is another week or so until our passports come in. Just another week or so. I can’t kill my sister for that.”

“Yes, you can. And you must, if she learns anything else.”

The longer I listened, the more I doubted it was Terry. But if it wasn’t her, who was it? Whoever this T woman was, she was dangerous. Ruthless. A shiver swept through me.

I had to find out who she was. I had to find a way to stop her.

“Fine. If she does any more snooping, I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

“You’d better, Joss. There’s too much at stake here for both of us.”

“I know.” He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Watching him made me uncomfortable, but because I hadn’t gotten a decent look at the woman yet, I didn’t shut my door and walk away. I needed her to glance my way. But I didn’t dare make a sound to force her to do it.

One little glance. That was all I needed.

I watched my brother and his lover paw at each other for a while. The longer it went on, the more convinced I became that she wasn’t going to turn my direction. I swallowed more than one sigh of frustration.

At least there was her laugh. And I also knew roughly how tall she was and what color hair she had. Average height. Brown hair.

It wasn’t much to go on.

“Come on, back to bed. We have plenty of time yet,” my brother said, tugging on his lover’s hand as he moved toward his room.

I inched back to stay out of sight but kept watching. If he took a few more steps, she’d have to turn toward me.

I held my breath and waited.

“No, baby. You know I can’t.” The woman jerked her hand away before she had turned my way. “I need to go to work.”

He took one step. Another. “You don’t have to be there until nine. It’s five.”

“I realize that. But I don’t want to risk your sister waking up and seeing me. Especially with you being unwilling to take care of things.” The edge in her voice made my blood run cold with fear.

“I promise, she’s out cold. Nobody could wake up after what I gave her.” He took another step.

The woman twisted. “Well . . .”

“Give me another thirty minutes,” my brother pleaded. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every single second if it.”

“Well . . .” She pivoted the opposite direction. “Where is she?”

“On the couch. In the living room.”

“Go check on her first,” the woman demanded. “I want to make sure she’s still sleeping.”

I couldn’t get to the living room without going down the hallway. They were about to find out I had woken up.

What to do?

“No reason to waste any precious time checking on her. I dosed her good. Come on,” my brother said, tugging on the woman’s arm again and forcing her to turn toward me at last.

A gasp tore up my throat.

That wasn’t Terry Stimpson from HR. Or Tracy Fenner. Or Tina Rooney. Or any of the other employees at MalTech with first names starting with T.

Of all the people, I hadn’t even considered
her
.

This was it.

I had all the proof I needed. My brother and his lover were the real thieves. They were hiding some unknown sum of money in a bank account. And they had drugged Kam and planted evidence to make him look guilty.

If that bitch had it her way, I would be dead before the end of the week.

Hands trembling, I shut the door, staggered to my dresser, and dug out a pair of jeans and a shirt. I had to go to the police. Now. This minute. Before my brother and his lover realized I was awake.

God, I hoped I could drive there without killing myself.

 

An hour later I was in the emergency room. After staggering into the police department and pleading for help, an ambulance was dispatched to take me to the ER for tests to confirm I had been drugged. I couldn’t tell by the officer’s stony mien whether he’d believed a single word I had said, but I was hopeful the drug test would prove that part of my story. The rest, I realized, was sketchy and lacked specifics, but I didn’t dare risk waiting any longer to tell someone what I had learned. If I had waited and something happened to me, then I might die without having the chance to tell the truth.

They probably didn’t have enough yet to free Kam from suspicion, but I hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to gather more evidence, now that they knew who to look at.

Several hours later I was several tubes short of blood. And I was free to go.

Free to go where? Free to go how? My car was still sitting in the parking lot outside of the police department. I checked the clock. It was almost nine. I was due in to work any minute now. I briefly considered calling in, but I decided even that was too risky. I was afraid to walk out in public where I might be seen. So I requested a cab and sat in the back corner of the emergency room waiting area until it arrived. Every time I heard the whoosh of the automatic doors open, my body tensed. What if my brother somehow found out where I was?

Maybe it was unlikely, but having been through so many shocks lately, I was at the point of pure paranoia. My own brother had lied to me, drugged me, and tried to brainwash me. I didn’t have actual medical proof that he’d done those things yet—the blood test results took some time to come back—that he’d more or less confessed. And someone I thought was trustworthy was his accomplice. Another horrific shock. Was it no wonder I was trembling uncontrollably? Was it no wonder I was afraid to show my face in public until I received a call that my brother was in jail?

I checked my cell phone. The battery was at roughly fifty percent. It rang as I was checking it. My brother. I let it click to voice mail.

It rang three more times as I was riding in the cab to a nearby hotel. I had hoped those calls would be from the police. They weren’t. They were all from my brother.

I had four new messages. Also from my brother.

And three texts.

 

 

 

 

I decided, after the last one, that responding might be a good idea. It would maybe throw him off track. He didn’t have his passport yet. He couldn’t leave the country. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t run.

 

 

Hoping that would throw him off for a while, I checked into the hotel and parked myself in my room to wait for a call from the police. While I had initially thought going to work would be a good idea, I’d decided, after those calls and texts, that I had to lie low. I wasn’t going to risk being found by my brother before he’d been arrested. Period. End of story. I just hoped I wasn’t going to have long to wait. Living in limbo like this was horrible.

The first bit of good news came about ten hours later. Those ten hours had been dull, boring, and yet horrifically trying. I’d paced most of the time. The rest I tried to occupy my mind by watching old movies on cable.