Trust Me (10 page)

“How would I know?”

“You can't lie to a liar, Alex.”

“So tell her the truth.” The voice is tinny, far away, and definitely not one of us. Alex and I stare at each other and seconds pass before she tugs an iPhone from her hoodie pocket, tilts it so I can see the dark-haired woman on the screen.

“This was going to happen sooner or later,” she says, and I shoot to my feet. The words are slow, deliberate, like she's talking to an animal she's spooked or an addict on the edge. “Alex has told me all about you, Wick, and I really like what I've heard. We want to make you an offer.”

“Who the hell are you?” I back up and my legs hit the bed. My brain's stuck on ridiculous loops about how Norcut said we're not allowed to have contact with the outside
world, how we're not allowed to have cell phones.

How this is bad. This is really, really bad. Has to be.

And yet . . . I could call Lily with that phone. I could call my best friend, Lauren. I could check my bank and email accounts without Looking Glass tracing my keystrokes.

“She's one of my contacts,” Alex says softly. “I'm not here because I got myself in a bind—well, I mean, I did get caught, but it was on purpose. I needed a way into Looking Glass.”

“You were hired for a job,” I say softly, watching for Alex's flinch. She doesn't. “And here I thought you were Looking Glass's biggest fan. You told me I was being ridiculous.”

“I had a job to do. You know what that's like. What would you have done?”

Same thing and we both know it. That's what makes this whole thing so very sad.

“I want out,” Alex continues softly. “I want you to help me. The payout for this job is
serious
—plenty for us to split. All we have to do is pull files from the main system and get them to my client. It's a victimless crime. We get paid and no one gets hurt.”

Except, possibly, for me. And then my sister. And Bren. Looking Glass is funding their protection. If we were to steal from them, what happens to my family?

My head goes light and I swallow.

“Wick,” the other woman begins, but there's a faraway shout. Her side of the phone drops, showing us a terrific
view of her feet and the pavement. Another shout.

“I have to go.” Her voice is still hushed. It's a bit hard to separate the words through the sound of her sneakers scuffing against the ground. She's running, fast. “Alex, you have to tell her. Tell her about the cameras and tell her about
him
.”

Alex flips the phone around before I can see the disconnect. It's the same old Alex looking down at the screen and yet she's different too. It's in the way she lingers on the final image and pulls at her lower lip. She's worried. Scared.

That makes two of us.

“What kind of job takes over a year?” I breathe.

“The kind where you have to navigate Kent.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Just the three of us.”

Just the three of us?
Can I believe her? “Alex, all those promises, all that
stuff
—”

“Yeah, yeah. College degrees. Job futures. You can do all of that or you can take your share of the payout and do whatever you want for the rest of your life.”

Escape, freedom. The words squirm under my skin and grow.

I force myself to inhale. “You're crazy. Even if we did get away with it, they'll hunt us. Forever.”

“So? Not like they'll find us. You know how this works, Wick. With enough money, anyone can disappear.”

Absolutely, and the idea fills every inch of me. For
years, I did computer work for clients and banked the money in offshore accounts. I was always ready to run. Until Bren, the foster homes never lasted. I had to be prepared, and if you have enough money, you can be prepared for almost anything.

“My people know about their clients, their technology,” Alex continues softly. “We just need the right help to get through Kent. You're that person. You could do this.”

I stare. I don't even know where to begin.

“Hart and Norcut engineered your arrival, Wick. You don't owe them anything. They used your mom. They used
her
to get to you.”

“There's more to it than just my mom.”

“Oh, you mean that accident? Those people who are after you?” Alex's picking up speed now. “How do you know that accident wasn't arranged? How do you know it wasn't created so you would trust them? Face it, Wick. You're nothing more than a tool.”

I stiffen. “And what's that woman to you? How do you know you're not a tool to her? How can you trust her?”

A pause. “You don't have to be related to someone to make them family. So. Are you in?”

“I don't . . . I can't . . .”

“You can. In fact, I think you're already in.” Alex fiddles with her phone screen. I can't tell if she's actually doing something or pretending so we don't have to look at each other. “I think if you weren't, you wouldn't be whispering. You'd be yelling. By now, everyone would hear us.”

Alex's eyes flick to mine, and I know she can tell she hit bone with that one.

She's right. I am still whispering.

“Face it, Wick, there's more to Hart and Norcut and you
know
it. You're like us. You've felt it from the beginning.”

“I feel that about everyone.” I half mean it to be funny. Too bad, it surfaces sounding serious. Worse, my legs suddenly give out. I collapse on the bed in a heap. Everything is sinking in now. Maybe that's how it works. First comes the burn, then comes the pain, but there's always a space in between.

I cannot afford to be involved in this. Not when I have so much to lose. There's Milo, my future . . . forgiveness. The path back to my family is
through
Looking Glass. I promised Bren I would try.

“Tell me if you're in. With or without you, this is happening.” Alex is going for hard, but her eyes are baby-animal soft and round. My answer means something to her.
I
mean something to her.

It makes the whole thing hurt that much more. We will never be the same after this. Whatever friendship we have won't survive, and in some ways, now I wish I had never found her because this one's going to hurt.

“I'm not,” I manage and scrub one hand across my face. “I can't be. I can't take down the one thing that stands between my family and my father. He should be running and he isn't. That scares me. Seriously. I don't know if that means he's looking for me or for my sister or for something
else, but Norcut says she'll help me catch him.”

“And you believe her?” Alex is pissy, edgy now, and I get it. Of all people, I so get that and telling her no hurts more than I ever expected. I've drawn a line now. She's on one side and I'm on the other. It won't be the same anymore.

“That's where we were today. Thanks to Looking Glass's resources, they're safer.” Possibly. Maybe. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There's so much you can fit into a
maybe
. More than I like.

“Those resources include all the cameras in your house?”

My eyes pop open. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard. She wanted me to tell you about the cameras.” Alex jerks her head, making her ponytail bounce. “Explain to me how Hart and Norcut are protecting your family if they have more cameras on the inside of the house than the outside.”

I don't say anything, but then again, I don't have to. We both heard my exhale. It was hard, sharp, like I'd been punched.

“That's right,” Alex continues and there's something round and satisfied leaking into her voice. “There are at least six different camera angles and I don't think Bren and Lily have looked at any of them. Ever. Do you think that's because they don't know they're there?”

My skin goes cold. “How do you know that?”

“Because I helped order the cameras.”

“And you're telling me now? Why? Because I'm finally useful?”

“It's not like that. I didn't know if I could trust you.”

I'm shaking now and I can't decide where to begin—where Alex didn't tell me this until now or where my family's being spied on. Unless they're just being protected. Maybe Looking Glass is covering all their bases. I would.

Still, I have to force a noncommittal shrug. “You and I both know indoor surveillance isn't that unusual.”

“Don't try that on me. If you're going to make excuses at least come up with something decent. Why would they need to watch your sister and mom?” Alex brightens, points at my chest with the cell. “Think it's because they're perverts like your stepdad?”

Nausea slithers through me. “No, I don't.”

If Hart and Norcut are watching Bren and Lily, it's for another reason. Because they think my dad will contact Lily? Another twinge of nausea. Could be, but there are better ways of tracking that. So that leaves . . . no idea. I don't know what they're hoping to gain here.

I do know that, without my family, Norcut and Hart don't have leverage on me.

Stop it.
I lift my chin, glare.
Don't think like that. Stop letting her goad you.

“I'm sorry, Alex. Truly. I wish I could help.”

“You can, you just
won't
.”

I start to argue and stop. She's right. I do know something about Looking Glass feels off. I do know it's weird for them to have more cameras inside than outside, but they're also standing between Michael and my family. I'm not jumping into this on just Alex's word—and I'm damn sure not going to be someone's teammate or weapon without knowing her angle. “Why are you doing this?”

“We all have our reasons, Wick. You should know that better than anyone.”

Yeah and that's the thing: I do. I also know how it can be used against me and maybe she's doing that now and everything before was just a lead-up to this: getting me on their side.

There is something seriously wrong with my life that I have to consider each person's angle before agreeing to help. And suddenly, it's like Griff is right there with me, a whisper rushing down my ear as he says, “Once you prove yourself useful to the wrong kind of person, you're never free.”

Is this just another round of it?

“Did you send me those messages? The viruses?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, but it's great luck for us. Kent's so busy chasing his tail and Hart's so worried about you, it's the perfect distraction.”

I glance down at Alex's hand, and watch how her fingers tighten. “That cell secure?”

“Of course.”

I dig my feet into the carpet, press until my legs hurt. I
can't believe I'm going to do this, but I will. “I'll keep quiet about whatever you're doing as long as you let me use it.”

There is no coming back from this and the knowledge makes my joints so heavy I feel like I'll get dragged through the floor.

Alex's shoulders slowly straighten. “Why do you want it? To check my sources? Make sure I'm not lying to you? I don't have to lie about Hart and Norcut—”

“I need to look for someone.” My heart double thumps. A mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake, and as soon as I say it, I know I should've said something—
anything
—else.

Alex goes very still. “Someone like who? Your sister?” She pauses. “Or maybe a partner?”

“No.” But it's half-assed and we both know it. In another life, I would've had a better lie. But in this moment, Griff is so close to the surface, my surface, and I need to know he's safe. “I just need to do a little work off record. There's no partner.”

Alex's eyes go flat, dull. “Maybe not a partner like Kent thinks, but there's definitely someone.” She waits and I say nothing.

“Fine,” Alex says at last. “Be like that. You ready for the other secret?”

“I don't want to know.” I press both hands into the mattress, struggle to my feet. I want a shower. Or maybe just a break from this, from all of it. “I don't want to know anything else you two are doing.”

“Oh, you'll want to know this one. Trust me, it's good.”
I start for the bathroom and Alex follows me. “Has your pretty boy been honest with you?”

I grab a towel from the rack and turn, ready to shut the door in her face. “I'm guessing you don't think so.”

“Still not interested?”

“Nope.” Yes.

“Has Milo told you the deal with his mom yet?”

No, actually. We talk about a lot of things—mostly computer related, yes, but I know about his dad. I know all about Milo's fascination with explosives, the run-down restaurant his uncle left him. And he knows all about my biological mom. He even helped me find the real truth about her.

But
his
mom? We never really talked about it.

Alex smiles. “That's what I thought.” She puts one hand on the door handle and the other on the frame, leaning closer and closer. “That's because he doesn't want you to know.”

Another pause. Another waiting game. I don't rise for the bait, but I have to stuff myself down to do it.

“And you know why that is?” Alex asks. “Because his mom is Dr. Norcut.”

I stand under the hot water for ages and it never goes cold. I almost wish it would. I'd be forced to get out.

I face the shower spray and let the hot water burn the top of my head. Maybe Alex is lying? She's mad at me. Could she be desperate enough to lie? Maybe. Probably.

But somehow, I can't brush it off. My brain keeps circling something Milo said to me once, when we were outside the courthouse and he'd saved me by cutting Carson's video feed.

“I understand you better than you know,” he'd said. “This is survival. We all do things we aren't proud of.”

What if I'm one of those things?

It isn't so much that his mother is my therapist that bothers me. It's that he didn't tell me. It's why
wouldn't
he tell me?

I grab the metal dial and crank the water off, stand there, dripping. Milo's mother runs Looking Glass. Which means he wasn't just “picked up.” He wasn't hired on for some work. This isn't casual.

Which also means all his interest in getting me to do as I'm told isn't casual. It isn't about me finding where I belong. It's about getting me to play along. And I have played along—because they're protecting Lily and Bren, because they're protecting me.
Think about Michael being loose. Think about how I was almost kidnapped.

Only . . . now I'm wondering how much of
that
could've been manufactured too. Chills ripple across my skin and when I close my eyes all I see is the grille of that SUV ramming into us. What if the whole almost-kidnapping was really just to gain my trust? To make me think there was a problem?

No. No way. Looking Glass had nothing to do with Michael's release or Jason Baines's death—two other reasons I'm here. I still don't understand why I'm so special to them though. There are better hackers in the world. Is it because I was convenient? Because I was already caught? It's possible, I guess.

And the pacemaker? It's a cold, little voice whispering in my head. There were all of those excuses and all of it was so convenient and I so, so,
so
wanted to believe it.

Still do, because if I don't . . . if I
did
—

My stomach heaves into my mouth and I yank the shower curtain aside and wrap the towel around me.

Don't think about it. Think about Lily. Bren. Think about how Norcut and Hart are protecting them.
I don't like my therapist and I'm pretty sure she's not a fan of me either, but we are
useful
to each other and that's something . . . right?

And I'm all the way finished drying my hair before I realize that if Norcut and I are useful to each other, what does that make Milo and me?

My stomach makes another drunken lurch and I force myself into a clean T-shirt and jeans. It's not the same thing.

Is it?

I sit down, hard, on the tub's edge. In this light, Milo coming to work for Looking Glass seems awfully convenient. His excuse about the restaurant seems manufactured. Except . . . except, Milo and I get each other. You can't fake that. We're too alike for this to be just about usefulness or whatever. He took down Carson for me. Hell, he blew away a chunk of Judge Bay's house for me too. He gave me the chance to get away
and
alerted the police. Milo specializes in stuff like that, creating wiggle room, spaces in between. We both escaped that night.

He even apologized for leaving me and he didn't need to because I understood. I would've done the same.

Wrong thing to remember, though, because it leads me to Griff again. Griff, who heard about the explosion over the radio and came to the site.

Who had eyes only for my injuries.

Who walked away.

I stand, wrench open the bathroom door, and stop dead. Alex is sitting on her bed, legs stretched long. They're crossed tight at the ankles and it almost hides how she's vibrating.

“They need you upstairs,” she says and there's a
gotcha
tone to her voice that makes my feet drag. “Someone's sent you another message.”

Hart, Milo, and
the rest of the guys are crowded around Kent's computer station. I don't think any of them even notice Alex and me until Milo steps away.

“Hey.” He comes so close there's maybe an inch between us. If one of us takes a breath, we'll touch. “How're you feeling?”

“I'm . . . I'm . . .” I'm noticing for the very first time how Milo shares Norcut's cheekbones and jawline. How did I not see this before?

“I'm okay,” I finish. “I took meds. Hopefully, it'll head off the migraine.”

Milo smiles. I smile. And I have just enough time to realize we have the same smile before both of us turn toward the group.

Kent rolls his chair maybe an inch to the side to give me room. “What is this? It came to your email.”

I lean around him. There's a Hushmail message on the screen—no greeting, just a string of numbers. “It's an IP address,” I tell him. “See, every computer device has a numeric label assigned to it—”

“No shit. This one connects to some unsecured nanny cam in Connecticut. What are you doing?”

I pause, shake myself. “Nothing.”

“Then why would someone send you this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Wick.” Hart nudges Connor aside. “I need you to be honest about this.”

“I
am
. I don't know anyone in Connecticut.” And I don't. I have zero clue why anyone would send me that address unless . . . “Can you open it for me?”

Kent grunts but does it. The camera shot reveals a nice-looking living room. Lots of white slipcovers, beige walls, and jewel-toned modern art. Bren would like it.

But aside from that? Nothing looks like it should mean anything to me. It's not familiar.

Hart crosses his arms. “Maybe it's from one of your past clients?”

“I didn't really work like that. My stuff was more background related—finances, job histories.” I chew my lower lip. There's something here. I can feel it. “What's the physical address?”

Kent minimizes the window and opens another tab in the browser. The IP address tracks to a Chris and Julian Moore. The names are just as unfamiliar as the living room.

In fact, the only thing familiar about any of this is the actual IP address. Or at least, the first part, and the realization makes my chest funnel tight. It couldn't be . . . could it?

I lift my gaze to Hart's and realize Milo's drawn closer. He's close enough to touch me now and I have to fight not to lean away. I focus on Hart instead, try not to fidget under the way his eyes cling to my face.

“Are you sure you don't know them?” Hart presses.

“I'm pretty sure. I mean, I guess either of them could've used someone else to pose as my client, but why? It makes the whole thing complicated, cumbersome. He'd have to give his personal information to one more person and my people get nervous. They don't like to do that.”

“What about the targets?” Hart's arms tighten around his chest. “Maybe they're one of the guys you looked into?”

“No.” I shake my head and study the names again. “No. I can go through my records, but I remember almost everyone I research. I spend too much time in their lives not to remember who they are.”

“Check anyway.”

I glance at Hart. The ever-present smile is gone, like it never, ever existed. His lips are bloodless.

“Of course.” I tap Kent's shoulder. “Can you flip to the IP address again?”

He returns to the window and I trace my eyes over each number until I reach the end and my chest is even tighter than before. There's no getting around it. I definitely know the beginning of the IP address. It's Griff's, belongs to the laptop he loaned me to catch Todd.

But it
isn't
Griff's because the last two digits don't match. That's why we're in Connecticut, staring at two
guys' living room instead of staring at Griff's bedroom. It's got to be a coincidence.

So why doesn't it feel like it?

“Whoever sent you this
knows
you.” Hart's teeth snap as he speaks. “They knew to send it to this location. It
has
to be someone you know.”

“Maybe she's supposed to see something,” Jake says.

Hart rounds on him. “How's that work? She just sits around until someone shows up?”

“I don't know.” Jake raises his long-fingered hands in surrender. “It was just a thought. I mean, that's why you have nanny cams, right? So you can see whatever's going on in your house?”

And just like that, my insides free-fall. No. Of course not. I
am
supposed to see something, but not here and not right now. That address looks like Griff's IP because it's
almost
Griff's IP.

He contacted me.

He wants to talk and the realization unhinges me.

He changed the last two digits to tell me what time. 0-2. Two o'clock. I'm not sure whether that's a.m. or p.m., but considering the message was sent at 2:53, I'm guessing it's a.m.
Tonight
.