Trust Me (13 page)

I stagger back a step. Stupid, really. Even if I ran, there's nowhere to go.

I press one hand to my chest, feel my heart slam against my palm. “Jeez, Hart, you always lurk outside the girls' bathroom?”

“Don't play dumb. You heard me.” He pushes off the wall, one hand extended. “Give it to me.”

I swallow. I can't think of how to play this. I can't think of anything past the humming in my head. My brain feels filled with ginger ale.

“Now.”

I slide the phone from under my shirt and pass it to him. Hart punches two buttons and then looks at me. “That's your sister's number, isn't it?”

I don't bother answering. If he wants to know, he can
look it up. The silence is starting to help me now. I'm breathing through my panic. Hart knows I have a cell and he knows I've been making calls. That's it.

I won't give him anything more. I'm done giving.

His eyes flick up and down me. “You know what this means, right?”

“No TV for a month?”

Hart makes a disgusted noise low in his throat and grabs my arm, hauls me down the hallway. We're almost to the elevator when the doors open.

Milo steps off. He stops, stares.

“Not now,” Hart says and Milo retreats into the elevator without a word. Without ever meeting my eyes. The force of it—of what it means—makes me stumble. Is this how it's going to end?

Hart keeps going, dragging me with him. I'm glad for it actually. My legs are numb through. He's heading for Norcut's office and it's almost a relief. Let's do this. Why not?

This time, Hart doesn't bother knocking.

“Found her.” Hart pushes me forward and shuts the door. The cell arches above my head as he tosses it to Norcut. She catches it with one hand and there's a long, long moment of silence as she examines the cell, scrolls through all the functions.

Norcut's eyes lift to mine. “Sit.”

I do and we consider each other for several seconds. “So where does this leave us now?” she asks at last.

I lift one shoulder. “You lied to me. To them. You said
they didn't want to talk to me and they did. Why would you do that?”

“Because you needed some space.”

“No, you could have just
said
that and you didn't. You said they didn't want to talk to me. You told Bren I didn't want to talk to them. You made me think I had
no one
. Why would you do that?”

“Because if I made you afraid, I could control you.”

The honesty is sharp as a slap. She's right, and even though she's grinning like this is some brilliant move, it's not. Norcut isn't the first person to do that. There was my dad and then there was Carson. There were other fears wedged between them too. Fear of losing my sister. Fear of losing Griff. Fear of being discovered.

I'm nothing more than a coward. I spent my entire life in knee-jerk reactions, devising plans to get away when, in reality, there was no escape. Because everywhere I go, I am still what I am. The coward. The accomplice. The right hand for more powerful people.

People like you were meant to be used
, Joe once said, and the idea enraged me. I thought about it after he died.

Correction: after I had him killed.

I thought about it a lot. But until now, I never thought he was right.

“Is it really that terrible?” Norcut leans forward. “We can give you money, power, all the technology you could ever want. We can give you protection.
Family
. You don't want to be alone anymore. You want a family and we can be
that family. We want more for you.”

“That's a lot of promises coming from someone who uses her son as bait. What promises did you make him?”

Norcut goes still. We both do. I wasn't planning on saying that. I've given up my hand because I got mad. That was a mistake.

Then again, now I'm the one who's leaning forward. “Why
would
you do that anyway? Isn't he useful to you anymore?”

No reaction. Norcut doesn't flinch. She doesn't blink. There's no shudder and damn sure there's no regret in those pale eyes. Not really surprising, I guess. She is a shrink. They probably teach them how to stay professionally blank. How very useful.

I wonder if she taught her son, Milo, the same?

I smother the thought and force myself to keep staring down Norcut. “What happens to me when I'm not useful anymore?”

“What do you think?” Norcut studies me, then glances at Hart. Judging from the way her eyes waver, he's doing
something
and she's watching it, but I can't tell without turning around. My skin crawls.

“How did you get the phone?” Norcut asks at last.

“Found it.”

“Did
she
help you?”

She. Alex. I shake my head and Norcut goes blank again, kicking into therapist mode. “It bores me when you play games.”

“Then let's stop playing.” I place both hands on the armrests and sit straight—straighter. “Forget finding Michael, what if I could get back the money he stole from you
right
now
?”

From the corner of my eye, I watch Hart draw closer. The air is straitjacket tight, a breath held before the plunge.

“I'm listening,” Norcut whispers.

“Let me use your computer. He moved the money to another account—one I can get into. I'll transfer the money wherever you want it to go, and in return, I get to leave.”

“Why do you think we'd let you go?”

“How do you know I haven't planned for that?”

And there it is. There's the flicker. For all her power over her merry band of hackers, Norcut still doesn't understand what we do. She's afraid of it. Of us.

Of the damage we could do.

“You don't let me go,” I continue, lifting my palms to indicate the office, “you won't keep your money—or any of this—for long. I know exactly how I'll burn you.” The biggest lie I have ever told and it sounds so logical, so believable, and she's buying it.

But she won't for long. If I'm going to bluff, I need to be fast.

I want out of here. I want to be the farthest thing from Norcut's mind and the farthest I can get from Looking Glass.

I watch her carefully. “Besides,” I add. “Why would you want me anymore? You could get someone new, someone
who's more . . . your type.”

She doesn't answer, and in the silence, I realize why: “I never was your type, was I? I was just bait for Michael.”

Norcut shrugs. “Who were you talking to?”

Lily. Lily. Lily. I shrug. “Michael, who else?” Norcut's gaze slides to the cell, lingers on my sister's number. “Surely you know he'd spoof his real number,” I say.

“Then why's Michael looking for you?”

“Maybe he loves me? I am his
daughter
.”

“He didn't come for you when I sent you to Bender's house.”

I take an unsteady breath. “Maybe that wasn't part of the plan.”

Norcut pauses, considering me for a beat, before rolling her chair to the side and rising. She smoothes down her dark gray pencil skirt. “You have ten minutes.”

“I only need five.”

We trade places and I try not to flinch as we pass each other. Hart and Norcut both stay within easy reach and it doesn't escape me how Hart's hand goes to his pocket and lingers. Too small for a gun, so that leaves a Taser? Something else?

I grit my teeth against the shiver and open Norcut's internet browser, go straight to my online bank, and select the log-in. The account number was unwieldy to remember so I had switched to a username years ago.

It opens a home screen. There are options for transfers and payments, a quick overview of the account contents.

And the overview . . . that can't be right.

My mouth goes dry. I click another link, drilling down to the details page. Unsurprisingly, it matches the overview. The account is empty.

All the money's gone.

I refresh the screen.

Same result: no money. All the funds were swept from the account in a single transfer. Even everything I'd earned on my own is gone. I stare at the page. Now would probably be a good time for some tears. Too bad all I want to do is vomit.

“Well, well.” Norcut's voice is slippery and smooth.

And
satisfied
.

“Isn't this interesting,” she says.

“I can get it.” The words shoot from me so fast, I'm barely aware I'm saying them until they register with Norcut. She raises one brow.

“I can get it,” I repeat.

“How? You clearly thought you had it and you don't.”

“Yes, but I did have it.” I tilt the screen toward her
and point to the transfer. “I can track down whoever did this. There are only so many people who know about the account.”

“And they are?”

I press my lips together, but the names are a heartbeat in my brain: Lily. Lily. Lily.

Griff. Griff. Griff.

He knew about my offshore account. He knew why I had it, how I funded it. When my computer was confiscated by Carson, Griff actually loaned me his laptop for a while. I used it to access my banking. If there was a keystroke tracker on it, he'd have my usernames, my passwords, my . . . everything.

No. No way. I tuck both hands under my legs and grip. I
trust
Griff. He would never use that against me. He warned me about the money, about my dad, about Carson.

The thought makes something else climb to the front of my mind: what
about
Detective Carson? He had my computer at his house. Just because it didn't look tampered with doesn't mean it hadn't been. If he had me working for him, who's to say there wasn't some other computer kid too? Maybe he had someone else go through the files, comb for keystrokes. It would take forever. He'd have to go deep . . . or I would have had to make just one mistake.

Like Alex said, if you have enough money, they can hunt you all they want, but they'll never find you, and Detective Carson has been missing since that night I took down Ian
and Jason. No one's been able to locate him.

What if it was because he had enough money to run?

I give myself a mental shake. No, impossible. Lily took the money while I was in here and Carson was gone before then.

Unless he accessed the account after going into hiding. Once he saw the sudden deposit of eleven million dollars.

“Tell me who else, Wick.” Norcut takes another step toward me and I flinch.

“Detective Carson,” I say, flicking my attention from the therapist to Hart and back again. They were interested in him before. Are they still now?
I
know the timeline doesn't work, but will they?

“He could've accessed the account,” I continue. “Transferred the funds. You said yourself you haven't been able to find him. This is probably why.”

“That's quite a suggestion,” Norcut says. “Are you sure it couldn't be someone else? Someone
closer
to you?”

Chills crawl up my spine. They're thinking Griff. Have to be.

I start to deny it because it
can't
be. But the thing is . . . if they stop looking at Griff and start looking at the other people around me . . . how long until they suspect Lily? Just because I was blind to her doesn't mean Norcut will be. She treated my sister as well. She knows her.

But will she
suspect
her?

“I keep telling you I work alone.”

Norcut scoffs. “Clearly, someone knew about you.”

“Someone like your son?” I regret the words as soon as I say them but it is possible. Milo was Griff's builder long before he was mine, and I used Griff's laptop for months. If Milo had installed something on the computer, it's very possible he knew my log-ins . . . I just don't think he did.

Or is that just my hope talking?

I sigh and try to look bored. “Again, I work
alone
. The closest I ever came to having bosses was Michael and Carson.”

“So wiping your account is what? The detective's revenge?”

She might have a point. I did help expose his blackmailing habit. Milo may have planted the bomb evidence on Carson, but I motivated him to do it.

“I dunno,” I say. “I think eleven million is pretty good motivation all by itself.”

I don't bother asking Norcut if she agrees. Judging by the single muscle spasm in her jaw, I'd say she does.

“I want the money,” Norcut says at last.

My smile feels stapled on. “And you'll get it.”

“You're right, because otherwise I'm going to burn
you
, Wick. Do you understand? I'm not talking about how you broke privacy laws or how you helped run credit scams. I'm talking about premeditated murder. I'm talking about how you took revenge on Alan Bay for refusing to grant your mother those restraining orders. I will give the police everything and then I'll start on your family.”

Cold trickles into my veins and spreads. “You'll get your money,” I whisper.

I just have no idea how.

Norcut doesn't bother
telling me to keep my mouth shut—I'm sure she knows she doesn't have to—and I spend the next two days in a blur, pretending to track down money I have zero idea how to find. Hart never says anything, but the others keep their distance like they've been warned, and Milo doesn't show. It's probably just as well. I don't think I could take Alex's questions or face Milo's smile. I need time to collect myself, think of a way out.

But the longer I think about killing Alan Bay? The longer I think about having to find the money? The worse I shake. I sit on my bed and rub my sweaty palms against the comforter, trying to decide where to begin. Whoever took the money logged in as me so I should be able to track the outgoing transfer. The date, time, and amount are no problem. The real issue will be getting into the receiving account. That sort of stuff takes time.

Which I don't have.

The other problem . . . it may be impossible. If the money was transferred from the receiving account, if I can't find a way in—because, let's face it, my usual Trojan viruses are
not
going to work here—if I can't fix this . . . I take a deep breath. Still feels like there's a brick behind my heart, but whatever. I
have
to find a way in.

I rinse my clammy hands in the bathroom, take a
thumb drive and notebook from my bedside table, and return to my computer station. I start with the receiving account—another bank in the Caymans—and I'm so absorbed I almost don't hear the whisper of the glass doors.

Almost.

I've kept the overhead lights low and it makes his shadow sweep across my desk. We both pause, and for a very long moment, there's nothing but our breathing.

“I know, Milo.” I keep everything I am focused on the computer screen, but my hands have gone to my lap. My fingers keep twisting each other. “I know she's your mom.”

“Yeah. That's why I came.” Milo pulls a chair close to me. We're near enough to touch now, but we don't. “You said once that we were the same,” he says at last. “Do you remember that?”

I turn, force myself to look at him. Milo's eyes are hazy and far away like he's pretending to be somewhere else, like he'd rather be
anywhere
else.

That makes two of us.

“I remember.” We were arguing about whether we should be together. I told him I thought we were dangerous together, that we were too much alike. Milo said that's why we were perfect for each other.

I said that's what made it scary. Who was going to be the voice of reason? Or, worse, guilt? I engineered Joe's murder. Milo destroyed Detective Carson. We both know what it's like to lash out because it's our first instinct.

“You were right,” Milo continues, studying his palms.
His hands are shaking. “We are the same. We're the children of criminals. You didn't realize what you were saying at the time, but you were totally right.”

I turn away, train my eyes on the wide windows. It's another gorgeous day, but behind the tinted glass and without the overhead lights, we're sitting in a pocket of shadows.

“You're simplifying this a bit, don't you think?” I ask.

“No, not really. We are what we are. I think that made us right for each other—who could understand me better than you? But that's not what you want. You want to be better. You're looking for a hero. Hell, you
are
a hero. I'm not.”

“You saved me.” And in spite of the anger and in spite of the fear, I know this is true. I turn and almost touch him. I curl my hands into fists instead. “Who knows what would've happened at Judge Bay's if you hadn't rigged that explosion—”

“I didn't do it to save the others. I did it to save you. I'm not interested in sticking my neck out to save other people. I don't have that instinct.” His smile is thin and pained and nothing like the boy I know. This isn't Milo looking at me now. There's nothing swaggering or cocky or confident. “Considering my genetics, I probably wouldn't have understood self-sacrifice even if they'd tried to teach it to me.”

My laugh is a single sputter. “Are you trying to say you're the bad guy? Because that's stupid, Milo. I know you're not.”

He considers me, those gorgeous eyes nothing but smudges of dark now. “I am though . . . and I'm okay with
that. Or I was. Until you. That's the thing, Wick. You're going to want honesty from me, and
hell
, I'm going to want to give it to you, but if I do, you'll never forgive me.”

My stomach twists hard. “Forgive you for what?”

“I sourced you to Looking Glass.”

I blink, stare. “I know. You told me you told them we were dating—”

“You're not getting it,” he says and I can feel his eyes traveling over my face in spite of the fact that I can't see them. “I
sourced
you. Not your dad. They never would've been able to put a face on you without me. I even made money on it. Wasn't until later that I regretted it. Well. I sort of regretted it because then we were together. That was because of me too.”

I try to swallow and can't. “Milo, you took away my life. You made my secrets theirs.”

“Yeah, I did.” He leans forward and I shy away, press my spine into the chair. “But what if you're better because of it? What if you used Looking Glass as an opportunity?”

If there was regret in his voice before, it's gone now. Excitement's piling up the sentences and I know what's coming next.

Maybe because I always did.

“I was never kidding when I said you could rule the world,” Milo says. “Why play by the rules when you can make your own?”

“Because it's wrong. I know you know what my dad did. He broke all the rules and look what happened.”

“Your mother followed all the rules and look what happened.”

My breath hitches like Milo punched me. He might as well have. “Don't you
dare
use my mother to prove your point.”

Milo shrugs, sits back, and watches me.

“Do you work for them?” I ask. “Is that why you came here?”

“Yeah, they knew you weren't buying into the program.” Milo takes a deep breath in, holds it, and when his head twitches, I know he's looked away from me. “They knew if I came in and told you to trust Hart and Norcut, you would—because you trust me. Or you did.”

I'm suddenly falling. I'm falling and I'm falling and I'm sitting so still he won't be able to tell.

But I can. I can feel every crack and fissure as I break.

“Then all of the kissing and . . . and—” And I can't say it. I'm Bren now. I'm a coward now. I'm too scared to say the words I need because once I say them, they'll be real. He faked everything. None of what we had was real.

It was engineered. Just like when they used my mom. Just like Alex said.

I study Milo, try to cram my thoughts into something useful, but all I can think is
What do you do when you find out everything you are is made-up?

“No. What we had wasn't a lie.” Milo looks away and there's a soft breath of movement by my knees. His hands press together and separate, go to his knees, and move to
his lap. “What I had with you might have been the truest thing even if it is the truth that will end us.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

“Because I'm being honest enough to tell you.” Milo laughs. It's so sudden I jump, maybe even recoil. Everything feels so different and so entirely the same.

Milo watches me. “And that's the most hilarious part, isn't it? Before you, I would never have told the girl I wanted—I
loved
—the truth. Not if it meant losing her. But now . . . now I know that when you love someone they deserve nothing less than the truth.”

“I . . . I . . .” I can't breathe. He can though. Easily. Milo's chest rises and falls. He's relaxed. Unburdened.

Because now I am. He gave his lies to me to carry, to hold, to
know
.

Tears smear the room and blur his face. I inhale hard. There's a choice that has to be made now. I have to decide what we're going to be and somehow, some way, I know if I cry now it's over. If I lose control, I will lose him.

I hate that. I might hate him. Or I might just hate me. For believing him.

I clear my throat. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because I need you to run.”

“Why?” I ask. The word is high and reedy and nudging dangerously close to tears again.

“Because I know you're in trouble.” Milo leans closer, bracing both forearms on his knees. “My mother lied to me
too. I really wanted to believe her and she lied. You're not safe.”

No shit
, I want to say.
You think?
I want to add.

“How can I believe you?” is all I say. I scoot my chair back another inch and he does not follow me. “This could be another lie.”