Olivia Decoded

by Vivi Barnes

  “I’m good.”

  “Doubtful.”

  Minutes later, we’re standing outside the back door. Liv will leave first, through the front door, so the PI can follow her, then I’ll take off on my bike. Saying good-bye to Liv sucks, so I decide not to say it. “Be careful, okay?”

  “You, too. If it’s Jen, she could make trouble for you, too.”

  I grasp her fingers and kiss them as Emerson calls to Liv from inside the house. “I’ll call you later.”

  During the entire ride back, Liv’s face fills my mind, her eyes, her lips. With her, I’m a better person. I want to protect everything about her. But the idea of someone coming after her sobers me. Frank, Jen—whoever it is, I’ll figure it out.

  Except when I get home, everyone is standing in the living room, and in unison they all turn to stare at me when I walk in and drop my car keys on the side table.

  “What?” I unzip my jacket. “School canceled today?”

  “We got information from the wire rep at the bank,” Nancy says. She glances around at all the grim faces, then looks at me. “I think we better talk in the office.”

  “Oh I don’t think so,” Jen says, her voice full of anger. It’s nothing new, but looking around the room, I can see she’s not the only one who’s directing daggers my way.

  “Jen, shut up,” Sam says sharply.

  “Why? This is about all of us.” Jen crosses her arms, her lips rising to form a smug expression. “And I’d like to see exactly how he’s going to worm his way out of this one.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, nervous now. Even Dutch is staring at me weirdly, like I shaved his head or something. That one bothers me more than anything.

  “Enjoy your visit to your girlfriend?” she snaps.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” I step closer to her. Jen stays where she is, though fear flickers in her eyes. I’ve never touched anyone in this house and don’t plan to, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and take it from her.

  Nancy steps between us. “That’s enough. Z, I’m afraid you have some explaining to do here.”

  “Since when do I have to explain where I go to anyone?” I ask.

  “Since the IP address of the account all the money was wired into came from this house. And the activity was traced to your computer.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  LIV

  It’s hard to concentrate on anything at school. I find myself staring out the window at the bright sunlit day. If the windows weren’t rimmed in white, I’d swear it was a warm spring morning outside.

  Emerson is quiet at lunch. Kade even notices, poking her side and asking what’s wrong. She just looks at me and tells him nothing. Qualities about Jack that I find intriguing, she finds questionable. The laid-back cynical attitude of his that disappears when he’s with me doesn’t do anything for her. And I know she’s figured out he is, or was, involved in something illegal. She mentioned the fact that I said “boss” when we went to bed last night, but I pretended I was too tired to talk. She stared at his Ducati this morning and looked at me as if accusing him of stealing it. And she really hated that I told him I love him.

  I don’t know why I said it myself, except that it was probably the alcohol. Not that I don’t love him. Deep down, I know I do. But I am also realistic enough to get that it will never work between us. I’m sure he realizes it, too.

  I smile slightly. Even knowing that after we figure all this out, Jack will disappear again, I wouldn’t trade what happened between us for anything.

  “Still walking around like a grinning idiot?” Emerson says, coming up behind me after school.

  “I guess so.”

  “So what’s this guy Jack’s last name?” she asks.

  “Uh-uh,” I tell her. “You’re not looking him up.”

  “Why not? Have you searched for him?”

  “You can’t. He’s unsearchable.” I say it without thinking, and kick myself after I do.

  She stops, tapping her finger against her chin. “Unsearchable? The only people I’ve heard of being unsearchable are either spies or criminals.”

  I keep walking, my body numb. She catches up with me. “So he is a criminal? Really, Liv?”

  “Shut up,” I tell her in a harsh whisper. I glance around, but no one is paying attention to us. “Listen. I said things I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry about that, but you need to leave this one alone, okay?”

  “You can’t just pretend that everything is fine,” she says. “He’s going to screw up your life.”

  I stop and glare at her. “He’s the one who helped me fix my life in the first place. You don’t know anything about the way things were before.”

  “No, I wouldn’t know because you never tell me anything.”

  “Well, maybe this is why,” I tell her. Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth. I hold up a hand. “I don’t need you to be a mother, Em. What I need is a friend, but I guess that’s asking too much.”

  I walk on, faster now, tears spilling down my cheeks as I push open the doors leading out of the school. My one friend here, the only best friend I’ve ever had, and I’m running away from her. I should’ve known, though. I let her too far into my life, and she couldn’t handle it.

  Best friends are highly overrated.

  I look down at my phone, opening the single red heart emoji text again that sent my heart skyrocketing when I got to school this morning. But this time, it feels like a lead ball right in the middle of my chest.

  Oh, Jack, why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t you get out of that life so you don’t have to hide anymore?

  There’s a part of him—probably more than he’ll ever admit—that wishes he could stop. That would love nothing more than to go to college and be part of the normal human world. He could do it. But the anger and resentment he’s built up over his father—and his father’s family—keeps him from taking those steps. Worse, he’s terrified the part of him that is his father will come forward and turn him into the worst kind of person. Jack’s generosity with money, his support of his family—in his eyes, he’s robbing from the rich to give to kids in need; a modern day anti-corporate Robin Hood. Overcompensating to prove to himself that he’s not his father. And while I get why he does it, I can’t allow myself to get involved in his hacking schemes again.

  His fear is real, though…and if there’s anyone who understands this, it’s me. Once my grandfather sees the side of me that lied and hacked into bank accounts for the fun of it, he’ll realize there’s more of my father in me than his beloved daughter. Then he’ll be quick to disown me.

  The PI follows me home. I wonder how long he’s going to keep this up. At least there are no new roses or cards or anything to worry about today. I step into the house, glancing over my shoulder to see the PI parking behind my car. Even though I know Grandfather is paying him to watch me, it’s a creepy feeling to have someone constantly there, staring over my shoulder everywhere I go. I find myself wanting to text Emerson about it, but then remember our fight. My heart breaks a little to think about it, something else I didn’t know could happen with a friendship.

  Mrs. Bedwin comes around the corner from the kitchen, carrying her iPad as usual. She smiles at me. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  She peers closely at me. “Are you okay?”

  I shrug.

  “Hmm. Did you have a disagreement with Emerson?”

  “How did you know?”

  She taps my arm lightly with her pencil. “You’re very easy to read. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “She just disagrees with me about…stuff.”

  “Stuff? Like a boy kind of stuff?” She laughs at my surprised face. “Oh, yes, I know about a certain handsome young man who came by the other day looking for you. I also happen to know this young man is not exactly in your grandfather’s good graces.”

  “Please don’t—” I start, but she holds up a hand.<
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  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything about it, to you or to your grandfather.” She sighs. “You know Mr. Brownlow is just looking out for you because of what happened to your mother.”

  “I’m not my mother, though.” Will I ever be able to live here without being compared to her?

  “I know that. He does, too, but that boy reminds your grandfather of another young man who’d come around on his motorcycle, asking for your mother. It’s natural for him to worry. And you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Then her eyes widen. “Please do not tell your grandfather I referred to him as an old dog.”

  “I won’t,” I say absently. So my father rode a motorcycle, just like Jack. That explains a lot. “What was his name?” I ask her. “My father.”

  She stares at me like I just asked her to name all the stars in order from their proximity to the sun. “I don’t know…”

  “Please. I know nothing about him, and it would at least be nice to know his name.”

  Mrs. Bedwin looks around guiltily. “I guess just a first name doesn’t hurt. His name was Van. Anything else and you’ll need to talk with your grandfather.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Bedwin places a hand on my shoulder. “As far as Emerson goes, remember that good friendships are too rare to be throwing them away over a boy. You should call her and get past it.”

  “I will.”

  She nods and heads back toward the kitchen. I go upstairs, stopping as I pass my grandfather’s office. Glancing around to make sure I’m alone, I turn the knob and slip inside, pulling the door shut behind me. The only time I’ve ever gone in here by myself is when Bill Sykes tried to get me to download Grandfather’s information on a keylogger. Maybe he hasn’t changed his password since then.

  I sit behind the mahogany desk and type in my mother’s name and birthday. I breathe out as the password is accepted. Not that I couldn’t have hacked in without it, but why waste time? He really should’ve changed it by now, though. Maybe I should give him a quick tutorial on computer security. I go into his system properties and give myself remote access to his computer, then grab the port ID number and IP address. I head back to my room.

  I open up my computer and remote into my grandfather’s computer, conducting searches for anything labeled as “Van.” Of course, a ton of files pop up. I grit my teeth. Apparently, there are a lot of documents that have the word “van.” I change the search to Aggie, his nickname for my mother. I sort the results by type of file, most of which appear to be pictures. I open a few that have the latest dates, months before I was born and before she left home. There are none with my father, though I see a change in her appearance from the photos that hang in the hallway. She wears heavier makeup, black liner underneath her eyes giving her a Goth-like appearance. And she’s not smiling, unlike all the other pictures I’ve seen. Except for her dark hair, I don’t remember what she looked like so much as an overall sadness when she held me in her arms at the shelters we stayed in.

  I move to the documents and open up one that looks like communication between Grandfather and a private investigator. A transcript of messages from my mother’s phone. And some images embedded in the document, mostly of my mother at a couple different places, but there’s also one of a guy leaning against a motorcycle.

  I zoom in on the image. I can see why Mrs. Bedwin says Grandfather’s nervous about Jack. Besides the motorcycle and the fact that he’s wearing all black leather, Van holds his stance like he’s going to kick someone’s ass. With Jack, I know that’s all show, but this guy—he gives me the chills. And half of me is him.

  I stare at my father’s face, and though he’s wearing aviator sunglasses that hide his eyes, I can tell we have the same triangular face, the same slightly pointed nose. I scroll through the rest of the pictures, finding another that’s at a closer angle. He’s still wearing those glasses, though, so I can’t get into his eyes. Eyes tell so much about a person.

  I find another document from the same PI—this one a picture of my mother holding the guy’s hand as they walk through what looks like a mall. My heart drops—this is definitely not the same woman I remember who hummed softly to me and read The Little Red Hen in the shelter. The kind woman who held me with soft arms before the streets consumed her. This is the kind of girl who’d scare the crap out of me—all hard angles, scowling, and looking for any reason to kick someone’s ass. Holding the hand of a leather-clad guy with long dark hair sporting the same hard look. I pick up a mirror and stare at my own image. There are definite similarities that make me sick to my stomach.

  Was he really a thug like my grandfather says and like these pictures suggest? Or was there a kinder, gentler side of him? There has to be. I’m not perfect, but I’m not a bad person. He couldn’t be all bad, right? But then where did he go when my mother ended up on the street with me?

  Mrs. Bedwin knocks on the door, telling me my grandfather is home. He never gets home this early, so I’m immediately worried. I dress as nicely as I can, pulling my hair up into a bun, then head downstairs for dinner.

  He stands when I walk into the dining room, a tangle of nerves twisting in my stomach. “Olivia.” His voice is formal, even stern, much more so than when he usually talks to me. He gestures to the chair next to him. I sit down, keeping my fidgeting hands in my lap as one of his kitchen staff, Sarah, ladles soup into my bowl. He’s patient, sipping his merlot and watching me.

  “Eat,” he says briskly, nodding at the bowl in front of me. Maybe he’s trying to wait me out on this one, to make me more nervous until I panic and say something that will give away whatever’s on his mind. It’s a tactic I’ve seen him use with some of his business people, though this is the first time he’s used it on me. I’m not going to fall into his trap. I eat the soup and keep my mind focused on schoolwork. It’s hard to stay calm, though, when all I can think about is my father’s pictures and how often Grandfather remembers him when he sees me.

  “How was your night last night?” he asks. Oh, no. The one question I’m not prepared for, worded exactly in a way that guarantees a blush. But I fight it and pretend a yawn. “Good. Emerson and I stayed up working on homework all night.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Of course.” My mind races. I wonder if the PI was around in the morning to see Jack leave on his bike.

  “The detective passed a motorcycle on his way to the house.”

  Crap, I was right. I shrug. “Maybe one of the staff.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes stay on me as he sips from his wineglass. He pats his lips with his napkin. “John Tate said he saw you at the café on Saturday.”

  “Oh?” It’s at that moment that Mrs. Bedwin and Sarah come back through the doors with dinner—steak, red potatoes, and asparagus—grandfather’s favorite. There’s no way I can eat right now, though. I notice Mrs. Bedwin giving us a quick, worried look. Even she can sense the tension just by walking through. By the time they leave, I’m able to look Grandfather in the eye. “Yes, Emerson wanted to stop for coffee, so that’s what we did.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Another sip of his merlot. “Did you meet up with anyone there?”

  Stay calm. “No. Well, I saw someone I used to know and asked him what he was doing in town, but that was pretty much it.”

  “Did you give Jack back that bracelet?”

  I frown at him. His expression is passive, completely unchanged, and it unnerves me. “It wasn’t from him. Though it looks like you’ve already arrived at your own conclusions no matter what I say.”

  He sets down his glass and folds his hands in front of him. “Olivia, if I can’t trust you—”

  “Then what? You’ll kick me out? Is this how you handled things with my mother? No wonder she ran away.”

  My grandfather’s eyes widen as I drop the napkin in front of me and push back my chair. Doing my best to ignore his hurt expression, I walk out of the dining room as fast as I can, mostly so he can’t see the tears that are forming
in my eyes. I can’t believe I said such a terrible thing to him, knowing how much he suffered when my mother left. What kind of person am I, anyway? Especially after all the things he’s done for me.

  I must be my father’s daughter after all.

  I grab my coat and keys and head outside to my car. Nobody chases after me or tries to get me to stay. Probably because the detective assigned to me will follow me anyway, no matter where I go. Glancing at my phone, there are three texts with apologies from Emerson as well as two missed calls.

  The drive to her house takes almost no time at all, and before I know it, she’s flying out the door and hugging me.

  “I’m so sorry I was rude,” she says, her voice full of tears. “You were right. I should’ve been a better friend.”

  “I’m the one who should apologize,” I tell her, gulping air between my own sobs. It’s probably the first time I’ve openly cried in front of someone before. But with Em, it feels perfectly natural. “I should’ve been more honest with you.”

  “No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to. And I shouldn’t have tried to force you.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk into the house. “From now on, you tell me whatever you want to tell me, no more.”

  “I do want to tell you, though. That’s why I came here.”

  She hands me a tissue and perches on the couch in the sitting room without saying anything, though her eyes are curious. I get the feeling she’s being careful not to push for details. I sit next to her, the silence between us more comforting than awkward. And just like that, the rest of the defenses I worked so hard to build up start to crumble. I’ve never told anyone the full story—except Jack. It wasn’t so hard to do with him. “I wouldn’t know where to even start,” I say softly, unaware until Emerson’s eyes lift that I said that out loud.

  “You said it was like a bad fairy tale, right? Maybe start with ‘once upon a time.’ If you want to, of course,” she says quickly.

  “Once upon a time?” I laugh shortly. Considering the crappy early lives of almost every Disney princess, I guess it is fitting.