by Danah Logan
"What do you mean she acts like she’s on vacation?" Denielle whispers, squinting at me.
I exhale to the count of five before I recap the phone call to them, followed by what I picked up from the agent in the kitchen. My suspicion was confirmed by the email; my father allowed them to bug my phone. Or was it always bugged? Is that why they never cared where I was? They already knew. My hands curl into fists and squeeze so tight that my nails leave crescent indentations on my palms.
"Do you think the dude brainwashed Lilly somehow?" Wes asks hesitantly.
"I don’t know," I sigh.
We sit in silence, all in our heads for what seems like forever, when the phone that now lies between Denielle and me lights up with an incoming text message. As in the past, it merely shows UNKNOWN.
I peer at the little square next to me and can feel two sets of eyes focused on me.
"Rhys?" Denielle prods.
I carefully pick up the phone and stare a moment longer before swiping right to open the message.
Rhys,
I see you got my message and package.
I want to remind you again to adhere to the rules if you want to talk to your girlfriend tomorrow.
She is fine and wishes all three of you a good night.
I think I’m going to be sick. I definitely can’t fault Wes for puking. This. Is. Fucked. Up. Instinctively, I glance around as if to find a camera attached to a drone hovering outside the window.
"What does it say?" Wes’s tone is hesitant but curious.
I hold the phone out to him, but he doesn’t take it, just reads the screen. I get it; I wouldn’t touch this thing either if I had a choice.
"I feel watched." Denielle shudders beside me.
"No shit." Wes rolls his eyes.
I don’t like how this psycho is playing with us. I doubt there is a camera in here, but he knows we’re together. This only leaves two alternatives: he is either out there right now or has someone watching us, which means there is more than one.
Logic should tell me to contact the authorities stationed at my house immediately, but the urge to hear Lilly’s voice leaves no room, even remotely, to consider that.
"Can I stay here until tomorrow?" I ask Wes. Not that he has ever said no, but the circumstances have changed. I’d understand if he wants this phone and me out of his house.
"Sure, man. It’s probably best if neither of us is alone." He turns to Denielle. "You need to call home?"
"No, my parents know I’m here. I called them before I came over. I had no intention of going back tonight."
"They’re still gone?"
When are her parents ever home?
"Again. They were home for two days, but Mom left with Dad for his conference in San Fran. Agnes is at the house, but it’s not like I need supervision anymore."
Agnes is the Kellers’ live-in housekeeper slash Denielle’s nanny growing up. She’s worked for them for as long as we’ve known Den. One would think her mom would stay behind, given the fact her daughter's best friend disappeared and all, but I guess everyone handles things differently. Plus, knowing Denielle, she also puts up a strong front for her parents. This week was the first time she has allowed me to see her as anything but stone-cold and confident. She’s Lilly’s rock where I’m her anchor, as Lilly said to me one night when we were lying in her bed.
"Let’s try to get some rest. Den, you take the bed. Rhys, you know the drill. I’ll go get more blankets."
Wes leaves the room, and I head into his closet to grab my pillow and blanket that took permanent residence there years ago. I send my mom a quick text from Wes’s phone, and despite the early-morning hour, she responds immediately, letting me know to be safe.
Sleep does not come that night. Instead, I’m hiding under the blanket, staring at the phone’s screen. She is fine and wishes all three of you a good night.
I start typing several times and erase it again.
Fuck, what am I doing?
The little clock at the top of the screen shows it’s 3:12 a.m., and despite my physical exhaustion, I’m unable to sleep. After one last deliberation, I cave. What’s he gonna do? Stalk me some more? Or maybe he’ll kidnap me and I’d be back with Lilly. My thoughts are in a state between sleep deprivation and borderline crazy.
I type: Please tell Lilly good night. And I love her.
I’m about to turn the device off when the bubble with the three little dots appears. Sucking in a breath, my heart beats so fast I have trouble catching my breath. The blanket is suffocating me, but I don’t dare take it off and alert Den or Wes to what I’m doing. The bubble disappears, and internally I start panicking. No, no, no—
Then the message appears: ILY2. It’s late. Please get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow. ~Calla
My eyes sting, and I blink. It’s her. Sure, he could know my nickname for her—he knows everything as it seems—but somehow, there's no question in my mind.
Another one pops up: You need to delete my texts. Wes and Den cannot know. Please trust me.
I stare at the words for several hours before I finally delete both right before sleep overtakes me. I trust Lilly with my life.
Chapter Twelve
I’m too wired; there is no way I will sleep anytime soon tonight. The sound of fear and desperation in Rhys’s voice plays on repeat in my head. Guilt is choking me. I’m playing family with my criminal half-brother, while the family who raised me is going out of its mind. I couldn’t even tell Rhys how much I love him.
I beg Nate to let me call him back, but his answer remains a firm no. He’s right, because me being safe either means I’m brainwashed, or I’m collaborating with a criminal—which, I guess, I am.
Oh God, what am I doing?
Nate says he needs to get work done and kicks me out with the vague assurance that we will figure out the next steps tomorrow.
Not hungry and unsure what else to do, I head back to the library. I wonder if this place has a gym. I'm in desperate need of a distraction. My gaze falls onto the financial statements I put on one of the upper shelves to not lose track of them. I forgot to tell Nate about them earlier—being distracted with the whole call situation and all. Something else I have to do later. I can’t shake the feeling that these transactions mean something.
I’ve made my way through two more drawers, which as far as I can see only contain Brooks’s old case files, when Nate saunters in with an open laptop in hand. He plops down on the couch I’m sitting behind and leans over the back of it.
"Anything interesting?" He has a suspicious gleam in his eyes, which I choose to ignore.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
His eyebrows shoot up, and I stand to retrieve the bank statements, handing them over.
"Look toward the bottom of the page." I point at the amount. "He transfers that amount every month for years before it increases from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars. All the accounts and transactions are meticulously labeled, except this one."
Nate flips through a few pages before he looks up. "It’s the same account number every time?"
I nod.
"I’ll look into it. Shouldn’t take too long." He grins up at me. "Good work, sis." His praise, coupled with the endearment, makes my cheeks heat.
I can no longer ignore the mischievous look he gives me. He looks like a little kid who’s done something naughty.
Narrowing my eyes, I peer over to the laptop screen. I freeze, instantly recognizing the location of the photo that's taking up most of the screen. Something like an email is partially hidden behind it.
"Nate," I start cautiously, "what did you do?" I can’t pry my eyes from the house and three cars displayed on the screen. I would recognize Wes’s house anywhere, but the red 4Runner, Denielle’s Audi, and Rhys’s Defender are a dead giveaway.
"I made sure you get to talk to your boyfriend sooner rather than later," my half-brother says with a smug face.
Oh. No.
I’m scared to ask. "How
exactly did you do that?"
"I had an untraceable phone delivered to your friend, Denielle, and the instructions for the call to Wes," he says as if he’s simply telling me it rained earlier today.
"YOU DID WHAT?" I shriek and dive for the laptop. He relinquishes it without a fight, and I click on the email in the background. My eyes grow wider with every line I read until I feel like they’re about to pop out of their sockets.
I re-read the message twice before I close my eyes and take a moment to not go ballistic on my half-brother. Opening them again, I face the man in front of me and level him with what I hope is a death glare.
"Why on earth did you have to sound like a psychopath?" I tilt my head and pause. Wait a minute. "And how do you know any of that information? And why do you have a picture of Wes’s house? From when is that picture?"
Nate takes the computer back and sets it on the low coffee table across the couch. He motions for me to take a seat, and I make my way around the sofa.
"Any particular order you want those questions answered?" Again, he’s devoid of emotion.
I look at him—like, really look at him—and he holds my gaze. He has no remorse for what he’s done. Another epiphany about my brother hits me. He shows no emotion because this is equivalent to business for him. He removes any feelings and deals with the problem at hand. I wonder if this is part of his level of genius or a result of his mental instability?
I probably shouldn’t ask him about that.
I blink once, twice, and peek over at the screen. Taking in a deep breath, I ask, "When was this picture taken?"
"About an hour ago."
Zeroing in on the clock on the bookshelf, I internally add three hours to it. "That was one in the morning."
"That would be correct." Nate smirks as if to amuse a small child who just said something idiotic.
"Stop being such an ass," I snap.
"Ass?" His mouth morphs into a thin line.
"Yes, ASS. Do you get off on these mind games? Why do you have to scare the only people who mean something to me shitless?"
Nate’s eyebrows draw dangerously close together.
I wince as it sinks in what I said, and I mumble, "You know what I mean."
"No, little sister, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?" It’s clear I’ve pushed it too far. My initial reaction is to flee and hide in my room—preferably inside the clawfoot tub behind the curtain.
I have to save this somehow.
"Shit. Nate, I’m sorry." I am. Despite everything, we have formed a bond over the last few days. No matter how much I deny it or avoid thinking about it, it’s as certain as the fact that Nate has committed several crimes he needs to be held accountable for. "I…uh…" After a deep breath, I go for the truth. "I feel guilty as hell. I’m playing house with my brother while my adopted family, my boyfriend, and my two best friends are going out of their minds. And then you are scaring them half to death. I mean, think about it. How would you feel if someone did that to me?" I’m pretty sure that’s a cheap shot, but he needs to understand.
I’m rambling without making eye contact. When he doesn’t respond, I chance a glance and am stunned by the change in demeanor. Nate’s entire expression has softened, and he looks at me with pure affection—not creepy, but brotherly love.
"You just called me your brother," he states with awe.
"I guess I did," I reply with a small smile.
"Thank you." Just like that, all the anger and fight has left both of us. I remember the times when I got into arguments with my adopted siblings. You fight; you make up.
"Can we talk about this? I promise I won’t attack you anymore." I nod toward the computer.
Nate glances at the screen and back at me. "I may have gone a bit psycho on them." He looks slightly guilty. "Old habits?" He shrugs, and one side of his mouth pulls up.
I only roll my eyes. "Explain. How do you know all of this?"
He settles into the corner of the couch and faces me. "I told you George is still in Westbridge."
"Your bodyguard?" I want to clarify that there are not any more players in this I don’t know about.
Nate nods once. "Head of security, but yes. He delivered the phone to Denielle, and he also took the picture earlier."
I narrow my eyes at him. "And why does George think he is spying on my friends and delivering phones?"
"As I mentioned before…" He huffs, exasperated. "He's dealing with the consequences of me bringing you here. Your family thinks you’ve gone missing, and I want to know what’s transpiring on that end. As long as I don’t request him to do something illegal, he doesn’t ask questions—this time."
"But you did kidnap me. Twice." I cross my arms over my chest and give him a pointed look.
"You’re right; I did. But I also said you could go home, so technically, the situation doesn’t apply anymore." He grins like he just negotiated his way in or out of a business deal.
"How did you know that it would be the three of them there and not just two when you sent the email?" What if someone else would’ve been there? Not that I could think of anyone really, but Rhys could’ve stayed home, or Denielle could’ve not gone until tomorrow.
"I’ve watched all of you long enough; I’d say the chances were pretty good. Plus, if one of them wouldn’t have shown up, I could’ve always given that person a little push in the right direction."
I’m not going to ask what said push would’ve been.
"So, what now?" I have to pass the time until tomorrow somehow.
Nate grabs the laptop and clicks a few times. "They’re all still at Wes’s. Your friend really should get curtains or at least close the blinds."
My eyebrows narrow. He states that so casually that I pull the laptop over to get a better view of the screen again. Sure enough, there is a zoomed-in picture of Wes’s room. Rhys and Denielle are sitting on the couch, and Wes is across from them on the bed. Wes’s parents’ house is a split-level with Wes’s room on the first floor, which made taking the picture through the open blinds probably laughably easy. I see another picture behind this one and click on it without asking for permission. It just shows that the room is dark now, and there is a soft glow of…a phone screen under something. A blanket?
"What is this?"
Nate leans over. "The latest picture. George made sure to stay until we knew if one of them left again."
"I get that. But what is this?" I point at the glow.
"Probably your boyfriend staring at the text I sent him?"
"WHAT TEXT? You didn’t say anything about a text." My voice immediately goes Minnie Mouse on helium.
A rueful Nate looks everywhere but at me.
"Nate." The warning is clear in my tone.
"Chill. Here." He grabs the laptop and pulls another window to the forefront that I didn’t notice. He turns the computer toward me, and reading it, my blood starts boiling once more.
"This sounds completely psycho. AGAIN! If you want to talk to your girlfriend tomorrow," I purposefully imitate his tone.
Nate looks at me steadily before he places the laptop back on the table. "I am looking out for us. For you! We are not scheduling a lunch date with your BFF. Do you understand the severity of the situation?" I know he doesn’t mean to sound condescending, but I can’t help but feel talked down to.
"No shit," I snap. "But if you hadn’t kidnapped me in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this situation."
How ludicrous is this conversation? I’m talking about my kidnapping but refer to it as our situation. I smack my palm against my forehead, and Nate arches one eyebrow.
Shaking my head, I say, "This situation is beyond insane. Just listen to us."
Nate chuckles. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
At that moment, a ping comes from the laptop, and both of us turn simultaneously.
"What was that?" A chill runs down my spine, and I can’t help but glance over to Nate suspiciously.
He grabs the computer and smir
ks at me. "Loverboy says goodnight and that he loves you."
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. Loverboy? Who is he talking—Rhys! I rip the device from Nate’s hands and stare at the words in front of me. Tears well up immediately.
"Can I reply to him?" My voice is just a whisper.
I can’t avert my gaze from the screen. Rhys loves me. He sent the message, not knowing who would read it or if I would ever get it. My heart aches. I miss him so much.
I hear Nate inhale deeply, deliberating. "Yes."
The magnitude of this is not lost on me—what it means for Nate to let me respond. The logical side of my brain tells me to give Rhys my location; there can’t be that many massive vineyards up here. My heart, however, swells at the knowledge of how much my brother trusts me to not expose him, and I can’t abuse that—I just can’t.
My hands hover over the keyboard…what should I type? I glance sideways. "Can this be traced?"
I’m met with a look that means You did not just ask me that.
Turning back, I look at the clock in the corner of the screen. It’s so late; Rhys should be sleeping. As much as I want to tell him how sorry I am for running off or that I am not upset anymore about him keeping the Katherine stuff from me, I decide to keep it short.
ILY2. It’s late. Please get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow. ~Calla
I sign the message with Rhys’s name for me. I need him to know it’s me. Though, I have no clue if Nate knows about the nickname.
"Remind him to delete the message." Nate’s voice brings me back to the present. I quickly type the request and hand the laptop back before I’m tempted to write more. Or completely break down.
"Are you tired?" Nate looks at me with concerned eyes.
"Not really. You?" I slept too long earlier.
"Not really. I never sleep more than a couple of hours."
"Do you have a gym in this palace?"
I’m mostly joking, but I could use a good workout right about now.
"How is your shoulder?"
