by Danah Logan
"Hot?"
I must’ve heard him wrong.
Rhys grins sheepishly and shrugs. "My girlfriend, the badass hacker. We need to give you one of those hacker names."
There is a flutter in my belly; I don’t know what to say.
"So, explain my video. Obviously, you couldn't put a timer on that one since it had to play twice, and you didn't know when I'd be home." Rhys seems genuinely curious, and my adrenaline level spikes. I didn't realize how much this new skill excites me until I tell him about it.
"Yours had a timer as well, but I set it to twelve hours—I was guessing there. The counter on yours was set to execute the wipe once it hits two or if the time ran out."
"Why not leave it just with the counters?" His eyebrows draw together.
"Well, uh…" I feel a little bad saying it out loud. "There was always a chance one of you wouldn't watch it since you guys were most likely together, and George didn't want to leave it to chance that the video could end up in the wrong hands. Even though Den or Wes would never do that intentionally." I add the last part quickly because I do trust my friends completely. "We were sure that they would at least open the text."
Rhys seems to think that over. "I guess that makes sense."
I let out a huge breath.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, and I glance at the clock. "When do you have to be back home?"
"Soon. But grabbing my stuff doesn’t take long. I’d rather talk to you as long as possible." The affection in his eyes makes tears prick in mine.
My paranoia takes over. "What if Tristen checks your tracker? He’ll think you’re hiding something from him."
"It’s fine. I'm parked on the street in front of Wes’s house. If Dad wants to get into it, I’ll just tell him I left my phone in the car, which I had planned anyway. He can start following me in person for all I care." Contempt is dripping from every syllable.
"I miss you so much." I sniff.
Rhys sits up straighter. "Babe, why are you crying?"
The tears flow faster, and all the suppressed emotions from the last few days seem to rise to the surface.
"I…this…I…a-all…s-s-so…m-much…" is all I get out between sobs.
"Calla, look at me." Rhys’s gentle voice penetrates my violent cries.
When my full attention is on him, he continues, "Babe, this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions. You feel guilty for spending time with your brother while we’ve all been worried out of our minds. Mom still is. There are more secrets than answers. And I can't even begin to comprehend how confusing this all is for you. You will be home soon. We will figure this out." He pauses for a second. "And when all of this is behind us, we will go on a proper date."
How does this boy always know what I need to hear to feel better?
The moisture on my face has dried. Remembering something he said to me not too long ago, I try to make light of this messed-up situation. "You just want to take me on a date so you can finally get into my pants."
Rhys snorts out a laugh. "You caught me, babe. Though I've already been in your pants, just not that…deep." He winks, and heat fills my body, remembering the night in my room he is referring to.
"Remember when I had to press my hand over your mouth because you were about to wake Natty up?" he teases, and every cell of my body is officially on fire.
It's at that moment that the door behind me clicks, and George walks in. I turn, and he pauses, his gaze swiveling between Rhys and me.
"Uh, Miss Lilly. Rhys."
Oh my God, he so knows what he just interrupted.
I fight the urge to cover my face.
"GEORGE, MY FRIEND!" Rhys’s shout redirects my attention back to the screen.
It is my turn to chuckle. Both men’s faces show genuine happiness to see each other. Who would’ve thought?
"Did you need something?" I ask him.
Still standing, he looks down at me. "No, Miss Lilly. Nate just asked me to check on you since you didn’t answer his message."
Sure enough, I didn’t notice Nate’s text come in on my cell.
"I was distracted," I admit.
"I gathered that."
Is that a smirk on George’s face?
"I probably should get going anyway," Rhys interjects. I’m not sure if he needs to go or if he wants to ease the embarrassment factor the three of us are experiencing.
I don't want to hang up, but I understand that he has to get home. "Okay. Will you text me if you can?" I know that calling will be out of the question from now on.
"I promise, babe." His smile tells me everything I want to hear but he doesn't want to say in front of the man next to me. And with that, he is gone. Instantly, a part of me is missing.
I must’ve been staring at the dark screen for quite some time when a hand gently touches my shoulder. "Why don’t you respond to Nate and then take a break? You’ve been in this room all day."
My gaze meets George's, and I marvel how this man scared the bejesus out of me just a few days ago.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My phone keeps buzzing in the pocket of my faded jeans. Whereas Margot is dressed like we're attending a dinner at the White House, I could blend in with the crowd at skid row—except for my watch. My jeans are most likely ten plus years old, have several holes, and I’ve paired them with a faded black T. This is my way of expressing my displeasure for being ambushed with this party.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
What. The. Fuck?
Except for my sister and George, everyone who'd contact me is right in front of me. George knows to only call me if there's a real emergency.
I glance around. My backyard is decked out with two dozen cocktail tables. Each is draped in white and gold chiffon with an ostentatious bow on the table's leg and topped with flower bouquets the size of a hot air balloon. Fairy lights hang from every tree on the property, and candles float on little white plastic swans in the pool. I turn to head inside and—what the fuck is that? Oh, for Christ's sake, she didn't. Next to the pool house, two swans waddle between the guests—actual fucking birds. There is no way in hell this shit will be cleaned up by the time I leave tomorrow.
Margot is in deep conversation with Celeste and one of their friends. Despite having grown up in these circles, attending galas and fancy events regularly, I am like a fish out of water. This. Is. My. Home. Pulse pounding in my ears, I’m completely on edge. I don't want any of these people here. My nostrils flare, and I try to rein in the urge to physically kick every single one of these pretentious assholes out—including the swans. Margot and I will have a serious conversation when this is over.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I tear my gaze off my fiancée, turn, and stalk into the house. I pass Julian without sparing him a second glance and ignore him calling out my name. Taking two steps at a time, I aim for my bedroom. Disappearing downstairs would be too suspicious at the moment.
I'm almost at the double doors when I pull out my phone and halt—fifteen text messages from UNKNOWN.
What the—?
I enter my room and close the doors behind me, locking them for good measure.
Clicking on the texts, I begin reading.
Margot looks pretty tonight.
The red dress suits her.
Is the dude with the pink shirt Julian? I saw you talking to him when he first arrived.
Which one is the birthday girl?
Is this the only pool you have? How do you swim your laps in that tiny thing?
Are those actual swans in your yard? Holy shit!
Oh…I finally get your Courrier comment, what’s in those things?
I stop reading and turn to the corner above the door, staring straight at the spot on the ceiling.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I look down and scan the newest text message.
Hi. :)
A flush of adrenaline hits me. I don’t believe this.
Pulling up the
number pad, I key in the digits I never saved to my contacts. She picks up on the first ring but doesn't say anything.
"Little sister, did you hack into my security feed?" I inquire with a purposefully icy tone. I turn away from the camera.
"Maybe?" she answers meekly.
Holy fucking shit. She’s probably smarter than me.
A broad grin spreads across my face, but I keep my back to her.
"And you thought that was a good idea, why?"
Do. Not. Laugh.
"Um…" Lilly seems worried, and I can no longer pretend.
I turn and look up at the camera. She inhales sharply when she sees my expression.
"You're not angry with me?" she inquires, still hesitantly.
I laugh. "Fuck no. That's genius! How did you get past the second firewall?"
The excitement in her voice is contagious when she explains to me how she altered the script I showed her when I walked her through getting into the feed at her house in Westbridge. I’m floored.
"That is some serious coding, sis. I don’t know if I should leave you unattended with a computer anymore."
She laughs, but I'm serious. Not that I don't trust her, but hell.
We talk a moment longer, and I confirm that the guy in the pink shirt is, in fact, Julian. She tells me he looks nice, and she's happy I have my best friend there. Such a simple statement. Her sentiment makes warmth spread in my chest. When was the last time I felt anything like that? The last time someone was genuinely happy for me and it had nothing to do with business or my fortune?
After I hang up the phone, I remain in the bedroom for a few more minutes, collecting my thoughts. With a little more training and proper education, my sister will surpass my abilities without much effort. I make a mental note to look into the best schooling for her—if she wants to go down that road. She said as much, but I would never force her.
Julian meets me at the bottom of the stairs. "Dude, where did you disappear to?"
"Had to take a call." I'm still pissed at him for allowing this party to happen at my house.
He raises an eyebrow with the unspoken question.
"None of your business," I tell him flat out. Let him come to his own conclusions.
He blocks my attempt to walk around him. "I’m sorry, man. I know how you hate people in your space."
"I do." I cross my arms over my chest.
"I figured it'd be fine. Margot will soften you up. You always end up giving her what she wants." He must've seen the ghost of something on my face. "Nate? What's going on?"
I want to tell my best friend about Lilly. He knows what Audrey's death did to me. He was there. Instead, I say, "I'm not so sure Margot is right for me anymore."
Julian's eyes nearly bulge out. "Where is that coming from?"
He's known me most of my life and thought Margot filled the void Audrey and Mom's death left behind. For a while, I thought the same. However, spending time with my sister, seeing the effect she has on George—a man who I've seen smile more in the last week than in the previous decade—and seeing her relationship with Rhys and her friends…it’s made me realize everything I've been missing and want to have—one day.
"I can’t talk about it yet. But I will. Soon."
Looking at me sideways and then glancing through the French doors out at the patio where both our fiancées are standing and laughing with the other guests, he nods.
"Okay. But you call me as soon as you are ready." Worry is laced in his tone.
"I will." I give him a stern nod then plaster a broad grin on my face. "Now, let's go give your brother shit for his latest episode. What the fuck was he thinking, giving that hot blonde the boot off the show?"
Julian snorts. "Man, you don't know the half of it. That chick was nuts. She snuck into his hotel room after they wrapped the day before and laid on his bed covered in whipped cream with cherries on her tits and pussy."
I squint at my friend. "And that’s bad how?"
"Her fucktard boyfriend was there as well—in the same getup."
I stare, unblinking, as a mental image forms in my head, and I can no longer stop myself from cracking up.
I slap Julian on the shoulder and smirk. "Dude, you just made my night. Let’s go find baby bro."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I spied on the party a little longer. I felt like I was watching one of those The Real Whoever of Wherever shows—just, you know…real. It was equally addicting and disturbing; I swear I saw several people snort white powder off the pretty cocktail tables. I wondered if I should send Nate another text, but George assured me that Nate was aware of what was going on at his property and would intervene if he deemed it necessary.
Having spent my entire Saturday sedentary, I start the next day off at the gym. Well, technically, it's already noon when I emerge from my room, but it's still Sunday—just not that early on Sunday.
Rhys had messaged me after Heather and Tristen went to bed, and we continued texting until the early morning hours. He refused to get off the phone until someone started to move around in the house. We had already exchanged "Good Nights" when a video call popped up on my screen. However, my initial panic immediately subsided when I saw Rhys’s smirking face. I grinned like a loon as he held his finger against his lips, mouthed "I love you," and hung back up.
Seventy-two more hours.
I don't expect to hear from Rhys for a while, and Nate messaged last night that he is going to meet up with Julian before heading back to the vineyard. I find George in the sitting room with another book. This guy reads faster than Natty. He looks content, and I smile to myself. It's probably the least he's done in months—stalking me and all. I'm about to walk toward the door leading to the gym when I stop in my tracks.
I must’ve stood there for a while, because all of a sudden, I hear George’s voice. "Miss Lilly? Is everything okay?"
Glancing around the sitting room and foyer, I take it all in before settling back on him and smile. "Yes, everything is good."
I turn on my heel and head to the gym. For once, I'm not driven by anger, fear, or guilt. Something has shifted, but instead of trying to analyze it, I’ve decided to leave it be. Just for a few hours, I want to feel okay.
I got three hours before everything came crumbling down. Three. Hours.
Emerging from the bathroom, I find a message from Nate on my screen: NCC. NOW!
Shit.
I glance at the clock in the top corner. It's four p.m. I spent over an hour in the bath, indulging in all the fancy toiletries my little spa contains—a decision I regret now. Nate wasn't supposed to be back until late tonight. Something happened. Unease immediately builds in my core.
I dress quickly, not bothering to blow-dry my hair, and speed-walk across the second floor to the office. As soon as the door opens, I am bombarded with a cacophony. Every monitor has a different news channel running.
I didn’t even realize the monitors had sound.
George and Nate hover over the desk; my brother is ferociously typing. Neither man has noticed me over all the noise.
"What’s going on?" I try to take it all in, but I don’t know where to begin.
Two sets of eyes jerk in my direction, and I stumble back like being pushed. George is trained to keep his cool—at all times. Taking in the man in front of me, a pit opens up in my stomach. His forehead is scrunched, and his mouth is pressed so tightly that almost the entire pink is invisible. The only thing missing is a flashing neon sign with the words "WE’RE FUCKED" above his head. One of those that illuminate one letter at a time, then all the letters start blinking, followed by a border of multicolored lightbulbs. My brother, however, radiates white-hot rage. His nostrils are flared, and the only thing missing is steam coming out of his ears.
I swallow a few times. My attention snaps to the wall monitors when two words jump out from the multitude of voices.
"Lilly McGuire."
I try to figure out which monitor spit out my name when everyth
ing goes quiet.
"Someone released to the media that you are victim number one and have gone missing again." Nate’s voice is like a bucket of ice.
NO!
I can't turn my head away from the bottom left screen. My face just popped up, a picture from our last gymnastics meet with a caption that reads: "Lilly McGuire, the alleged first victim of The Babysitter has gone missing again."
"The Babysitter?" I croak.
What is going on?
A hand settles on my shoulder and slowly forces me to turn away from my picture. Angling my head up, hazel eyes meet mine, and the anger is replaced with fear. My brother's mouth is in a thin line, and I glance over to our head of security.
Our. Because that’s what George is. He protects both of us.
"How?" I whisper.
Nate doesn’t look away from me, but George answers, "We don’t know. The news broke shortly after you went to the gym."
"I had already seen the first report when George called. I was on my way to the airport. If your name pops up anywhere on the Internet, I’ll know about it." My brother's tone is fierce.
"What about Rhys?"
Does he know?
"I haven’t been able to reach him," George answers.
I turn back to the six wall screens. "Can we see if he's okay?" Meaning, I want to see the security feed. At this point, I could do it myself, but Nate is still faster.
I see him sit down out of the corner of my eye, and not long after, the feed in front of me switches.
I inhale sharply. Heather and Rhys are sitting in the living room in front of the TV. His arm is wrapped around his mother, and she is wiping her eyes with a tissue. Tristen is pacing his office, talking—no, yelling into a phone. The two agents that previously occupied the kitchen table have multiplied as well and are talking animatedly.
"We need to get ahold of Rhys. We need to know what happened on that end," Nate announces with an icy tone. He can’t possibly think Rhys or someone there leaked the info?
"They don’t seem to know what’s going on either. Look at them." I gesture at the monitor displaying the kitchen. The authorities don't look very authoritarian. The scene is almost too painful to watch. They seem as lost—no, confused as I was after my first migraine.
