Wild Sky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “No, but the lunch took a full hour,” Milo reported. “If it’s something Rochelle does regularly…”

  Then we’d have an hour to get inside her house—an hour that we could’ve used today. “When you get the new phone,” I told Milo, “please also get a backup.”

  He smiled tightly. “I will.”

  “What was next in Rochelle’s Very Important Day?” Calvin asked. “Maybe a stop at the local curling club or perchance a little horse dancing?”

  Milo laughed. “No, but the next place she went was interesting,” he told us, but then cut himself off to say, “Get down. Now.”

  Rochelle’s car was approaching, and we all scrunched way down in our seats so Cal’s car would look empty if she happened to notice it there.

  But she pulled into her driveway without stopping, and I inched back up so I could watch as the automatic garage door opened. The car pulled inside, and the door went back down almost immediately.

  I reached for the binoculars, hoping that she’d go into the kitchen, maybe open the sliders to allow the fresh ocean breeze into the house. It wasn’t as cold today, so that was a real shot. Truth was, I was dying to get a look at her.

  “Next place Rochelle went was…” Cal prompted Milo.

  “A pawn shop near Harrisburg,” Milo told us.

  “What?” Cal said as I said, “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Milo said. “She walked in wearing a lot of jewelry and walked out without it—carrying a thick envelope filled with cash.”

  “Why is she pawning her bling?” Cal asked. “If she has access to Garrett’s dad’s credit card…?”

  “But she can’t use his card to buy drugs—at least not anymore,” I said. “So she uses the card to buy jewelry, which she then pawns for cash to buy Destiny. Boom!”

  Milo nodded. “In theory, yes. That’s what I was expecting. But then it got weird. After the pawn shop, Rochelle headed back across town for a…uh…” Milo held his hands out and pretended to paint his thumbnail with an imaginary brush.

  “Mani-pedi?” I helped him out.

  “That!” Milo exclaimed. “It was at a place called Beauty-holic Spa.”

  I listened intently, clutching the binoculars as I scanned the house again. So far Rochelle hadn’t opened any of the doors to the deck.

  “Before Rochelle went into the spa, after she parked in the lot out front—and first of all, there was a spot right near the door, but she didn’t take it, which was odd, because earlier she nearly got into a knife fight with a woman over a prime parking spot,” Milo told us. “This time, she parked way at the edge of the lot, and then she got out of her car and looked around. Hard. I had to duck behind an SUV, but she didn’t see me. She pulls that envelope out of her bag—”

  “The cash from the pawn shop?” Cal asked.

  “Yes,” Milo said. “And she’s chewing gum, but she takes it out of her mouth, all of it, and puts it onto the envelope, and then sticks the envelope up inside the front tire well of her car and goes into the spa.”

  Cal scrunched his eyebrows together. “I was absent from school the day we studied Drug Deals 101, but what you just described sounds a lot like illegal activity to me.” He shrugged. “I mean, cue the drug dealer, and…action!”

  “Good guess,” Milo said as he looked from Cal to me. “A few minutes later, a man pulls into the lot and parks next to her car. Mid-forties. Short, dark hair. Dark sunglasses. Dark suit. Nice suit. Nice car, too. Everything about him screamed money. He sat there for about ten minutes, checking to see if anyone was watching.”

  “Which you were,” I pointed out with a mix of disbelief and irritation. “And you were worried about me, sitting here staking out a whole bunch of nothing?”

  “There was a bus stop right across the street,” Milo defended himself, “and Dana’s e-reader was in the bike’s storage compartment, so I pretended to read. Luckily the bus didn’t come.”

  I stared at him, aghast. He was so casual about the fact that he’d been in serious danger.

  “I’m a normie, Skylar,” he reminded me quietly. “No one wants my blood.”

  “Yeah, but they might kill you for being a witness to a felony,” I countered.

  “That’s not gonna happen,” he said so absolutely that I almost believed him. Almost.

  Calvin interrupted. “So our Man-in-Black, did he take the cash and leave the drugs? The suspense is killing me. Or maybe that’s starvation I’m feeling—it’s all starting to blur… Come closer, my children. I can’t see your faces…”

  Milo was still watching me, and I shrugged a whatever that I didn’t really feel. And I’m pretty sure, even without our connection, that he knew that.

  He cleared his throat again and told us, “He took the cash. But then he just drove away. No drugs left behind. No nothing.”

  That was not the conclusion that Calvin and I expected. And I understood now why Milo was perplexed. Rochelle had made only half of a drug deal. It didn’t make sense.

  “Are you sure?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to imply that Milo might’ve missed seeing the—what was it called in all those gangland movies I’d seen? The drop.

  Calvin was less delicate. “Maybe you missed it, Miles. Maybe you blinked when he dropped the vial on the ground next to her car. Maybe—”

  “I don’t think so.” Milo was pretty convinced.

  “Check your math,” Calvin suggested. “Use Sky’s creepy telepathy thing to let her scan your memory. Maybe she’ll see something you missed.”

  Milo looked at me, and I looked at him, and his uh-oh was nearly audible.

  Cal didn’t hear it though, and he had another question. “So did he rob her, then? Was Rochelle upset when she came back out? Like, did she start searching her tire well, or screaming, or…”

  Milo shook his head. “She didn’t even look. She came out of the spa focused on her phone, checking texts or whatever. She went straight to the car, got in, and drove away. I’d guess the guy who took the money texted her some kind of got it message.”

  I realized what Milo was saying. “Wait, you didn’t follow the man in black? Wasn’t he kind of a major lead? I mean, we know where to find Rochelle.” I gestured at the giant house.

  But Milo shook his head. “My job was to stick with Rochelle,” he told me. “Without my phone working, I had to make sure I could get back here in time to warn you that she was returning.”

  Because apparently keeping me safe trumped everything. I hid my frustration by pretending to look through the binoculars at the house, but inwardly I seethed. And worried. What was up with Milo…? That unspoken uh-oh was freaking me out. Why didn’t he want to touch me? What was he hiding?

  “Do your creepy thing,” Calvin urged us again.

  I snapped at him. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

  He was unfazed. “I’ll call it your glorious, fantabulous magical whoo-hah, if you want. But use it, ASAP, to check Milo’s memory, so we can be sure she’s not in there right now, shooting up.”

  “She could be doing that, regardless of whether she got Destiny from the man in black,” I pointed out, still rather snittishly.

  “Calvin’s idea is actually a good one. It’s possible I missed something,” Milo said quietly, and I braced for him to touch my shoulder, but he didn’t.

  Instead, I turned back around, and he was just sitting there with his hand out, too-politely waiting for me to be the one to make the connection.

  So I buried my frustration, tucking my anxiety in beside it—and tried to make my mind as peaceful and calm as possible.

  Still thoughts. Still thoughts.

  When I touched Milo’s hand, I could tell that he was doing the same thing—prepping and bracing for the contact with a couple of soothing Still thoughts. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so sad. Except it was confusing, too
, because I immediately felt the warmth of his love. That hadn’t changed.

  But he was all business, leading me directly to the “box” for this particular memory. I felt the sensation of him lifting the lid, and I fell into the visual swirl of his recall.

  A man. Dark suit. Leaning under the shiny silver convertible, making a displeased face at Rochelle’s gum, but then sliding the envelope of cash into his jacket pocket. As he quickly walked back to his car, got in, and drove away.

  From where Milo had been sitting on that bus-stop bench across the street, he’d seen it all. He played it again for me, this time in slo-mo, and no, the man’s hand had been empty when he’d reached for the envelope, and he’d dropped nothing as he moved back to his own car.

  I froze the image—Milo had gotten a clear look at the car’s plates—which had been artfully smeared with mud and grime that completely covered the numbers and letters. And that meant we had no way to track Man-in-Black.

  As soon as Milo could tell that the memory had registered for me, he sat back, breaking away from my touch and leaving me in the dark.

  But he loved me. Didn’t he? That was love I could feel from him, wasn’t it? Lord, I was overthinking all of this. Maybe Milo was just tired. God knew I was exhausted…

  As I sat there and stewed, Milo recapped for Cal everything that we’d seen.

  “What are we missing?” Cal asked. “Maybe he’s her bookie. Or…maybe he’s her ex and she’s paying alimony—no, I’m not feeling that one. I dunno, guys. Bottom line is that Rochelle is into some sketchy shit, and the Jilly issue is looking not so great. Maybe the money is some kinda payoff. She killed Jilly, and Man-in-Black disposed of the body…?”

  “Maybe she owes him a ton of money,” I said, thinking aloud, “for hits of Destiny that she’s already used. So she’s paying him back in installments, but…that still doesn’t make sense, because she’s an addict and if she has any money at all, she’d use it to buy more Destiny. Except she’s not strung out, she’s not desperate, and I have no clue what’s going on.”

  “She’s getting the drug from somewhere,” Cal pointed out. “According to Garrett, she’s getting younger.”

  “Today she looked like she was twenty-five,” Milo said. “Tops.” Adding, “Car. Approaching.”

  And we all ducked down again in our seats.

  “Please let it be Dana, and please let her bring lunch,” Cal chanted. “Please let it be Dana, please let it be Dana…”

  Chapter Eight

  It was Dana.

  And miraculously she’d brought lunch.

  But she’d also been laughing at something Garrett said as they parked behind us and got out of Garrett’s father’s sports car, and the look of dismay on Cal’s face when he heard her was one I’ll always remember.

  “Is she actually having fun with him?” he asked me, sotto voce.

  “No,” I told him. “She’s not. She wouldn’t.” But I wasn’t sure. Dana was…Dana.

  We all got out of Calvin’s car to greet them, and then we hunkered down at the side of the road for a little picnic of deli sandwiches and lemonade.

  Cal didn’t fall on the food as eagerly as I’d expected him to. His appetite was apparently gone.

  Milo and I dug in though, as Dana explained what she and Garrett had been up to for most of the day.

  “We got flowers,” she told us, gesturing toward Garrett’s car. We could see them in the back. “Lots of ’em. Three huge floral arrangements. The cards are signed from G’s dad. To Ro-ro. Yours forever, Dickie. Anyway, they’re so huge, G’s gonna need his besties”—she pointed to Milo and Calvin—“to help him lug them up to her house. The three of you will bring them inside for her.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You want Milo, Calvin, and Garrett to go inside the home of a potential Destiny user to deliver flowers…?”

  “Not just flowers,” Dana said. “We also bought Daddy’s crazy girlfriend a nice array of wireless micro-mics and Minicams, so we don’t have to sit out here and wonder what’s going on inside her lair. Once G gets those flowers inside, we’ll have front-row seats to the Rochelle Show.”

  Calvin winced—just a little—every time Dana called Garrett “G.” “And you’re sure Rochelle won’t find them?” he asked. “These miniature cameras and mics?”

  “She’s not very tech-savvy,” Garrett said through a full mouth. “I thought it was worth a try. Besides, if she finds ’em, she’ll think it’s my dad spying on her.” He laughed. “She’ll probably think it’s sweet. Proof that Daddy still cares.”

  “And this took all those hours,” Cal said, trying to sound casual and failing. “A trip to the florist’s and then to the Big Box media center?”

  “We spent about two hours at my place,” Garrett told him with a grin. “Your girl wore me out.”

  “Oh?” Cal said and his nonchalance was epically faux.

  Dana and Garrett both laughed. “I told you he’d be jealous,” Garrett said to Dana.

  “You won that bet, G,” Dana said before turning to Cal. “Calvin. Baby. Garrett knows that you’re my one and only.” She widened her eyes a little as if to say, Play along. No doubt—to keep Garrett from relentlessly proposing marriage (with plans for a midair wedding night)—she’d reinforced the pretense that she and Calvin were a Thing.

  “We went shopping in G’s attic, looking for pawnables that wouldn’t be missed when Daddy comes home. We need cash. So we got us some. Project Jilly can’t be bankrolled entirely on a credit card.”

  “Although buying that wireless surveillance combo-pack put a solid dent in my plastic allowance,” Garrett informed us through a full mouth.

  “What’s your surveillance operating system?” Cal asked, and while Garrett shrugged, Dana got up and fetched a tablet from the front seat of the sports car. She and Cal were soon deep into the tech of it all, heads together as they leaned over the screen.

  Garrett picked up the binoculars and trained them on Rochelle’s house.

  I looked up to find Milo watching me. “Sorry about before,” he said.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” I confessed quietly. I wanted to take his hand, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I rewrapped the second half of my turkey sandwich. Like Cal, I’d lost my appetite. “Are we okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “We are. I love you—please don’t doubt that. I’m just…I’m dealing with some…stuff. Hard stuff. Harder than I thought. And…I need a little space.”

  I love you, but I need some space. Milo didn’t need to be inside my head to realize that I wasn’t reassured by that at all.

  “Sky—” he started.

  I interrupted. “I can imagine how…weird it must be to know every little thing I’m thinking and feeling, and I want you to know that I’m learning how to control that. I am. I see what you do, with those…kind of…mental boxes—”

  This time he cut me off. “Don’t you dare!” He was loud enough that Calvin and Dana looked up from the tablet.

  “Let’s never fight,” Dana told Cal. “Shnookums.”

  “Never,” Cal promised. “Pookie.”

  Milo took my hand and pulled me to my feet as he stood up. Our connection snapped on, and I felt his embarrassment and frustration as he pulled me away from the others, back behind Garrett’s flower-filled car. But once again he let me go almost right away. “This isn’t about you,” he told me. “I love being inside your head. I don’t want you to change anything. It’s me. It’s all me.”

  I wanted to believe him. “Maybe I can help with…whatever it is…?”

  “Yeah,” he said again, but he shook his head no. “Eventually, yes. I’m sure of that. But right now, I just need…”

  “Space,” I finished for him as my heart sank. Still, I tried to understand. “I’m here when you want to talk.”

  Milo nodded. “I know that.”
>
  “It’s time to do this,” Dana called. “Guys? Miles, we need you.”

  “Rochelle’s dangerous. Be careful in there,” I whispered.

  Milo nodded again, but I was hyperaware that he didn’t kiss me. “I always am.”

  ————

  “She’s a Destiny user!”

  Dana and I blurted the words simultaneously as we sat in Garrett’s car, hunched over the surveillance tablet.

  I felt my heartbeat quicken as I realized that, with just one glimpse of Rochelle on a tiny little tablet screen, I’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that the woman was addicted to Destiny.

  “Abso-effin’-lutely,” Dana agreed.

  I focused, ignoring the urge to shudder as I watched the real-time play-by-play through the hidden cameras of the flower arrangements that Garrett, Milo, and Cal were carrying as they stood on Rochelle’s doorstep.

  All three bouquets contained Minicams, but Cal’s definitely had the best view at the moment. Through his lens, we saw Rochelle as though we were gazing up at her.

  Rochelle.

  With her dewy, flawlessly tanned skin, lush blond hair, and petite stature, she was without a doubt the most absolutely drop-dead, stunningly, perfectly gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my life.

  And, more importantly, she was terrifying.

  I’d never seen someone exude mean without saying a single word. But Rochelle was just that.

  Scary mean.

  Soulless, as far as I was concerned.

  “What do you want?” Rochelle growled, her steely blue eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her ample chest.

  She was dressed in an outfit that belonged on a tennis pro. And Rochelle’s physique matched that of an athlete’s, minus excess muscle and plus enormous boobs. Her bleach-white pleated skirt complemented her figure-hugging pink polo shirt. None of the buttons on the shirt were being used. There was a lot of cleavage, even from this angle.

  For a moment, no one said a word. It was almost like all three guys needed a beat or two to digest the epic view that was Rochelle. Meanwhile, her question lingered in the air like an odor—a question that had clearly been directed toward Garrett, who finally came into view as Calvin stealthily swiveled his wheelchair to his left.