“I know. I spend more time in here than any other room in the house. Our cook, Mrs. Stevens, is great. She’s always got something in the oven. In fact,” she murmured as she took out a frozen pizza crust, jar of sauce, and platter with enough toppings to make any pizza lover do a happy dance, “I’ll bet there’s something in there now.” She pulled the industrial-sized oven door open and sure enough there was a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafting out an enticing scent. “Yep. I told her I was having a sleepover tonight; she left these on the warmer. Should be pretty good.”
The familiar smells put me at ease, and V.J. and I set to constructing our dream pizza. Once the sauce was spread and covered with four different cheeses, peppers, onions, pineapple, and a few other things I wasn’t too sure about, we stuffed it into the oven and settled down with cookies and milk. I could feel myself relax, and against my better judgment, I told her stories about my days on the gymnastics team, my mom, and even a few humorous stories from my various experiences at different high schools. By the time we had eaten our fill and agreed that olives and pineapple didn’t mix, I was no longer tiptoeing around and whispering as though V.J.’s home were a museum. She took me on a brief tour of the rest of the house, most of which was a blur of expensive looking furniture and fancy lighting. By the time we reached her suite on the second floor I was ready to watch some trash TV.
“Um, do you want to put on your pajamas or anything?” she asked, pausing at the door. I nodded, definitely feeling the need to do some unbuttoning after our junk food feast. She walked into her room, which was huge and painted in different tones of purple, complete with a queen-sized bed on a four poster frame, a plush sofa, stacked bookshelves, a computer with a monitor the size of my TV, and a wall-hanging HD flat screen. She grinned at my raised eyebrows and gestured to one of two doors on the opposite wall. I hesitated and then walked forward, pushing the door open into a slightly smaller room with a double bed that I took to be the guest room.
I shut the door and walked over to my travel-worn bag, which sat incongruously on the satin bedspread. I stood looking for a moment and then shook off my discomfiture, digging into the bag and changing swiftly into a long sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants that had seen better days. I left my socks and gloves on and skipped back into V.J.’s room.
She was curled up on the couch in her pajamas flipping through the channels. I glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Just after midnight.
And I hadn’t called Dad.
“I’m gonna call my Dad real quick and say goodnight,” I told her and dashed back into the guest room for my phone. Dad was irritated that I had waited so long to call, but he accepted my profuse apologies eventually. I promised to call the second my eyes opened in the morning and he let it go.
V.J. and I rummaged through her DVD collection and ended up watching Pirates of the Caribbean, which I had never seen and V.J. exclaimed over. About halfway through the movie the interrogation began.
“Ok, so, details,” V.J. said, her eyes glittering as she turned to me. I crooked an eyebrow and gave her a puzzled expression. “Oh come on! You and Carey, dancing, cuddling up all close…what’s up? Did he ask you out? Did he kiss you?”
I tried to maintain a controlled expression, reminding myself that it was never safe to let down my guard, to share personal details. But somehow V.J.’s earnest and open smile defeated me. She wasn’t after my darker secrets, she didn’t want to use my abilities to hurt others, she didn’t even ask me why I was wearing gloves with my pajamas. Despite the inner twinges I felt at sharing any type of confidence with someone other than my father, I figured the blossoming courtship between Carey and me was safe enough.
“Well, yeah. He kinda did,” I said smugly.
V.J. threw her hands up and shook her head violently. “He did what? Did you not hear me say details?”
I laughed and proceeded to dish, finding myself more and more caught up in the whole situation; for four years I had never allowed myself to get close enough to anyone to talk like this, to laugh over a boy, to gossip. It was fun.
By the time the movie was over we had crossed some invisible line and there was a fragile bond between us. With a light heart, I said goodnight and went into the adjoining room. It wasn’t until I was snug in bed, replaying the events of the night that I realized that Carey had kissed me in the precise manner I had envisioned while staring into his eyes.
Chapter 9
I awoke with a start, fingers of sunlight creeping in through the half open blinds of the window beside the bed. I had a moment of disorientation, a sudden pang of fear that I was locked up at the Coalition’s lab again, and then I remembered where I was. Stretching luxuriously on the comfortably squashy bed I glanced at my cell phone and saw that it was after nine o’clock. I slid out of bed and crept to the door that adjoined V.J.’s room and cracked it open. V.J. was still asleep, arms curled around a body-sized pillow, snoring lightly. I closed the door and flopped back on my bed, grabbing the phone and hitting Dad’s number on speed dial.
“Hello?”
“Hey Dad. Just calling to say good morning. I just woke up,” I told him, snuggling back under the covers and plumping up the pillow behind me.
“Good morning, hon. Did you have a nice time?” There was a slight edge to his voice that warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me. I sighed.
“Yeah, I did. A really good time. So what’s up?” I asked, resigning myself to some crisis.
He chuckled a little, which eased some of my nerves. “What, are you reading my mind over the phone now?”
“No, you’re just way obvious, Dad. What’s going on?”
“Ok. Well, don’t get all worked up, but an FBI agent stopped by to see me this morning.”
I felt my heart drop down to my stomach like a lead weight.
“He’s not onto us, at least I don’t think so; but it was about Fitz. Evidently someone placed you at the scene with that boy, Carey, and said they saw you go around the side of the building before the scream was heard. He seemed pretty convinced that you were the girl Fitz supposedly attacked.” Despite his attempt to play down the situation, this was probably the worst thing he could have told me.
“What was the agent’s name?” I asked, wondering if it had been Thrasher or his partner.
“Agent James Carson. He seemed nice, but you know what that means,” Dad said wryly.
Yes, I did know what that meant. The nice ones were the ones to worry about.
I was silent for a moment and I could hear V.J. stirring in the room next door. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair and sat up. “Ok. Look, I’ll be home in a couple of hours. We can talk about it then, but unless they know who I am already, I doubt they want anything but corroboration from another witness. Maybe all I need to do is make a statement and they’ll leave us alone.” It was a ridiculously optimistic scenario, but I didn’t see any sense in making things worse by panicking.
“Sure hon. Do you need me to pick you up or will V.J. give you a ride home?”
“She’s giving me a ride. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too, baby,” he said as he disconnected. I sat staring at my phone for a moment and then sank back onto the bed, my mind racing with possibilities.
So Agent Carson had found someone to say I had been around the side of the building at the time of the attack. If Thrasher was any good at his job, he would hear from Preston that I had lied about not knowing about the attack, and would come to question me again. I was going to have to admit that Fitz attacked me, claiming that I was just too scared to tell the truth and begged Carey to cover for me. I felt a twinge at the thought of Carey. I hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for holding back information.
I felt tears burn the backs of my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? I thought that by messing with Fitz’s memory I could keep the whole incident hush-hush; instead I had created a bigger mess than if I had simply told the truth. There is nothing worse
than having the Feds suspicious about you, particularly if you’ve got something to hide.
And both Carey and I did.
I was startled out of my horror-stricken reflection by a knock at the door.
“Liz, are you awake?” V.J.’s sleepy voice penetrated the door. I sighed and pulled myself back together, hauling myself out of bed to let her in.
“Good morning,” I said, pasting a phony smile on my face. V.J. grinned back at me, her hair standing out in a wild mane.
“Hey, I thought you were up. Do you want some breakfast?” I said I did and we traipsed down to the kitchen where freshly-made pancakes and bacon were waiting on the sideboard. I looked around for the cook, but the room seemed empty, so I assumed elves were responsible.
We had a pleasant breakfast and then sat around talking for a while. Finally, I said that I needed to be getting home, so we got dressed and ready and headed out to her car, which magically appeared as we stumbled down the front stairs. Thomas hopped out of the drivers’ side and hastened to take my duffel bag; with a silent protest I let him have it. The whole servant thing was starting to bug me. It was with a sense of relief that I got in the car and rode away from the massive house. While it was beautiful and I’m sure very convenient, I couldn’t imagine living like that.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled up in front of my house and I hopped out of the car, grabbing my bag from the backseat. V.J. slid halfway out of the car and looked at me.
“Thanks, V.J. I had a really good time,” I said, giving her a smile. I couldn’t tell her how much the whole night had meant to me, but I did want her to know I appreciated her graciousness.
She grinned. “Me too. I’m glad you could come. Maybe we can do something this week?”
I agreed and said goodbye, darting up the stairs to where Dad stood waiting, waving goodbye to V.J. as she pulled out of the driveway.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said and wrapped me in a big hug. Surprised, I hugged him back and then pulled away out of habit. “You know, that’s the first time in four years you’ve spent the night away from home.”
I blinked. He was right; I hadn’t been away from him for a night since the accident, apart from the stint with the FBI and the Coalition, which I didn’t want to think about.
“Huh. That’s true,” I said wonderingly and shifted into the house, picking Koko up and snuggling him close. “Weird.”
“Well, I’m glad you made it home. I won’t lie, I’ve been a little on edge here by myself.” Dad gave me a sheepish grin and carried my bag into my bedroom. I followed, still clutching my cat and petting him absently.
“I’ m gonna take a shower and then we can sit down and talk. We’ve got to figure out what to do about the Feds.” Dad nodded and looked serious. I went through the motions, showering, washing my hair, when suddenly inspiration struck me. I paused for a moment, running through the plan over again, trying to find any holes, but the more I considered it, the more plausible it seemed.
I got out of the shower feeling pretty optimistic and quickly blow-dried my hair, pulling on worn jeans and a long sleeved tee. Finally I emerged from my room to find Dad slumped at the kitchen table, a resigned expression aging his face ten years. I felt a pang of regret, wondering what life would have been like for Dad if I had simply died in the accident like Mom. Would he have moved on, started a new family? Or would he have been destroyed by his loss?
He looked up as I came in and gave me a wan smile. “I guess we should start packing,” he said, his voice tired and sad. The sound of it made my stomach ache.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” I began, sitting down across from him at the table. I tucked my feet up under me and leaned my elbows on the table, fixing Dad with a serious look. “I don’t think we should leave.”
Dad’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at me disbelievingly. “Sweetie, I know you’re excited about making friends, and I’m really glad you got to have last night, considering what has happened, but I don’t see that we have any choice. They’re too close already; we can’t risk staying here,” he said kindly but firmly. I knew he was shocked at my reluctance; usually I was the first one to suggest moving on.
“No listen, Dad. I think I can get the Feds off our backs. And since Fitz doesn’t remember finding me in Pound, maybe we could stay here, make it permanent,” I replied fervently. He crooked an eyebrow and looked skeptical.
“And how are we to accomplish all that?” he asked, the incredulous note in his voice unmistakable.
“Just hear me out,” I begged. After a moment, he nodded and gestured for me to go on. “Ok, so I wiped Fitz’s memories of me and the Coalition, and apparently what he was even doing in Pound.” I still felt a twinge of guilt over messing with his brain, but I ignored it and kept on. “I had hoped no one noticed me or could place me at the scene, but apparently that’s not possible.” I told him about my little encounter with Thrasher and his lips tightened, but he let me continue uninterrupted.
“At first, I felt like you do, that we have to go, we have to move on. But then it hit me.” I leaned forward, unable to conceal my excitement. “I picked up some stuff from Fitz, some pretty major stuff. He was on his way to Ohio to look for us, but he stopped here to do a side job. He was supposed to supervise a shipment of cocaine for this biker gang, the Slashers, and then execute the supplier and a member of the gang who was an informer. Which he did. He left the bodies and the coke so that it would look like they killed each other. But no one has found them yet. The dead guys and the cocaine are hidden.” I paused, gauging Dad’s response to the facts so far. He was still frowning, but I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
“Wait, so you know where these drugs are? And the guys he murdered?” he asked, making sure. I nodded emphatically and he leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he said, “Ok, then what’s your idea?”
“I talk to the Feds,” I said simply, smiling with irony. “It’s perfect. Thrasher and Carson don’t know who I am really; I downloaded Thrasher, so I know that for a fact. They placed me at the scene; fine, I was there. I was attacked by Fitz, managed to fight him, convinced Carey to keep quiet, and then ran off, too afraid to come forward. And I was too afraid to come forward because Fitz mentioned something about the place he was going to take me, where he had lots of blow just sitting around.” I smiled as dawning comprehension showed on Dad’s face. He gestured for me to continue, eyes glinting with interest.
“So now that I can’t hide it, I’ll talk to the nice FBI agent and tell him what I know, which will lead him to the drugs and the murders. Fitz’s prints are bound to be somewhere there, or some other kind of trace evidence. Thrasher doesn’t really care about me, he just wants to make a name for himself, and catching a mercenary and linking him to a violent Outlaw biker gang notorious for drug trafficking would certainly be a notch in his belt. I can give that to him.”
Dad nodded slowly. “The Feds will be happy; it’ll be a huge bust for them. And they’ll forget all about you in the uproar. In fact, you would probably be a protected witness, one they wouldn’t reveal to news sources or make a part of official reports.”
I watched Dad eagerly as he processed my plan, feeling more and more excited as I saw his acceptance.
“Sweetheart,” he said finally, a wondering smile on his face. “I’ve always known you were smart, and having all that information stuffed in your head certainly is useful sometimes. But I never knew you were a genius.” He stood up and pulled me out of my chair and into his arms, squeezing me a bear hug. “You’re right. It could work.” He shook his head and released me. “There are things that could go wrong, of course, but I don’t see that this is any riskier than just picking up and moving. We’re always gambling with our safety when we change identities, especially if we leave when the Feds are looking at us. And I think we might have overplayed that card anyway; it’s been getting harder and harder to find work, to explain our history each time. It would p
robably be safer to stay in one spot, build an identity in the community.”
I nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that he was seeing the benefits of my plan. There was a long, charged silence and then he gave me another squeeze.
“Ok, sweetie. We’ll do it. I’ll call the agent right now and we’ll get this done.”
“Right. Do you think they’ll come right over?”.
“Yes. I imagine they’ll come pretty quickly. Agent Carson made it clear that they weren’t leaving until they found out the truth.” I nodded and thought for a moment.
“Then I’d better call Carey and tell him what we’ve decided. You know they’ll check the story with him.”
“Yeah, that’s true. You think he’ll go along with it?” he asked, his smile failing a bit. I thought about what I knew about Carey, his dedication to helping people. He wouldn’t like lying, but if I could eventually tell him the truth about me I knew he would understand.
“Yes. I think he will. And believe me, Dad, he’s trustworthy.”
“Ok. Tell me when you’re through talking with him and then we’ll make the call.”
I darted off to my room and grabbed my cell phone, dialing Carey and praying that he was there. After three rings a woman answered in a slightly nasal voice.
“Hi, is Carey there?” I asked, barely containing my agitation. She told me to hang on and I waited impatiently for Carey to pick up.
“Hello?” his deep voice inquired.
“Carey, it’s Liz. I need talk to you about our date at the diner. Are you free?” I questioned carefully, not wanting to give anything away in case someone could hear him.
He was quiet for a moment, deciphering my message and then caught on. “Oh. Uh, now’s not real good. I’m not alone. Can I…could I just come over?”
I thought for a moment and then decided it was a good idea. “Yeah, come on over if you can.” He agreed and hung up, saying he would be over in about twenty minutes. I scooted back out to the kitchen where Dad was rummaging through the fridge. I told him about my conversation with Carey and he mulled it over for a moment.
At First Touch Page 12
