“Like I’m going to ignore that message.”
Hart shoots me an annoyed look and I glare right back. I know what he’s getting at. I’m supposed to trust him and Looking Glass, and two seconds after our little heart-to-heart, I’m clicking links designed to freak me out or infect my computer with a virus.
Or tell me the truth.
“It’s okay.” Hart sighs like it isn’t though. “Trust takes time,” he says quietly, eyes going from geek to geek, checking to see if anyone’s paying attention. “I can see why you’d follow the link.”
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing. I’ll take care of it.” Hart puts one hand on my shoulder. “You did great, Wick. Thanks for showing me this.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?” I whisper. “I have history with that man. You know that.”
Hart stares at me. “You actually think you were involved in Bay’s death?”
“Why would someone send me that message? How do I know that—”
“You weren’t behind the malfunction. Look, I’m not going to lie. We don’t work for BioFutures because we’re being generous. They pay us and they pay us well. We’re a business. We fill a need and that’s how we stay in business, but just because we’re contracted to them doesn’t mean we’re responsible for every malfunction, and deep down, I know you understand this.”
“But . . .” I want to say, But how do I know you’re telling me the truth? I can’t say, But what if you’re a liar?
I’m not supposed to think like that anymore.
“Malfunctions happen, Wick. BioFutures is an enormous company. I’m sure there are plenty of people you know who have benefited from their technologies. The fact that you knew this man . . .” Hart stops, considers me and considers the screen, and when he speaks again, his voice has lost all the used-car-salesman shine: “What would we gain from having you do such a thing? Think about it logically, Wick. Weigh the benefits for me. We have no connection to this man. Where’s the angle?”
I like this Hart better. He’s using terms that actually mean something to me, and judging from how focused he’s gone, Hart knows it. “That’s the way you think, Wick. That’s why we wanted you. So I’m going to ask you to apply the same logic here: What do we stand to gain?”
“Nothing.” Bay has no connection to them. He has no connection to anyone besides me—not anymore.
“We can’t help malfunctions,” Hart continues. “We can help keep people from manipulating the devices’ other weaknesses. We’re helping BioFutures stay proactive—not much different from what you used to do. Bay could’ve been close to a microwave or some other electromagnetic device. He was probably a victim of an engineering flaw and that’s terrible, but it isn’t our problem. You’re on the right side.”
Hart’s looking at his phone again, tapping a text message. “I’ll need to look into the link and sender. If we have a security breach, we need to take measures.”
“I want to know why I got the message.”
Hart’s eyes meet mine, pausing for a beat before he nods. “I don’t know why you got the message, but I promise I will find out.” He takes another long look at my screen. “I also promise I’ll take care of it.”
I nod, tell him thanks even though my stomach’s twisting. He’ll take care of it. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right?
So why doesn’t it feel more reassuring to be saved?
14
“What was that about?”
I jump, slamming my hip into the desk’s corner. “Jeez, Alex! I’m going to get you a bell.”
“Yeah, yeah. So I noticed you and Gray are a thing? Why’d you say you didn’t know him?”
“Sorry.” I pause. “I should’ve told you.”
“Whatever. It’s what people like us do, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer and Alex doesn’t seem to care. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to see my computer screen. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
I hesitate. Hart didn’t say not to discuss it, but the message—and what it implies—doesn’t seem like something I should just blab to anyone. Only . . . only if anyone would know more about this stuff, Alex would and I kind of can’t help myself when I say, “Any idea who might send me this?”
I move to the side so she can lean closer. I click on the virus first and watch Alex’s brows draw together.
“That’s not even . . . it’s gibberish,” she says at last. “Why are you all worked up?”
I run the hex dump, then show her the article, deliberately skipping my eyes over Bay’s name. It surfaces too many memories I want to forget.
Alex’s expression never changes, but for a very brief beat, she stops breathing and the skin along her neck slides as she swallows.
“Whoa,” Alex says at last. She straightens and looks around. “Kent! C’mere.”
“No.”
“Now.”
Kent heaves himself to his feet with the grace of a water buffalo and stomps toward us. “What? I’m busy.”
“Who could’ve sent her this?” Alex points a finger at my screen, and unwillingly, Kent’s eyes drag to the message. He waves one hand when he’s ready for me to switch to the other window. “You have a problem,” Alex says.
“What is it?” Milo. I didn’t realize he was back until suddenly he was. The heat from his skin pushes chills across mine.
“Nothing.” Kent pulls himself a little straight and a little taller. “Just something stupid.”
“It doesn’t look stupid.” Milo’s eyes flick from my computer screen to Kent’s face. “It looks like something you need to fix. No one’s supposed to be able to reach her here.”
“And I’ll fix it.”
“I thought you were supposed to be good, man.”
Kent exhales hard and he steps into Milo’s space. Milo has an inch or two on him, but Kent has an easy hundred pounds on Milo. If it were me, I’d be backing down, but this is Milo and I don’t think Milo’s backed down from anything in his life.
“I am good.”
“Prove it,” Milo says with a smile so full of teeth it makes Kent wince.
“Don’t put this shit on me,” Kent says. “We’re supposed to catch viruses and this one’s caught. Maybe she just knew to check it.”
I go still. “What are you trying to say?”
“That the virus hasn’t done anything to the system. It’s just a message. For you. Maybe because someone knew you would be checking it.”
I gape at him. “That’s stupid. Why would anyone want me to know this, Kent?”
“The hell should I know? You think I have time for your shit? Do you have any idea what’s going on with our firewall? I’m plugging holes as fast as I can and they’re still able to make inroads. I have way bigger issues to deal with.”
“Look,” I say. “Odds are, there are two kinds of hackers trying to get in. The first? Some kid who wants to look around. The second? Someone you should be more worried about.”
Kent tenses. “Like who? Someone you know?”
I blow out a long sigh and rub my eyes. It’s no good though. Griff’s face blooms in the dark. “I don’t know, Kent. Trust me, if I knew, I’d tell you.” I drop my hand and keep my face plastic smooth. “Michael—my dad—used other hackers. What if he hired one to find me? I’m here kind of because of him.”
I mean, it’s possible. I guess. It might not be Griff. If it is though—I smother the idea.
“Wick?” Everyone pivots. Hart’s at the double doors, smiling. “Norcut wants to see you. Now.”
I’m half expecting small talk, but Hart doesn’t say a word as we walk to Norcut’s office. He knocks twice on the door, watching me like he did that first day, like he’s afraid I’m going to run.
“Come in.” Norcut’s voice is muffled. “Wick?”
“Yeah.” I’m barely through the door before Hart shuts it behind me. Norcut’s at her desk, and as I walk closer, she slides paperwork from the blot
ter into a folder and locks it away in a drawer.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“And the arrangements? Rooming with Alex?”
“Fine.”
“And if I were to tell your mother how you’re doing?” The question jerks me straight and Norcut meets my eyes as she asks, “What would you want me to tell Bren? That you’re doing fine?”
“Yes. I’d also want to know how she’s doing, how my sister’s doing, and when I’m going to get to go home.” I pause, hoping Norcut will volunteer what I want. She doesn’t. “Did Bren say I can call yet?”
“They’re still adjusting, Wick. I don’t think it’s wise. Give it some time, okay? You haven’t been gone a week yet.” Norcut sounds so reasonable and yet the smile is still the same. Always the same. “This isn’t just about them. It’s about you and I don’t think you can decide who you want to be when you’re still mired in who you were.”
Who I want to be. I’m not even sure what that is.
Norcut waits, watches. “Mr. Hart tells me you received a message this morning about your work and implying you were behind Alan Bay’s death. Why do you think someone would have done that? Think it through. Who would gain by scaring you?”
“I have no idea.”
“I do. Your father’s escaped from prison, Wick.”
My hands . . . my feet . . . my face go numb. Cold. “That’s impossible!”
“That’s what I thought too, but it’s not and he did.”
“My sister—”
“Is safe,” Norcut finishes. “We’re keeping your family under watch, but you have to realize Lily was never as . . . useful to him as you are. I would be surprised—very, very surprised—if he attempts to engage her. It simply isn’t in his nature.”
“You don’t know that.”
“True. He could surprise me.” Norcut’s attention switches from my face to my hands. She catches how they’re trembling. “But I don’t think he will. I do think he’s behind that message.”
“That’s a little sophisticated for Michael.”
“Is it? He was extremely manipulative when I knew him. What about the car accident? What if he’s coming for you? Do you have something he wants? Maybe he’s trying to rattle you.”
I laugh. It’s so sudden we both jump. “Michael doesn’t ‘rattle’ people,” I say. “It’s not his style. If he wants to make a point, he’ll make it in person—or through a person. He has people still. They do what he wants, when he wants, without question. If he wants to make a point, he’ll do it.”
My father has always been more physical than psychological. When he retaliates, it usually involves your body and blood. He doesn’t tolerate disobedience. He doesn’t tolerate betrayal.
My stomach drops a sickening inch. “Griff.”
“What?”
“Griff. He’s in danger. If my dad’s loose, Griff’s in danger. He provided testimony incriminating Michael.”
And in the process erased every one of my digital fingerprints from my father’s credit card scams. Griff saved me and now he’s in danger. I know what happens to snitches.
I brace both hands on Norcut’s desk. “You have to do something for him. You have to keep him safe.”
“I’m not interested in trailer park boys, Wick, and your father wouldn’t have time for revenge.”
“He would make the time.” I pause and pull up straight. “How did Michael escape?”
Norcut’s smile is a straight line. “Forged paperwork. Someone went in with legitimate—well, they appeared legitimate—release papers and walked him straight through the front doors. From what I understand, the forgery was excellent.”
“When?”
“Three days ago. Do you have any ideas who could help him with something like this?”
Bay could. I try to brush the thought away, but it lingers. “Alan Bay seemed . . . sort of friendly with Michael when I was growing up—got him out of a lot of restraining order requests, that sort of thing. What if Bay helped Michael before he died?”
Norcut’s eyes go bright. “That’s exactly what I was wondering. I treated Judge Bay’s sons years ago. I know how Alan can be motivated. If Michael had the right amount of money, anything Bay had would be for sale.”
I shake my head. “Trust me on this: Michael doesn’t have any money.”
“He does though. He stole eleven million from us.”
My stomach goes oily. “What?”
“I’ll level with you, Wick. Your father accessed Looking Glass’s corporate account and wiped it. We’re missing eleven million in cash and we need it back.”
“Eleven. Million?”
Norcut rubs her thumb against the blotter. Her computer beeps and Norcut’s gaze cuts to the screen, reading something. “Two eyewitnesses placed Michael close to your old home,” she continues. “And Kent just emailed me the virus sender’s location—it’s Joe Bender’s former address. Why do you think that is? What would he want badly enough to make him stay?”
“No idea.”
“But how could you not know? You worked at his right hand for years.”
“I worked a lot with Joe too. It doesn’t mean I knew everything that was going on. Neither of them trusted me.”
Norcut goes quiet, considering this. Or maybe just considering why Michael would stick around. It’s not a smart play. He has to need someone. Or something.
“I think Michael’s looking for you,” Norcut says at last. “Why not find him first?”
“I’m sorry . . . what?”
“We could help you. We have aligned interests, Wick. We want our money and your father has it. You want your freedom and your father stands in the way. Why not finish this? Michael could have killed you in that accident and we both know he’ll try to take you again.”
She pauses, waiting for my answer, and I can’t give her one. There’s a droning in my ears now, a whine I can’t shake.
“We both know you don’t flinch from eliminating problems, Wick.”
Problems like Joe Bender. Problems like Todd. I’m nodding now, but my stomach’s still clenched.
Norcut’s eyes inch across my face. “Your family, your future—they’re all within your grasp if we eliminate the one thing that stands in your way. We want our money and you want your freedom. Will you help us?”
I start to ask if I have a choice and stop. There’s always a choice. That’s what I didn’t get before. By reacting or not reacting to Todd and Joe and Michael, I was still making a decision.
Sometimes you make the choice and sometimes the choice makes you and everything I chose until this point has made me. I caught Joe and Todd before they could hurt me. I could catch Michael too.
I smile, smile wider. “I’m in.”
15
Just like that first day, I leave Norcut’s office with instructions. She wants whatever computer equipment we can recover from Joe’s, so I’m to go as soon as she can coordinate security. Hart will take me. Milo will come help.
I agree to everything. Maybe that’s why Norcut smiles and smiles. “Do you like him?” she asks as I stand to leave.
“Who?” I know who—what—she’s talking about, but I’m stalling and we both know it. Milo. “Yeah, I do like him. A lot.”
“He’s a good match for you.”
“‘Match’? You do arranged marriages too?”
“Hardly, but for someone of your talents, you could do worse.”
“Wow. What a glowing recommendation.”
More smiling. “He understands you.”
Does he? Milo gets what I can do, but I don’t know if he gets who I want to be. Then again, I’m not sure I know who I want to be. There’s who Looking Glass wants me to be. There’s who Bren wants me to be. So why don’t I know who I want to be?
Norcut’s still staring at me. “Love is for other people, Wick. Lesser people. From now on, everything you do is about power—who has it, who doesn’t. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I’m almost to the door when she clears her throat. I stop. “Yeah?”
“Keep this to yourself, okay? Obviously, Milo will know and you’ll have to tell Alex you’re leaving Looking Glass but there’s no need for the other boys to know what we have planned for you.”
I close the door and shuffle up the hallway, Norcut’s question on loop in my head: What’s the one thing that stands in the way of becoming who you want to be?
Is it only Michael?
“There you are.”
My feet stutter. Milo.
“Hey. I didn’t see you.” I lean into him and he kisses the top of my head. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Probably. I wanted to check on you. Everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . yeah . . .” I can’t stop staring at the windows. The sky’s gone dark and the overhead lights have brightened. They’re on timers, I guess. I’m not sure I like it, turns the windows into shadowy mirrors. I’m staring at myself, staring at Milo, who’s supposed to be such a good match and understands me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Sorry. Yeah. My dad’s out. Norcut wanted to tell me.” It’s so matter-of-fact it might as well be someone else’s life I’m talking about, someone else’s problems. “She thinks he’s trying to contact me.”
Milo tilts his head. “What’s the plan?”
“Norcut wants me to catch him. She’s going to have you and Hart help.”
Milo tugs me around to face him. “Are you going to do it?”
“Of course.”
“Good. You can hurt him before he can hurt you. Think of the look on Kent’s face when he hears too.”
“I’m not supposed to say anything yet.”
“When you do, you’ll rule this place.” Milo tugs me forward and I refuse to move.
I tip my head back to look at him. “Why does it matter so much to you that I fit in, that I make it here?” The question surfaces too quickly, like it’s been holding its breath the whole time, like it’s been waiting.
“Because this is where you belong. You’re not made for the stuff out there. It was wasting your talent. And . . .” Milo pauses. “Because you matter to me.”
Trust Me Page 8
