Her eyes narrow. “You told them.”
“I wouldn’t. I’m getting the hell out of here, Alex. Come with me.”
She jumps to her feet, stands next to me as I grope under my bed for my bag. “How?”
My fingers snag the nylon strap. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant. What are we going to do, genius?” Alex backs up a step as I drag my bag onto the bed. “Just let ourselves out? Even if you could, they’ll see you in the cameras.”
I look at Alex. “I don’t think so.”
Her dark eyes gleam. “What are you talking about?”
I grab the cell, hold it up. “Milo gave it to me. He says he sourced me to Looking Glass and I’m in danger—that you’re in danger too. I don’t know what’s on here, but I’m pretty sure it’ll get us out.”
“You trust him?”
“On this . . . yeah, I do.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because I didn’t have to tell you, I could’ve just left and I didn’t. Alex, you didn’t have to be so nice when I arrived, but you were. We get each other. We know what it’s like on the other side of those walls, remember?”
She doesn’t answer. She stares at me, saying nothing.
“I won’t leave you here,” I add.
Alex exhales hard. “What do you need?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Milo’s phone is already unlocked and connected to the Looking Glass private network. I check his apps . . . his browser history . . .
The most recent hit? Milo’s private server. I recognize the IP address. I click on the page and my stomach sinks. I need a username and password.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asks.
“I don’t know the—” I type “m” into the field. Nothing. I type “w” and a dropdown box suggests wick. I select it and a password autofills. “Nothing,” I say. “It’s fine.”
It’s fine because Milo planned this all along. He’s making it stupid easy.
I scroll through his project list and find a folder labeled “Looking Glass.” Inside, there’s information on the networks, on the users, and on the security cameras. I open the first spreadsheet and find columns of camera locations, their corresponding IP addresses, and DUBS.
DUBS being duplicates.
I click the first dupe and it shows the hallway just outside our door.
“Hey.” I look at Alex. “Can you open our door?”
“You’re weird, you know that?”
“Just do it.”
Alex drags herself to our bedroom door and opens it as I watch the feed. Nothing. My heart double thumps. Milo’s given me camouflage. All these dupe links? They’re recorded loops of Looking Glass’s various hallways—and they’re all empty, no customers, no staff, and especially no hackers. Now I just have to tell the security cameras’ DVR to look at the duplicate IP address and not the live feed. We could do cartwheels down the hall and no one would ever be the wiser.
I lift my eyes to Alex. “If I can get us out undetected, can you override the elevator?”
One corner of her mouth walks up. “I can’t believe you even have to ask.”
Turns out, Alex has more than contraband cell phones. She also has an elevator override key—the kind firefighters use.
“The building owners have to keep a copy in the maintenance office,” Alex says as she watches me access the security cameras’ DVR settings. “I kind of helped myself. I knew I’d need it when I finally ran.”
“Won’t that set off an alarm?”
“I don’t think so. The elevator repair people would have to use the same key and they check the elevators monthly.”
“Let’s hope you’re right because we’re going to have to move fast.” Milo’s list covered every hallway in Looking Glass, but he didn’t cover the parking garage or the main lobby, which means as soon as we step off the elevator, they’ll see us.
And we’ll have to run for it.
“How much longer?” Alex asks.
“Right about . . . now.” I pause, staring at my screen. There’s the slightest blip in the video before Milo’s video takes effect. I wait, listen. Nothing. No alarms, but maybe they’re silent?
I tilt my head toward the bedroom door. “Try it again. See if I triggered a lockdown.”
Alex crosses the room and tries the handle. It glides open just like normal and Alex lets out a long breath. She peeks into the hallway, waits for a beat, then turns to face me. “In another life, we would’ve been great partners, you know that?”
My laugh is a single, short bark. “Don’t thank me yet.”
I leave the cell and take my bag from the bed, glancing around our room once more. Is there anything here that can help me once we’re on the outside?
There isn’t of course. Looking Glass is excellent at providing everything we need as long as it’s on their terms.
I look at Alex. “You’re not bringing anything?”
She shrugs. “Why would I? Are you ready?”
It’s the same old Alex staring at me—hands in hoodie, expression bored—but her words shiver on a shudder. She’s afraid.
That makes two of us.
I hoist my bag onto one shoulder. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say and brush past her like my blood isn’t thumping in my ears.
Alex follows close behind, head swiveling from side to side. We’re both listening for something and there’s nothing. Surely we couldn’t be that lucky?
Please let us be that lucky. I swipe my badge into the elevator panel and the metal doors part. We get in and Alex goes to the keypad on the right-hand side, drops to one knee.
“Close the doors,” she says, unlocking the service panel to reveal the override. I mash one finger into the close button and hold my breath.
“Hit ‘ground.’”
I do and the elevator moves. We shift downward and I lean one hand against the wall, watching as the floor buttons light up. Down . . . down . . . down.
“No alarms!” There’s a giddy grin in Alex’s voice, but I feel like my chest’s full of sand. I can barely breathe around it. “They have no idea what we’re doing! We’re going to get out!”
I almost can’t believe either. I definitely can’t take my eyes from the floor lights. Every new flash twists my stomach sideways.
I wet my lips, force myself to think. “When we reach the parking lot, we have to run. They will see us. We need to hit the gate fast, climb it, and head for the train stop. We’ll split, go separate ways, blend in, okay?”
No answer. I look at Alex and she nods, still grinning.
Actually, we’re both grinning now. This is really happening and the thrill makes my heart hammer harder. The elevator’s lowering and lowering. We’re past the twentieth floor now, past the tenth. We’re one floor above the parking garage. We’re—the elevator wrenches to a stop.
Alex staggers into me, digs her fingers into my arm. “Wick?”
“I—” The elevator jerks again, dropping a few feet and tossing my stomach into my mouth. “Alex,” I say, and the lights go out.
27
I shove Alex toward the doors, claw my fingers into the seam between them. “Pull them open!”
The emergency lights cut on and the elevator shifts hard. Both of us stagger.
“Pull!” I scream.
“I am!”
“Then pull harder!”
The doors grind open an inch, then another. We work our hands around the edges and yank and yank until I can wedge my shoulder into the gap. I brace my foot against the other door, pushing with my whole body. It scrapes open another few inches.
Enough to see we have another problem.
We’re between floors. There’s maybe an eighteen-inch space between the bottom of the elevator and the ceiling of the parking deck.
“You can fit,” I say to Alex. “Here, hurry. I’ll push you through.”
“No, you’re smaller. You should go.”
“I can push you easie
r than pull you. Come on.”
Alex looks at me, looks at the gap. “No . . . no way . . . what if it goes up?”
If it goes up, she’ll get crushed. If she stays . . . tears prick my eyes. “If they catch you, you’ll never get out. No one will come looking.”
The elevator shudders and drops. We have another six inches.
“You know I’m right,” I whisper to her.
“Shit,” Alex breathes and kneels, eases both legs through the space until she’s shimmying on her belly. I hold on to her shoulders, then her upper arms, and she drops and drops . . .
And the elevator starts to rise.
“Wick!”
“Jump! You have to jump!”
“I can’t!”
She’s wedged, shoulders pinched between the floor of the elevator and the roof of the parking garage. If the elevator keeps going—
“Kick! Wiggle!” I shove both her shoulders with all my weight, my sneakers skidding on the elevator’s polished floor. Above us, there’s a heavy click. The elevator shudders once more and the regular lights flicker, flicker, return.
We drop two inches and Alex screams, falls. I’m holding only her wrists now and she’s scrambling.
“Come on!” She yanks at me. “Come with me!”
Another shudder from the elevator. Our eyes meet. I won’t make it and we both know it.
“Run,” I whisper and release her wrists. Alex drops, disappearing into the dark.
The elevator takes forever returning me to Looking Glass. I lie on the floor and stare at the shiny metal ceiling, feel my stomach pull against my spine as we go up, up, up.
Closer and closer to them.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I need a plan. I need some leverage. I need something.
I can’t think of anything.
The elevator bumps to a stop and the doors open.
“Well, that was cute.” Kent fills the opening, watching me with a shit-eating grin. “Caught you.”
I don’t bother answering. There’s no point. For him, this was payback.
“Mr. Kent.” Norcut now. I roll over as she moves around him, not stopping until the pointy toes of her pumps are touching my rib cage. I’m expecting a kick, at minimum. But she leans down, kneels next to me with the saddest expression.
“This is going to go badly for you.” Norcut brushes hair away from my face and I shudder. “You know that, don’t you?”
I nod, the side of my head sliding against the polished floor.
“Good,” she says and stands. “Get up.”
I do. Norcut grips my sleeve as I sway, steadying myself.
“We will find her,” she says.
Her. Alex. “No you won’t.”
Norcut’s fingernails dig into my bad arm—finding exactly where Todd rammed in his knife—and I hiss, squeeze my eyes shut against the pain. She presses harder and I force myself to grin.
“We both know it’s true,” I say. “What made Alex the perfect victim will also make her perfect for disappearing. What makes us weak also makes us strong. Didn’t we talk about that once? In therapy?”
I sound really good for someone whose stomach is close to spewing everywhere. The harder Norcut presses my arm, the more my knees want to crumble and the higher my voice swings. The money’s gone. Carson’s gone. These are the kinds of people who will track every lead.
And what will I do when it leads them to Lily?
I won’t be able to do anything.
I’ll have to watch.
“I’m immune to tears,” Norcut breathes, the words curling down my ear canal.
She’s not the reason I’m crying, but I let her think it is. Who cares? At this point, I can barely stay upright. I’ve never been so tired.
So completely and utterly done.
Hart appears at the elevator opening. “We have a problem.”
A wordless something snakes between them and Norcut hauls me forward. I can’t tell what’s going on.
Two seconds later, I’m pretty sure I can guess. Someone’s here. There’s a female voice—high and pissed—coming from farther down the hallway. Norcut stares toward the sound, fingers digging deeper and deeper into my arm as we all try to place the voice.
It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Bascombe and it’s not the caseworker.
It’s Bren and my knees drive toward the floor. I open my mouth, but Norcut yanks me around, puts her face so close to mine we are breathing the same air.
“You owe me eleven million dollars.”
I nod.
“If you don’t deliver, I’ll go to the authorities about Bay. I’ll tell them you did it on purpose. And then I’ll go after your sister and Bren. Do you understand?”
Another nod. It should be exactly the response Norcut wants, but she presses her nails into my scar like she’s digging for bone. I grit my teeth, but a whimper escapes.
“Do not keep me waiting,” she says and releases me. I sag against the wall, tasting bile. I need a moment, but they’re not interested in waiting. Hart and Norcut push me forward, flanking me. We’re all headed for Bren now.
“Smile,” Hart hisses.
I can’t. Because when Bren hears our footsteps, she whirls to face us and I’ve never seen her look so bad. Her hair’s coming loose from its chignon. Her clothes hang so limply on her frame, they look like they’re borrowed from someone else.
Norcut’s hand goes to the small of my back and a single finger touches my spine. Another reminder to behave. Unnecessary. Looking at Bren is an excellent reminder. Thinking of my sister is even better.
All Norcut has to do is count all the things I have to lose.
“Why, Mrs. Callaway,” the therapist says, releasing me and stepping forward to shake Bren’s hand. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t realize you had an appointment.”
“I don’t.” Bren’s gaze skips along my face, my clothes, my sneakers. Does she see the oil smear on my shirt? I got it all over me when I leaned into the elevator doors. “I wanted to see my daughter.”
“And here she is,” Norcut says, motioning me forward. “Mr. Hart, could you give us a moment?”
Hart hesitates, then nods, following Kent down the hallway. Bren watches him before switching her attention to me. Her eyes spear mine and hold. “Get your things, Wick. You’re leaving.”
Norcut stiffens. “I don’t think that’s really wise, Mrs. Callaway.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
“Mrs. Callaway—”
“I don’t care.”
The hallway goes quiet and Bren takes a wobbly step toward me . . . and then another. She’s shaking, but holding it together. “I need you to get your things, Wick. Now.”
Norcut touches one hand to her chin, eyes switching between Bren and me. She’s angry, but not surprised.
“Mrs. Callaway,” Norcut says, edging around me. “Have you thought this through? Wick’s father is still loose and you cannot guarantee her safety.”
Bren’s smile is a slash of teeth. “I have already spoken with my attorney. He’s on his way. Don’t make me call him again.”
“I have no idea why you would think that’s necessary,” Norcut says, suddenly beaming at Bren like they’re besties. “We’ve always been open with you about her progress.”
“Don’t start. I don’t want to hear another word from you. Ever.”
There’s a pause before Norcut’s hand slides between my shoulder blades. She gives me the gentlest push. “Go on, dear. Don’t make your mother wait.”
I hesitate. Norcut sounds ever so mild. Like what just happened between us didn’t.
It scares me.
I spin and power walk to my room. Before, I had only brought the absolute bare necessities. Now, I throw the rest of my stuff into the bag and make a dive for the bathroom. Only a few things there. More clothes. My class notes and homework. I grab everything I can and drag the bag’s strap over my shoulder.
“Now, Wick!” Br
en’s voice is close. Just on the other side of the door.
In the hallway, Norcut and Bren are squared off in front of each other. “Ready?” Bren asks, eyes never wavering from the psychiatrist’s smile.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I know what you’re doing,” Bren says, still focused on Norcut.
The therapist’s laugh is light and tinkly. “And what exactly am I ‘doing’? Rehabilitating children who would otherwise be in jail?”
“You’re not a hero.”
Norcut’s mouth snaps shut. “And you’re lying about your attorney being on the way. You can’t do anything against me, not without giving up her.”
Bren pales.
“If you take her,” Norcut continues, “I’ll withdraw our security teams. You’ll be on your own—alone—against him. Is that what you really want?”
“I don’t want anything at the expense of my daughter,” Bren breathes.
“I’ll need your key card, Wick.” Norcut turns her attention to me and I have to stab both feet into the carpet to keep from running. “Do you have it?”
I nod, tug the card from my pocket, and pass it to her. Norcut’s fingertips touch mine and they’ve gone completely cold. “I’ll give you a call soon, okay, dear?”
I reposition my bag to hide my sudden shaking. Norcut raises her brows, expecting an answer, but Bren wraps one arm around my shoulders and pins me to her side. She steers me toward the elevator and swears under her breath when we have to wait. The doors finally open and she hauls me inside, punching the down button again and again. It doesn’t move.
“One moment.” Norcut glides into the elevator, swipes her badge through the reader, and presses the lobby button. “Now you can go,” she says to Bren.
But Norcut watches me until the doors close.
We hurtle downward. Neither of us says a word. There’s just our breathing—shallow and harsh—between us.
The elevator doors grind open, revealing a spacious lobby and lots of people. I’m ever so briefly confused—I thought we were going to the parking deck?—and then I realize we’re in the main lobby, the one customers would come through. A few guys in dark suits watch as Bren hustles me along, but no one says anything. We pass through heavy glass doors and onto the street. Bren’s sedan is still running, parked just a few steps away. There’s someone leaning against the passenger door, and for two whole heartbeats, I don’t recognize him.
Trust Me Page 15
